Where I write and when I write are things to fuss about to keep me from actually writing. I’m trying to put the brakes on that. One change – I am no longer writing these from the Chromebook but switching back to the laptop I used to call “The Writing Laptop” (my trusty old Dell 13.3 inch laptop) before I decided that NaNoWriMo frustrated me more than it motivated me so I quit doing it.
I am not a fiction writer and at my age, I don’t think I have any new tricks up my sleeve to resolve that unless I join a writing group or something.
I’ve thought about that but since I just ended a four year volunteering stint, I am trying not to jump right back into something else. I’m wanting to see where the natural ebb and flow of life takes me versus me running down the beach scaring all the seagulls.
I’m sitting back in one of those expensive rental chairs under an umbrella, eyes closed, listening to the waves, waiting….
Proof of my age – here are one of the pictures I found in my mother’s boxes of pictures that I assume were taken for insurance purposes. This one shows my TI-99/4A on my desk. The desk holds my father’s desktop computer at his apartment now. The TI-99/4A and that old television are long gone.
I didn’t have a printer so I did no writing on the Texas Instruments. That wouldn’t happen until I got an IBM PC compatible in 1988 and I finally ended up with a dot-matrix printer that died a couple of years later and I did some writing on the PC and it was horrible and those files are still backed up around here somewhere.
I moved the files from the original floppies to a backup flash drive when I had an IBM laptop years ago that had a floppy drive, a CD-ROM drive and a USB port! It was running Windows 98 and it was high tech!!
And unfortunately, aside from hundreds of online posts over the years, I have not written much for myself or much that aspires to be any more than this, a few minutes of writing that will be forgotten not long after I click the Publish button. That’s my fault, of course. I’ve made many excuses on why not to write and busied myself with the idea of finding the “perfect” writing tool so I wouldn’t have to write.
This new site is for me to try to go in a different direction but it’s turned into a week of distraction, self-created busyness and hesitation until last night when I walked in with the Chromebook and thought, how dumb. Why am I forcing myself to use this little machine? And why did I have to wait until just the “right time” of the evening to sit outside on the deck and write something?
I think I would do just about anything to not write. Weird, huh?