in praise of pointless texting

why wasting time messaging friends is actually good practice for writers

My friend Tom sent me a thank you text for a dinner party recently. Because he’s Tom, he wrote it in the style of Henry James.

Chapter XXIV

It will not surprise the more assiduous of readers that Tom procrastinated for some days until, notwithstanding a residual reticence to take a step that hitherto he had considered audacious, finally wrote Miss McLaren in following terms:

Tom and I texted back and fourth in this 19th Century vein for a bit, falling all over ourselves and teasing out sentence clauses to breaking point. I found the exercise so amusing I sent a long newsy-get-well-soon-text to a writer girlfriend in the style of one Brontë sister writing to another.

Since your departure from London I have scarcely slept for fear the Atlantic crossing has resulted in worsening your fragile state of ill-health. It is pure selfishness on my part, for you have been such a stalwart and loyal companion these past cruel months. Our kitchen suppers in Crouch End have been a source of great sustenance and stimulation — that you have not abandoned me in my fallen state is a testimony to your imperviousness to scandal and good Christian spirit. Speaking of which, what do you make of the dreadful news of war in the Near East?

She was bemused if mildly overwhelmed, which seemed fitting for busy woman writer in the throes of consumption. What I’m trying to convey here is that long pointless texting and text exchanges can be inspiring and creative, but you need to consider your audience, and at times I could be better at this. Having said that, I persist in sending my close friends ridiculously long silly texts for sheer amusement. It might seem pointless but it isn’t. Let me explain.

Most of us have grown unaccustomed to composing and/or reading paragraphs of long sentences constructed with the purpose of conveying complicated layers of feelings and ideas — and this is especially true if these missives are intended for one recipient rather than addressed to an imaginary audience of followers. Blasé economy is now a prerequisite of common social rhetoric. This offends me deeply because I love sentences and paragraphs. I will never not love them. Long blocks of text knit my bones together. Setting out my thoughts on the page makes me feel sane and whole. It is literally the process by which I understand who I am and what I think. So if you want to send someone a long text but worry they’ll think you’re crazy and/or overly-intense, here’s an offer: Send it to me instead and I’ll read it with the appreciation and care it deserves.

Tom is the same. He’s a corporate lawyer who approaches his job as a grim but remunerative source of comic fodder. Like me, Tom spends his days writing and reading long paragraphs — he gets paid more than I do but the words are dense and more soul sapping. Maybe this is what makes our text exchanges so voluble and distracting? To maintain his sanity while proof-reading missile patent contracts for Moldovan warlords (or whatever it is that he actually bills hours for), Tom sends me (and a few other likeminded friends) weird/funny texts. These communications are often non-sensical — they include (in my case) audio clips of him singing obscure Bowie tracks in the bath as well as dozens of photos of Oliver Bonas shop signs around London set to his hummed version of the Jaws theme — a private joke that I can’t explain without dissolving into helpless laughter.

The delight of pointless texting is both an underrated and under-examined pastime. For hundreds of years thoughtful literate people prided ourselves on crafting and exchanging correspondence — but texting has led us to view the practice as a guilty pleasure at best and a sign of mental derangement at worst. Texting at length for discursive conversational purposes is widely understood as a time-suck and in many ways it’s true. The limitations of the medium are obvious and self-evident. Texting is too slow and remote for deep emotional connection or resolving serious conflict. The lack of nuance and tone make it emotionally unsatisfying and the risk of misunderstanding is high. But one thing texting *great* for is absurdity and playfulness — the general deployment of creative humour — bit it intellectual banter, flirtation or both.

For Tom and me, texting works best as a forum for creative rhetorical play. The older I get the more convinced I am of the importance of playfulness in life — the ability to be silly is one of the great overlooked human survival skills. And for writers, it’s also a way of improving our craft. It’s easy to forget this because playfulness doesn’t want you to know it’s true import. Playfulness wants to you think it’s ludicrous and ephemeral, which is of course is its main charm. I have young children who take constant delight in life’s absurdities — every corner of my life is covered in cock-and-ball-doodles. Tom has his contracts. Some people are just more playful than others, but not everyone who is playful and funny in real life is either on text. And that’s fine too. Pointless texting is not for everyone.

I’ve been more serious and less sociable than usual over the past year and nonsensical texting has alleviated much of the loneliness and anxiety caused by the recent upheaval in my life. These days I consider texting a form of creative enrichment and productive procrastination — like exercise or reading but easier and funnier. While it might decrease my productivity on any given day, texting has measurably improved my writing and given birth to countless ideas — including this post.

All writing is writing and more you do write, the better you get. It’s really that simple. And like any other literary medium texting can be used as a kind of testing laboratory for material. Texting with an articulate, like-minded friend for hours is like writing for your ideal reader in real time. I’m always watching to see what lands and what doesn’t. Paying attention to cadence and voice. My advice to every aspiring and/or working writer, apart from the obvious (read, read, read!) is to find a friend like Tom and waste as much time as possible with them on your phone.

Earlier this year, after I found myself feeling quite blurry and blue in the wake of a bewildering romantic interlude (the details of which don’t matter). Tom’s texts and voice notes were the only thing that cheered me — not because they were soothing or sweet but because they were bizarre and devoid of sympathetic cliche. At my lowest ebb, for several days at stretch, he left lengthy voice notes orating passages from Bertrand Russell’s introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus¹ — another private joke (again, the details don’t matter).

My point here is that when it comes to good writing, points are overrated. Instead, it’s the surprise and delight we take in the process of word play that counts. This is the lesson that pointless texting can teach us.

My favourite Tom voice note is posted for your listening pleasure below. If you think he sounds like a pretentious twat please do say so in comments, he welcomes your feedback.

1. Wittengstein’s book-length essay is widely is regarded as a philosophical masterpiece — one that empirically proves it is in fact possible to painstakingly craft 75 pages of elegant logical argument only to conclude the very ideas you have just taken great pains to express are utterly meaningless/without import and everyone in the world, including Betrand Russell, can fuck off.