On the almost eve of the release of the next generation ipad (sounds a lot clunkier than just saying ipad3—thank you, Apple!) I can say without reservation or regret that I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of my white 32-gb bundle of high-definition joy. Sure, I dealt with the typical white Anglo Saxon consumerism-driven pangs of buyer’s remorse, but that lasted about as long as it took to say “4G.” As a writer there is nothing more exciting than the ability to write anywhere whether at one’s lunch break at work, at line to renew one’s driver’s license, or the doctor’s office. With so many wonderfully productive apps such as Notably, Daily Notes+Todo and Evernote, the ability to write anywhere at any time has never been more accessible.
What no app in the world can accomplish as of yet is to lessen the terror of writer’s block, cure a lamentable lack of discipline or summon ideas from the murky depths of one’s subconscious, especially one that is full of reality shows and Science channel documentaries on the possibility of life on Mars. In spite of all the electronic gadgets, forums and other helpful distractions, writing remains a disturbing yet oddly satisfying threesome between the heart, the mind and a blank sheet of paper. Somehow I find that comforting. In a world that has become increasingly intrusive with social networks making it harder and harder to go to the bathroom in peace, the one-on-one between me and the page is like an exciting conversation that happens on a great first date. Even better as the relationship I’ve had with my writing has been a 33-year long love affair that shows no signs of abating.
As a child of Atari and Commodore 64 I am excited by new technologies and gadgets. As a writer I look forward to observing how these new technologies affect American culture in general and my life in particular. I can tell you that while my ipad is a wonderful companion, my 10-year old, beat up, faux-leather exacompta journal goes with me all those wonderful places that wi-fi still cannot go.
