This current word processing paradigm, WYSIWYG (What You See Is What You Get), is the modern evolution of the typewriter; a straightforward progression from the days of carbon tape to the world of software. We like it because it most closely approximates the feel of putting pen onto paper; we hit the keys, and the letters appear on the page. Word processors are more satisfying to use than typewriters because they automatically break lines and pages for us, and any changes we make to our document can be visually confirmed in real time.
There's no need to worry about accidental typos and misspellings; changes are made fluidly, as easily as flipping bits on magnetic media, and spell-check frees us from even having to know how to spell, as any close approximations will be highlighted with suggested revisions. And let's not forget the built-in thesaurus, the oft-abused tool of prolixity.
But all of this utility comes at a price, and the price to be paid is a decline in aesthetic quality. While we may be glad that we no longer have to string together hundreds of blocks of characters, stamp them in ink and press them page by page to get a work of consistent visual quality, the fact is that all modern word processors produce output that is almost invariably ugly and unfit for publishing. Anyone who has used Word's "justify paragraph" option and compared the result to any book is aware of this. The convenience of word processors compels us to sacrifice the beauty of the written word.
Why is this the case? The main problem is that word processors, by the very nature of their WYSIWYG paradigm, ignore the most crucial principle in the technological implementation of design tools: separation of style and content. An author must focus on creating words that have meaning, not what those words look like on the page. It's not an efficient use of your time to have to write while thinking about margins, spacing and indentation.
By forcing the author to become the typesetter, the modern word processor is doing a poor job of doing what it's supposed to be doing-namely, processing words. Authors are not layout editors, nor should they have to be. The WYSIWYG paradigm, by creating an illusion of total control, actually enslaves the user and forces her to micromanage every aspect of the published work. This is bad design.
Does software exist that offers the flexibility of word processors, while freeing the user from the constraints of design and still producing a beautiful product? It does indeed, and it's a shame that only senior physics and math majors who are working on theses are aware of it. It is called LaTeX (pronounced LAH-tek or LAY-tek), and it is a simple markup language, similar to HyperText Markup Language (HTML), but not quite.
It was originally developed by computer scientists to allow academics in technical professions to publish papers with equations in them, but today it is much, much more than that. All LaTeX input is in plain, unformatted text, with commands to denote what you are writing, such as footnotes, paragraphs, quotations, etc. When you "compile" this file with LaTeX, the typesetting engine uses complex algorithms to calculate proper line breaks, hyphenation and indentation. It produces a printer-ready work that is aesthetically on par with any published book.
I only know of one English major who uses LaTeX for his papers, and he's a typographical fanatic who's going to work in the publishing industry after graduation. But if you care about the beauty of your prolific literary output, and are tired of seeing ragged text or unevenly spaced fonts, you might want to consider using LaTeX.