For one thing, I’m blessed with a wonderful bunch of writing partners, the Cochise Writers’ Group that puts out this blog. For years, I tried to pull myself up by the bootstraps as a writer. It was only when I found classes and critique groups that I began to grow in my art. This group is serious about writing and publishing–and we often laugh so hard at our meetings that the librarians come in for a dose of humor.
I grew up in the Age of Manual Typewriters and thought correcting electric typewriters were the ultimate technology. Now we live in the Age of Computers that make revisions so much easier. On a computer, my fingers can almost keep up with my thoughts. Grateful? Oh, yeah.
I’m also grateful that we can afford to be a two-computer family, partly because Dennis and I shared a computer for a long time and partly because I can use his while mine is recuperating in the computer hospital, also known as Two Flags Computer in Douglas, Arizona. (Over the phone, Charles said I brought in a computer, and he’s giving me back a rocket ship. I’m both excited and apprehensive to find out what that means.)
Technologically, I’m grateful for the Internet and its proliferation of information, notwithstanding the frustration of getting 37,000,000 hits for the query “writing rules.” In the late 1980s, I was dating a techie from Los Alamos National Laboratory who impressed me by dialing the computer he’d brought home from work (even he didn’t have a personal computer) into the Internet’s predecessor, set up by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA). I was awed that he could search for data on a computer in Germany.
I’m grateful to have more ideas written down for poems, short stories, and novels than I would have time to write if I were twenty again and expected to live to be a hundred. Those ideas are like gold coins in a treasure chest.
Did I mention how grateful I am for my fellow scribblers? Thanks, Annette, Bob, Debrah, Jeri, JoySue, Pat, Priscilla, Ross, Steve, Terry, and everyone who’s dipped into our meetings and found that life had other plans for them.
I couldn’t do it alone, any more than the Pilgrims could have done it without the Indians.