Motionbooks

Rattlesnake Or Earthworm

An essay on publishing.

Thanks to the Internet, words are often free, and if not free, cheap. Is technology really our friend?

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Without metaphors and similes, we’d probably all be … like … dead. But before you rush out and thank an English teacher, consider this. At the front end of your intelligence, where native-stupidity meets enlightenment, your metaphor-machine is out there working for you, saving your life on a daily basis. Thank the design, first.

At some point we have to ask ourselves the question: is it a rattlesnake or earthworm?  Your ability to compare something to another something, and log the distinction, is what informs understanding and helps you avoid the embarrassment of being caught with a pit-viper in your tackle box.  Snakes and worms are similar, but there are important distinctions. In the end, it’s more than just comparing one thing to another, it is what distinguishes them, that enlightens.

The technical distinction between metaphor and simile is not all that great. Both refer to: one thing as compared to another. Here’s the classic example of a metaphor.  My love is a red, red rose. A simile is similar, but implies its comparison, usually by adding a couple of words like … like or as. For example: My love is LIKE a red, red rose.

As it turns out, metaphors, similes and analogy are vital to any discussion of technology. When Apple’s Macintosh appeared in 1983, the Mac represented an important step in the transformation of human language. What I found most compelling about it: the interface was metaphoric . In this case, the metaphors were visual, known as icons, and shaped like pages and folders. I got that, right off the bat. I already knew what pages and folders were, and how they worked, together. My voyage from the typewriter, thus landed me on the beachhead for all things digital– metaphorically.

I tended to approach the Mac as if the desktop-icons were exactly the programs they represented. I assumed, everything needed by the software was wrapped inside the wee picture. In retrospect, this seems incredibly naive, but hey, I was new at computering in those days. I thought, all I had to do was click the wee picture, and all would be well.  What I was actually dealing with – in point of fact – were similes. The applications and extensions were often like the icon I was clicking, but not just the icon. Getting stuff to work on the computer was ultimately defined by other realities, outside the metaphor. So really, the wee pixs weren’t  the purest of metaphors. The subtle distinctions really dawned on me when I converted to Windows, later in life. Some might argue this point, but for me it’s true. Macs and PCs exist on a scale, not unlike the one you discover in the study of autism. There’s high functioning, on the metaphor-end, and low functioning, in a domain of pure simile. Which is the Mac? Which is the PC? On that question, I happen to be of  … like … two minds. I use both platforms with corresponding ineptitude.

The thing about metaphors and similes, they contain profound solutions, if you know where to look.

And now, I’ve come to the point where I can make my point.

Writers, publishers and educators face pretty serious challenges these days. Extinction, for instance. Clients who used to reside in our markets, the people to whom we historically sold product, have packed up and gone to the new Jerusalem of the Internet, where words are free, if not actually, cheap.

How shall we understand the change? How should we respond? Is there a course to pursue? Maybe what we need is a good metaphor, or more accurately, a simile. Somewhere, in the history of language, there must be a functional analogy to lend us a little direction. It probably won’t boil down to something as simple as an icon, but the history of language is deep and wide. There has to be a saving analogy back there somewhere. If we can find it, then translate it to our reality, perhaps we’ll discover the touch-point for a new age of publishing.