I bet ol’ Bill Shakespeare never thought twice when he tossed an old quill pen and grabbed the next feather.
But I’ve had this laptop for…jeezum. I don’t even know how long. I wrote Christmas newsletters on it, and made a career as a fundraising copywriter on it. I wrote three novels on it, and then Mindy Klasky hepped me to Alexandra Sokoloff’s “Writing Love,” which taught me how to write a romance.
Then I wrote three more romances and a novella.
And THEN I launched the rom-com effort. Four more books spooled out with delicious, slippery ease. And a fifth one eventually lost my interest, but it’s in the laptop, waiting for me to jumpstart it. CHARGE TO TWO-TWENTY! CLEAR!
I researched romantic comedies on it. I explored the backlist of Lucy Score and Pippa Grant and Penny Reid and Max Monroe. I figured out how to draw Amazon into my web with keywords and categories.
And now—my fingers flipping from key to key as unconsciously as breathing—my laptop seems to have reached the end of its storage drive and I must surrender it to acquire something new.
Something where the E is unmarred by year after year of my middle finger tapping it so often that the E itself wears off. That’s a LOT of impressions.
How do I just move on from that?! I might have to have a little ceremony this weekend… Not a funeral. More like the moving of spirit from one container to another. Gotta make something up!