I bought a new computer.
It’s been years since I’ve been without a computer. I felt gutted these past three weeks without a desk to turn to.
Ever since graduate school, my computer has been at the center of my life. It happened when I was learning how to be a writer (which I still am, to a certain degree). But this was when I had really decided to be a writer — quit my job, left my boyfriend, moved out of town — kind of started.
I rented an apartment with an enclosed patio at the very back that I thought would be perfect. It was all windows, trees and bougainvillea in the distance. I thought it was exactly what an aspiring writer needed to create great fiction.
But it turned out that it was cold and drafty back there. It was easy to forget about. And I was afraid. I was always afraid. Having that special room, just for writing, made it seem like such a big deal. Each time I went in there, I got a case of the nerves.
Because it was time To Write.
It was time to Get Serious.
It scared the living crap out of me.
It was easy to close the door and just not think about it.
Then I moved and rented two rooms at the very top of a rich lady’s mansion. I put my computer in the kitchen, in the middle of the apartment, in the center of my life, and that’s when everything changed.
That’s when I started writing every day. That’s when I had to look at my computer and ask myself: Did you write today? And if the answer was no, that was easy enough to fix. Just sit down and start.
I started writing in the mornings, instead of at night. I started to finish things and send them out and scratch out a few publications, which has always been difficult and still is, to be honest.
But the biggest thing was moving that computer. Putting it in the center, always.
And now I’m back at work again, after a strange, unexpected, foggy break. Thank God for credit cards.
Even if it means I’m not street.