Man, I love my computer.
And that’s not just because I don’t have a real social life. It’s not because it makes it easy to do research, or because it allows me to join overseas writers’ organisations, or because it lets me ask my editor a question any hour of the night. (I only get the answer during the day, but I can at least ASK at night.)
It’s not because it plays music or because I can post pictures of beautiful men on it (currently Ewan McGregor). It’s not because I can catch up on other writers’ blogs or visit on message boards or follow trends in the publishing industry.
Nope. I like all those things, but there is only one reason why I love my computer rather than merely like it: My computer was the first thing that made me feel like a real writer.
Before I got this computer I used to write longhand. Which I still do, especially when I’m stuck, because drawing in the margins gets me unstuck. I started my first romance novel on a blueberry farm in Maine and I finished it in a campground in Greece, in two separate notebooks. But buying this computer, in 2000, allowed me to type up my story and prepare it for submission.
And that was what made all the difference, between being somebody who wrote for fun and somebody who wrote to get published.
This computer that I’m typing on now has prepared every submission I have ever made. It holds, within its coded memory, all of the emotions I have put into fiction for the past five years. It holds all the typed-up rejection letters, it holds the emails from my critique partners, it holds the online party that eHarlequin threw me when I sold my first book. It’s all in there. I can copy it somewhere else, but this computer did whatever computers do to transform thought into text.
And besides, look at the picture above. It’s cute. It’s dinky. It’s ORANGE.
I’ve always had a tendency to get very attached to physical objects. I have shoes I can’t throw out because I remember being happy in them. When I sold my last car, I made a special effort to introduce my new car to my old car just so the old car wouldn’t feel so snubbed. I still visit my old car occasionally.
So the signs of this computer’s old age are hitting me pretty hard. The wheezing of its fan. The dimming of its screen. The fact that newer, flasher computers won’t talk to its superannuated Mac OS9 any more.
It’s ironic: because this computer has helped me become a published writer, I’ve got to get rid of it. It’s just too risky to have my writing career depend on a Mac that’s way past its prime. This is the last book I’ll write on the orange Mac; I’m using my advance from it to buy a new, faster, smaller, quieter, safer, less orange Mac.
And I’ll start typing my new dreams into it.
Before that, though, maybe I should get a social life.
No related posts.
You don’t have to go colorless with your new Mac, you know…
-Walt
No orange, though! Whaaaaa!
Thanks for the link, Walt.
I’m very attached to my computer, too. In spite of its freezing up and treating me coldly sometimes, I’m ready to sing odes to my PC.
You’ll have to keep something of your old Mac… make the orange mouse the central feature of a mobile, or something…
And you know I thought you were going to say you loved it because it was Orange.
I do love it because it’s orange. It looks like a giant boiled sweet. And I decorated my entire room to match it. I’ve got an orange chair, an orange lamp, another orange lamp, an orange piece of art, an orange vase, a phallic cactus in an orange pot…
This is another reason to dread getting a new computer. I’m going to have to redecorate.
Olga, I’m glad you are similarly mad.
Do you think carpenters get emotionally attached to their hammers?
(Ignore the double-entendre in that last question)
I think I must be a computer slut. I dream of sleek new machines, fast boot-ups, lots of RAM and neat little gadgets such as DVD drives and so on. I lust after a wireless capable laptop where I can visit any Paneras and get free Internet access.
I know what you mean about attachments, though. I tend to be more attached to objects passed down, though, like my grandmother’s cookware.
How funny! No, you don’t have to redecorate! What computer doesn’t go with an organe office, huh? Huh?
You see, everything in life is a mind-set. How you look at life, how you look at death, how you look at everything. Mind-sets can be adjusted and re-evaluated. We can adapt and that’s what makes being human so glorious. So, my point is this: You are looking at this the wrong way.
Ever see one of those precious, ancient dogs, limping around, too old to walk around easily? It hurts to get up, it hurts to lay down, it hurts to go to the restroom. Everything hurts. But the owners can’t bare to put them out of their suffering. Then one day a diagnosis comes down for a terminal illness, or the poor animal dies. In reality, it was much, much harder on the owner to let go than it was for the animal. The animal was past ready to go.
Did you ever stop to think that your poor computer may be ready to retire to the glorious neverland of overworked and outdated computers? It did so much for you, but now it hurts to load up, hurts to save and hurts to shut-down. It is ready to move on, Julie.
So, give it a big kiss, a heartfelt hug and carefully wrap it up after you have relieved it of all it’s info.
Or…
You could make a lamp out of it.
I totally thought the lamp thing, Christy! But it’s a bit noisy to be a lamp, now…
And Michelle, you brought up the whole “lusting after inanimate objects” thing. I didn’t. I’m not even walking that road in a public forum…
It’s hard to say goodbye to pretty computers. I wish I had a computer with color…I don’t
Ah Julie,
Now I look at it a little differently. I see it as a child going through the next growing phase, but the heart of my computer never leaves me. It grows, get’s bigger, faster, more capable, but at it’s core.. it’s still my computer.
I’ve transferred all those files that distinguishes this computer from any other. I immediately go about setting the preferences exactly so. My email address book–transferred over. Sure I’ll add to it now, it will be different, but it’s heart still contains all those documents and files that are my comfort, and my joy. And soon there’ll be new ones for me to fall in love with.
Old Macs never die, they’re just upgraded.
X
Wait, wait, wait! It’s Dr Who!
It’s the SAME computer, Julie – it just looks different. It’s regenerated….
I get really attached to my computers, too, Julie. But at the same time, I can’t resist a new one every few years! I love new, fast, cool….. My laptop is two years old and I’m already thinking about a new one…..
I don’t know what I’d do without my computer! I haven’t gone so far as to name mine though. Happy computer hunting!
I’ve met many writers who think it’s fashionable to bash word-processors, lamenting that people get too “wordy” when they don’t have to retype everything or write longhand. I think it’s hogwash. Anything that makes a writer’s job easier is good in my book.
I did go into mourning when my little Jornada had to be replaced, since I do most of my writing on a laptop while I’m in my papasan chair. My husband thinks we should bronze the poor little guy, he certainly looks battered enough to be called “well-loved”! But I got a new laptop that isn’t held together with duct tape, and it’s very nice… but sometimes I get out my old laptop and just hold it for a while. If that isn’t attached, I don’t know what is…
I love my computers too – at home and at work – and am addicted to the internet.
However, I think there comes times when it’s great to switch it off and walk away.
Hey, wait! Duct tape! Never thought of that one.
I bet I can make this computer last a few more years that way…
It is always sad to part with the familiar. The good thing is that as the most intelligent species on the planet, we have the ability to stuff things into our attic or basement. Then in 10 years we can think of them as junk.
And yes, I love my hammer and you can’t take it away, ever!