Bursting upon the Cyberscape

Here I go. It feels scarier than I thought.

I am staring at the new medium before my eyes. Feeling my hands in a strange position. Where is my writing implement? From sticks in the mud, to marks on clay tablets and stone, script on papyrus, quill to parchment, pencil/ pen to paper, people have always had something to intermediate the negotiation between thought and the written word.

And now: keyboard to monitor, stylus to screen and digital paper. My right hand feels lonely, a desolate land of dry channels hands suddenly naked in this strange new world. Suddenly, my left hand, once deprived of participating, finds itself giddy and awkward.

But then, what did I expect? After all, my right hand had a long, fruitful love affair with my writing implement. Caressing it carefully between thumb and forefinger, sliding up and down its sleek, smooth body as it transformed a once parched and empty writing landscape, every stroke bringing a steady flow of ink to an otherwise parched land, producing much needed lakes of thoughts and rivers of mind.

So I feel that I am betraying my writing companion as I venture forth into this vastly strange and rather indelible landscape. Each keystroke, drag and mouse click executes my wishes flawlessly and yet, I don't "feel" that which is my marking; it feels strangely empty, without emotion or a sense of legacy- unlike the persistence of the etching on the stone cave or the belief that if I race to finish my thoughts before the ink has dried, someone will find them compelling enough to take as their own, and take my essence with them, in a different direction.

But, we must all "adapt" as Seven-of-Nine would be fond of saying on Star Trek: Voyager. And so I am.

I am bursting upon the cyberscape.

But I will bear offerings to all cyber-beings and hopefully some sound advice to any educators who have managed to permeate the membrane between the cyber and physical world.

- W