That’s the question I’m always asking: why do I like typing so much? Is it because, by an inexplicable (this is when science seems like voodoo to me -- might as well be, for all I can comprehend) muscle memory, a person can create words and punctuation, on a page? Is it because it seems like a miracle that it all makes sense and that we’re able to do this (when you REALLY think about it)?
Nowadays they have classes to teach “keyboarding” in school, but back when I learned to type by not looking at the keyboard, doing it by touch, it was called “touch typing.” It took me forever to get the hang of it and to not look down at the actual keyboard but. . . once it came to me, I loved typing. In fact, I must still love typing because I average thousands of words per (average) day.
Actually, typing isn’t writing, so strike the previous sentence. Here and now just for the record, when I worked temp and had to type for an employer, I didn’t mind all that much. Typing was preferable to phones, or filing, or photocopying. . . only transcribing was more fun, to me. I’m sure I’m in the minority, because in one sense it’s kind of a pain in the ass to have to type up other people’s thoughts and rough drafts (and make sense of their mumblings and meandering thoughts, taped on the DictaPhone).
I can’t say why I was so fond of it back then (wouldn’t be too crazy about typing up somebody else’s work now -- but probably would depend on the person and situation). But I do like “busy work” and respect the muscle memory of fingers flashing fast across a keyboard. . .