For my birthday I bought myself one of those super-dooper laptops. In my old life (i.e. in the UK), this would have been the height of extravagance but things change. Possessions I used to have back then that were so important are now no longer so. Living in a remote part of France, new items that previously would have been considered a luxury now become an absolute necessity.
A large part of my life here is spent writing and dealing with administration/banking/shopping - all dealt with remotely. As such, being a worrying sort of a person, I began to think what if this 'fixed' PC breaks down? What if that elusive publisher suddenly decides to offer me a 7-book contract and wants my manuscripts pronto and the PC doesn't work?
So, I bought a portable laptop. However, nothing comes easy. It's a Dell Inspiron - naturally bought on-line. I managed to get it customised: i.e. bought in France so it complies with French modem requirements(?), but with English qwerty keyboard (clavier) and English Microsoft 7 set-up etc. Thought I'd done everything, but it's now arrived and - help - I can't connect it to the internet!! Unfortunately the instructions are all in French. Suddenly everyone's talking tech. jargon to me: have you got a wireless router?? How many gigabytes? If I need to connect it somehow to the PC, what's the point of it being portable?
Why when you buy something do you have to be an expert on stuff beyond your understanding? Why can't things be simple like they used to be years ago? When I think back to those glorious years of learning to type on an Imperial typewriter, when did it all change?
I'm getting too old for all this.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
10th October 2008
When we made our first tentative foray onto French soil proper three years ago, the plan for our lives was simple really. Him indoors would spend more time on his carpentry hobby and I would explore the world of writing. Since then, we've both learned a few things. One: that making things out of wood is more difficult than at first envisaged - hence many of our new wobbly wooden acquisitions. Two: that I've discovered a lot - not about writing so much, but about agents and publishers! Little did I think when I set out that it isn't the quality of writing that is sought after nowadays, but the relative fame of the author him/herself. To get published these days it's necessary to be: famous, beautiful, young and, if possible, featured recently in a TV reality show. Unfortunately I score zero on all these things. What happened to the old love of beautiful writing as an art in itself? If Will Shakespeare himself were to submit one of his plays today, it would no doubt be rejected. A modern response to this phenomenon has been the mushrooming of IT sites catering for the masses of furious wannabe writers, denied outlets by the old standard routes. Trouble is, I sometimes wonder if these act, not as an instant route to fame, but merely as a Disneyworld queue. You know the scene: move people around barriers and through hoops ad infinitum. This makes everyone think something is happening when in reality it just keeps them occupied. Time will tell. A writer's world is a long and winding road, as Macartney sang. If you want my tales of life in France to lead to your particular 'door', click on the 'Paradis' icon on the right.
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