(a) You lose the ability to tell stories:
"If the culprit i"s obvious, so is the primary victim of this
radically reduced attention span: the narrative, the long-form story,
the tale. Like some endangered species, the story now needs defending
from the threat of extinction in a radically changed and inhospitable
digital environment.
Last year Hollywood veterans and scientists from the Massachusetts
Institute of Technology teamed up to create a laboratory aimed at
protecting the traditional tale from oblivion: the Centre for Future
Storytelling. However ludicrous that may sound, they have a point.
Storytelling is the bedrock of civilisation. From the moment we become
aware of others, we demand to be told stories that allow us to make
sense of the world, to inhabit the mind of someone else. In old age we
tell stories to make small museums of memory. It matters not whether
the stories are true or imaginary.
The internet, while it communicates so much information so very
effectively, does not really “do” narrative. The blog is a soap box,
not a story. Facebook is a place for tell-tales perhaps, but not for
telling tales. The long-form narrative still does sit easily on the
screen, although the e-reader is slowly edging into the mainstream.
Very few stories of more than 1,000 words achieve viral status on the
internet.
Plot lies at the heart of great narrative: but today, we are in
danger of losing the plot. Paradoxically, there has never been a
greater hunger for narrative, for stories that give shape and meaning
to experience. Barack Obama was elected, in large measure, on the basis
of his story, the extraordinary odyssey that begins in Hawaii and ends
in the White House, taking in Chicago and Kenya along the way.
The news stories that compel us are not the blunt shards of
information, but those with narrative: the tragic mystery of Madeleine
McCann; the enraging saga of parliamentary scandal; the strange decay
of Gordon Brown’s premiership. Reality television, The X Factor, Strictly Come Dancing, all are driven by personal narratives as much as individual talent.
Our fascination with other people’s stories is as great, if not
greater, than any time in history. This year I am judging the Costa
biography of the year award. The astonishing range of biographical
writing is testament to our appetite for narrative. Reading several
dozen lives, one after the other, has been fascinating, but also
unfamiliar, and exhausting. Like Carr and, I suspect, many others, I
too have become used to absorbing lives in Wikipedia-shaped chunks.
What is needed is a machine that can combine the ease and speed of
digital technology with the immersive pleasures of narrative. It may
not be far off. Japan has recently seen an explosion in the popularity
of thumb novels, keitai shosetsu, book-length sagas that can be uploaded to the screen of your mobile phone, one page at a time.
These mobile telephone tales are written in the language of the net:
scraps of text-speak, slang and emoticons, but these are still
unmistakably narratives, stories with a protagonist, a beginning and an
end. They are also hugely popular: sales of books in Japan are
dropping, but half the Top Ten fiction bestsellers started on mobile
telephones. Here is proof that the ancient need for narrative,
hardwired into human nature, can sit comfortably with the wiring of the
newest technology."
(b) Or read nonverbal cues:
"At least phones, cellular and otherwise, allow the transmission of tone
of voice, pauses and the like. But even these clues are absent in the
text-dependent world. Users insert smiley-faces into emails, but they
don't see each others' actual faces. They read comments on Facebook,
but they don't "read" each others' posture, hand gestures, eye
movements, shifts in personal space and other nonverbal—and
expressive—behaviors."