Computers versus Books

There is so much to write about, themes tripping over other themes, that one hardly knows which to select. One thing that bears questioning, though, is how anyone has the time to work a facebook and keep up with other facebooks, in addition to blogging and reading blogs, in addition to twitters – whatever they are -- and even while writing creatively. Is there any time left for living? Or does one live on just certain days? One does live while creatively writing, but in doing those others – really? Minutes ago, I read a blog in which the blogger said she had spent the entire holiday weekend checking people’s plagiarizing others’ writing on the web and in reporting them to Google. (Some sort of credit seems to be involved.) What she needed now was a glass of wine – I think she said a big glass of wine – and a long nap. But I suppose she had to go back to work on Tuesday, perhaps doing similar maneuvers. I think she might also agree that ain’t living. Well, it was Labor Day and she seems to have labored.

Another theme now. I heard Virginia Tech is being childish, saying they won’t buy any more Idaho potatoes. Don’t worry. They’ll get over it and buy. Where else can they get good Idaho potatoes but from Idaho?

Books again, of course. My latest is The Black Prism by Brent Weeks. Never heard of the author but so what? He probably hasn’t ever heard of me. It’s 629 pages of fantasy but without elves and fairies. One reason I bought it is the flap says he doesn’t have any cats and doesn’t wear a ponytail. (I lack about 25 pages in The Cobra. If Frederick Forsyth has done the proper research, this ought to be MUST reading for all American adults. European adults too.)

On my shelves for some time now is another book yet to tackle and of reasonable length. It’s In the Company of Heroes by Michael J. Durant with Steven Hartov. When a book says the author wrote with another person, with the other person’s name much smaller on the book jacket, it usually means the “with” author created the final wording, while the main writer had the story to tell – two different skills entirely. I can hardly wait to read this true story. And that other book. And that one. And this one. And th . . .

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