I am typing this post on my brand-new Dell laptop, an Inspiron with a 14-inch screen and Windows 7. My old laptop, a 17-inch Inspiron with Windows Vista, was showing signs of giving up the ghost: numerous viral attacks, despite the anti-virus programs; sudden freezes; a disturbing message of how it could not detect the AC power cord and thus my battery may not be charging. The poor guy was almost 6 years old; in computer terms, that puts it at Bob Hope age. (He’s still alive, right? No? Oh. Okay. Kirk Douglas, then.)
A dinosaur, but a beloved one. It was the computer I wrote my novel on, late at night, no lights on save for the screen. Every writer knows what that’s like. A bit like writing by candlelight, a throwback to Dickens’ and Poe’s times.
I may sound a bit nostalgic, but it was in serious danger of losing its shit. And if that happened while I was working on the second novel, and I was unable to recover the work I’d lost, I would have beaten it to death with a baseball bat.