I caved and bought an iPad. Yeah, I rail against the tech, and I still don’t want to lose my mind to it, but my laptop battery was getting devoured in under two hours, plus I want to be able to work wherever I am. The typewriter idea was a nice one in theory, but, in practice, I don’t want to be stuck at my desk.
I remember being in New York City in 1998, sitting across from my friend Bert in a late-night coffeehouse, both of us working on our books. I was typing out scenes from doubleZero on my glowing-green Newton. It was a perfect moment.
So, yeah, I still want to think and draw on paper and keep my wits about me rather than getting stuck in a digital sleeping sickness. I did that thinking work this morning, and it was good. I also penned a reply to a kind letter from someone who wrote to thank me for sharing my podcast and stories. I’m getting inordinate amounts of pleasure from painting air-mail lines around the envelopes I make””in fact, I’m loving painting in general.
I’m pleasantly surprised that there are apps for doing nearly everything I do with my laptop, and many of them are actually better designed than their desktop counterparts.
My client is shifting toward storing things in the cloud, which is something I’ve felt I should do for a while””partly because of the “hit by a bus” contingency, partly because this material is technically “work for hire” and belongs to them. (Or it would do if I had a contract. I’ve worked without one for about a decade, and we’re both fine with that, but I still like to behave like a proper freelancer.)
I’ve no idea where my novel’s at, if it’s lost or waiting or what, and that’s okay. I’ve no idea where my creative energy’s coming from or going to in general. Does this town drain it? Maybe. (cf: the vampire in my doodling this morning.) Yet I resent that big-city question “Do you hate it yet?”, because the smallness of here is good for thinking and being and figuring things out. I do question, though, if I need better quality input if I’m going to have anything to say.