I remember.


Recently I went to a Princess Diana exhibition. There, among the sad collection of memorabilia was a little typewriter. It was blue and plasticky-metallicky. It was a portable. And I remembered…

My own little blue plasticky-metalicky portable. Back in the early eighties. It was with me during my four-year sojourn in Africa where my husband was participating in engineering projects.

I had serious time there, away from the need to work a regular job, and it was here I really knuckled down and began to write seriously. I remember…

Shoving a sheath of fresh paper, a couple of carbons as quickly as I could as I traversed the paths my characters led me. And how I’d give one copy to my friend, and keep the other for myself to edit later. And I’d have to retype it in full. And I remember..

A friend’s little computer – a little Apple with the memory of about an ant – marvelling at how well he could play tennis games on it. We looked at this thing with reverence and as soon as we left Africa – got one very like it.

How lucky I am today. I am blogging on the pages of a wonderful critique group. Using my most amazing piece of technology to transmit my manuscript to them for examination. And it’s full of research acquired with such ease. And when my manuscript is ready to send to the publisher, off it goes – and I haven’t had to move from my chair to do any of this.

Mmmm. Yes. I remember.