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What Am I Doing with Hypertext, or What Could I Be Doing with Hypertext?

September 8, 2013

So it should seem apparent from this website that — in spite of what I would call some reasonable effort — I’ve written little to no hypertext at all. A few primitive pieces — nothing more. Some experimental leanings. A dip of the toe. Do I even try?

To which I say: how the hell am I supposed to write these things? How does anyone write hypertext? How is someone supposed to write these strange, amorphous creatures? Distracted by concerns of display and programmatic mechanics, how can a writer achieve and maintain the presence of mind to keep writing?

First consider — language is a dance between writer and reader where each plays a role, a call or response with an understanding of place, an understanding of context. With an understanding of truth and lies — in other words, semantics: the word and the thought, and the difference between the two. Even at its most plain and prosaic, language is participation.

And hypertext is (at least, partly) language. And so, where is the dance? Without some participation with the reader (read interaction) there seems little point to writing hypertext at all.

This is the part that kills me — arranging the call, arranging the response. Determining the mechanics. Wait — check that. Determining the engineering — the design. Because it’s not simple programmatic concerns that hold me back. It’s the synergy of the language also with the display, also with the mechanics. The opera of it all is what sets me on my heels.

Of course, in theory, I could write hypertext with less design, less (or is it fewer?) mechanics. I could write hypertext as many write hypertext — as a series of texts simply joined by links. But to write hypertext so mechanically plain seems to me to defeat the purpose. I feel like there’s something more I should try.

But then I’ve thought: books have mechanics, don’t they? A front and back, pages to flip. Written language itself — left to right or right to left (or top to bottom). Plus an alphabet. But is it just because I know how to read a book that I don’t find the mechanics distracting?

Maybe this is what I’ve been doing with hypertext: learning how to bookbind. Trying to figure out an alternative to using a clay tablet, a paper scroll, or a piece of parchment. No wonder I’m daunted. I’m not even entirely sure how to read hypertext. I’m not even entirely sure there’s just one way.

Strange to say, but the clearest model for hypertext might be found in that distraction born of older role-playing pursuits — the video game. A set of programmed (and generally unpredictable) reactions to players that changes depending on player input and contribution. It looks to be a workable model — a set of code and metrics to determine a response to a player’s own decisions and actions consistent within the context of the game at hand. Strange to think, but it might prove true — the video game might be hypertext’s father. But it’s still early, I think — in the end, we’ll see.

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