by Larry Doyle
It began with pens. What would make me a writer, I decided, would be the right pen. A sleek grey Mont Blanc pen. And then I had my eyes on a black and chrome Waterman fountain pen. And before I could even discover what literary greatness I could suck from an inkwell, it was typewriters.
At first I wanted a state-of-the-art IBM Selectric, with auto-correction, but as my aspirations became more august, I gravitated toward a "real" typewriter, a 1920s Royal like the kind Hemingway used. The one I bought for twenty bucks had a nonfunctioning "g" key, which limited me to writin' in venacular.
And then the Macintosh came out. I got one of the first ones. It took five minutes to start, and saving anything involved swapping discs a half a dozen times, but I was in love.
MacSE, Blueberry iMac, Powerbook, floating screen iMac, iPod iMac... Each I desired and each I eventually had.
And today the new macbook pros came out.
I am going to be such a good writer now.