Ever notice how, once you've gotten something you never thought you'd never need, and then you lose it, how much you miss it?
Slow and crazed, that was me, last week.
We moved to a new area of the county and for one solid week, I was reduced to (oh, the injustice!) DIAL UP Internet access.
Taking that giant leap backward, bellyaching all the way, it finally occurred to me that it wasn't all that long ago that I was thrilled to have dial up, or any other UP. Heck, I can remember sending an entire manuscript to my publisher on FLOPPY DISC!
This little exercise in patience, of which I am way short to begin with, brought to my attention how quickly I have become dependent on machines. What would happen if, heaven forbid, I actually had to write a book with a pen? Edit with a bound dictionary and Thesaurus? Write and mail, with a SASE, queries? Receive same SASE, with rejection letter included, via snail mail? Okay, so that last one isn't all bad; being rejected instantly and electronically smarts a mite.
All this set me to thinking on the future of writing, and where it is headed.
Envision this: I get up in the morning with an (brilliant, of course) inspiration tweaking my neurons, and instead of heading for the computer, I speak my idea into some ether-based doodad.
I dictate genre, plot, character names and descriptions, geographical and historical setting, a beginning and end, et voila, faster than the speed of light, a book is written.
And if I can do this, will I then take all that saved time to clean my house, cook, exercise and all those things that seem to fall by the wayside while I toil over a hot keyboard?
For my part, I'd prefer to get up in the morning and speak the words, "Clean house, cook lunch, tone me up," et voila, it is done.