I’m looking at my HP processor, ergonomic keyboard and wireless mouse. This takes me back to the first computer I purchased. In fact, I still own that magical scientific appliance today. This PC was none other than a Packard Bell with just over 570 MB of storage capacity. This marvelous machine held a massive 8 MB of RAM expandable to an unbelievable 16 MB. The futuristic remote storage system (known as a floppy disk) allowed the user to store and transport 1.44 MB at will.
What more could you possibly want? You could give this PC a command and have time to pull a drink from the refrigerator and be back to your seat before the command was fulfilled. To keep the fact that I was working to be a writer away from prying eyes, I used this computer, being as it was stored in a remote part of the house. I didn’t have WORD on this computer, so I wrote in Note Pad. The real trick to operating this piece of retro gold, was trying to transfer media from a floppy disk to a CPU that used USB ports and flash drives for storage.
You know, all in all, I don’t guess it was so bad. If I think back to the days of H.G. Wells, I can’t imagine typing on an actual typewriter and doing edits and re-writes on such an archaic device. I’m sure I complained back in the day, when the Packard Bell was the computer to end all computers, simply because of the lack of processing speed, but then again, isn’t everything relative?
I’ve never suffered from writer’s block; nor am I the type to knock on wood after making such a statement. Knuckles against a wooden surface never did it for me. What I have been plagued with from time to time, I like to refer to as the “Slo-Mo Syndrome.” It’s closely related to the, “some days you’re the windshield, some days you’re the bug” disorder.
Here’s how it works. You climb behind your computer on any given day. Pulling up your virtual manuscript, you bid your latest offering, “Good Morning.” Next, you begin to type. Slowly at first the words crawl across the screen. Your fingers heat up as the cobwebs fly from your ears, freeing your mind to spew ideas unabated to your awaiting fingers. On these days your soon-to-be novel writes itself.
When the “Slo-mo Syndrome” strikes, your day goes something like this. You write a fifteen word sentence; then something catches your eye. “Good thing I saw that,” you say. Before you know it you’ve re-written seventeen words from a fifteen word sentence. Once again you ask an unanswerable question of yourself. “How did that happen?” Multiply this scenario by however many sentences you can bare to write and who knows, you may end up with a paragraph you can actually use. Not bad for a full day’s work. So goes the “Slo-mo Syndrome.”
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