Guest Post: "In Defense of Paper" by Joyce Kiefer
Friday greetings, writers and creatives!
I'm writing this on a laptop, and chances are nearly 100% that you're reading this on a screen.
But I’m willing to bet there’s paper somewhere within reach: a notebook, a book with a marked page, a receipt tucked into your wallet, or maybe a Post-It with something you want to remember.
For all the convenience of our digital lives, paper has a way of making things feel real. We don’t just read it. We hold it. We write in its margins, tuck it into drawers, and sometimes rediscover it years later . . . only to find it carries so much more than ink.
A love of paper is at the heart of today’s guest post from Silicon Valley writer Joyce Kiefer.
In “In Defense of Paper” (originally published on her site this past May), Joyce reflects on what can be lost as more and more of life becomes virtual. From cash and physical books to old family letters, she makes a warm and thoughtful case for the tangible objects that connect us to our senses, our memories, and one another.
👉To learn more about Joyce and her writing, jump to About the Author!
Plus, the VERY popular The Correspondent by Virgina Evans makes an appearance. This title has been on my nightstand's (extremely tall) to-read pile, and I was recently discussing the story behind it with a writing friend. I'm excited to see Joyce connecting literature and life and am thrilled to have her here today.
If you love the smell of a book, the feel of a pen moving across a page, or the thrill of finding an old letter, I think you’ll find plenty to relate to here. Enjoy! :)
-Kaecey
In Defense of Paper
by Joyce Kiefer
I love paper and that's a confession.
Here in Silicon Valley tech demands that we be minimalists. No need for those metal cabinets filled with Manila folders stuffed with proofs of payment when you can get the vendors' apps and have all your transactions right there on the phone in your hand. All you need are the right password and probably a verification code and passing the "I'm not a robot" check that feels like an I.Q. test.
I find it hard to live in a virtual world. I don't embrace the kind of change that pares away the use of the senses. I like the feel of real stuff in my hand. So, what makes something seem real for a transaction or a good story?
Paper!
Here's where a side bar is needed that explains how much I appreciate trees. I've led nature programs for kids in which I explain how trees offer shade and much, much more. I've read Suzanne Simard's book Finding the Mother Tree: Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest and The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate, Discoveries from a Secret World by Peter Wohlleben. The first was eye-opening, the second, a stretch of the imagination.
" I don't embrace the kind of change that pares away the use of the senses. I like the feel of real stuff in my hand."
But I get it. Trees are indispensable on Planet Earth.
Paper doesn't have to come from an old growth forest. It can be made of recycled stuff - rags or from something yet to be cooked up for a science project.
As for dollar bills. Some places no longer take cash. But cash completes a transaction - no delayed payment, no debt, no worries. You see up front how much you're spending. You hand off real money and take away the stuff you want. The transaction is neat and complete.
And books. The tactile nature of a real book - a smooth cover with its art, the smell of the pages within, the way the pages of a new book don't lay flat until your hand smooths them down, turning the pages of a "page turner," - all invite you into the world the writer has to offer.
And then there are letters. Who writes about their life when Instagram and Facebook can tell it in pictures to hundreds of "friends" all at once? I do this. But The Correspondent by Virginia Evans brought me to my senses.
I checked this best seller out of the library at the recommendation of a number of friends. A novel, it's composed entirely of letters initiated and exchanged with the main character, Sybil. She's an edgy older woman who has loved writing letters since she was a kid.
The time period in the book is around 2012-2022. Sybil argues (she's a lawyer) that the photos of you that are passed on to future generations are not enough to keep you alive, so to speak, because they don't reveal your life from the inside. Letters do this.
And it's true.
" ...what can be touched, held in the hand, cherished, follows a special path that leads to the heart..."
I went through a drawer of letters and photos in my late husband Bill's desk and what I found made a couple of his past relatives spring to life, however briefly.
A handwritten letter addressed to Bill on a torn-off piece of binder paper from an aging aunt who left her ranch and moved to Chicago to be near her doctor daughter. "I'm back in this horrible Chicago. Hush! Don't tell anybody I said that. I'm trying to make my family believe it isn't so bad. I can't make their lives miserable by telling them just how I feel."
Reflections of a school teacher cousin in the early 20th Century that were copied and shared among the family. She had moved to Western Colorado where she lived with her cowboy husband. "Yet in the spring when the desert flowers are in bloom and there's a little trickle of water down some wash, then you lie down on the sand and drink. It's precious and tastes so good, even though it may be salty or bitter, and you realize that spring is young and gentle."
And the prize letter that’s been photo-copied, printed, and handed down. It was written by a way back cousin who fought for the North in the battle of Kennesaw Mountain in Georgia. It begins, "Dear Wife." Over 130 years later my adult granddaughter shared it with her class when she was in middle school.
Granted: Letters and reflections can be shared through the internet but left that way they're subject to loss by an errant click. Poof and gone! Physical copies can disappear too, but like keys and glasses, they can usually be found if you search hard enough and keep them in a special place.
Anything on paper takes up space, which is so precious in this Age of the Minimalist. But what can be touched, held in the hand, cherished, follows a special path that leads to the heart.
~Joyce
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Joyce Kiefer is a writer who lives in the heart of Silicon Valley. Her poetry, essays, and short stories have been published in various publications and anthologies. She loves reading good writing, especially well-written characters and a strong sense of place, and she enjoys family, nature, and travel.
Read more by Joyce or connect through her blog, Life in the Pursuit!
Thoughts about The Correspondent or Joyce's post? Tell me about it in the comments or send me a message!
Happy reading and happy writing!
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