Steeped in Laura Ingalls Wilder and Louisa May Alcott, I envisioned my writing career centered around an antique oak table with pens and writing tablets, perhaps a typewriter. In a garret overlooking a scene that varied from day to day. Sometimes I overlooked a sunny apple orchard on my estate in Vermont. Other times, I found myself watching the cityscape of Manhattan.
Well, it came to pass that I sit on my green sofa in the family room, looking out over the soybean fields with my Mac on my lap. The romantic idea of pens and tablets is, unfortunately, quaint, save for personal journaling and first drafts.
Getting me this far technologically took getting dragged by the pits by The Spouse (an engineer who was allowed one "I told you so")with a cadre of friends on the ankles. And being very specific about not wanting a PC again in this life or the next ones after several crashes and a virus last year.
This past weekend was the one year anniversary of working with my Mac. One freezup in the whole year. Now I know what the fuss about technology is about.