I have computer induced writers block.

My computer crashed sometime in the wee hours of Saturday morning. Since Bryan's computer has been relegated to the dark cave that is our basement, I refuse to use his machine. So, in order to write, I had to put my old old old computer back into use. How old? Old. My dad would argue that there is nothing wrong with it. It works fine. That's a matter of opinion and personal preference.

The problem with old computers, is that they are slow. As in, type a sentence and wait patiently for it to appear on the screen. As in, log on to the Internet, then go make coffee and do a load of laundry while waiting for the screen to catch up with my commands. It's not a good sign when you can manually deal cards for solitaire faster than the computerized version of the same.

My main issue with this quaint old machine is that my homework assignment is on the other computer. Luckily I emailed myself a copy of the last assignment, and should be able to retrieve it in order to do the editing exercise required for this week's class.

Ah, my writing class. How is it going, you ask? I am really enjoying it. I like that it is a big class, as it allows me a certain degree of anonymity.( We have too many people to workshop individual pieces in class.) I find it amusing that I am finding it hard to share my writing in a room full of writers, despite the fact that I post on this blog without a second thought as to who may read it.

Last week, in lieu of workshopping full pieces, our instructor had us read the first paragraphs of our stories. One woman in our class has an absolutely beautiful, lilting Carribean accent. She wrote her story in the patois of the area she grew up in, and as she read, I was completely entranced. I wanted her to read the whole story, just so I could listen to her voice.

This week I have the daunting task of rewriting a passage of literature, rewriting it from another point of view. First I have to find a piece that I feel I could tackle. I wish I was at the lake, as this is where a good portion of the Carbol library is housed. Mom, Dad and I tend to read similarly, so we share books. One of us buys, then passes on what we have read. Or, if Dad is taking too long to read something, Mom marks the page he is on, and the book is read by both of them. Back in the days that I could afford missing precious sleep to stay up all night devouring a book, I would take that same book and finish it before both of them could. Now I don't have the time to do that. Instead I offer encore readings of Goodnight Moon, to Miss Lily. She appears to share the Carbol love of reading. Sometimes she gets up at 2am, points to her bookshelf and looks at me as I look at her. Depending on my level of consciousness, I sometimes indulge her in a quick tale or two. After all, I spent many nights reading in bed, well past the time anyone should be awake. I used to turn on my bedside light, and then put a blanket along the bottom of my door so Mom and Dad couldn't see the light escaping into the hall, just to read another chapter or two. Or ten.

I'll have to see what they have at their place tonight. Maybe Dad is in the middle of something that I can borrow for an evening or two.