From time to time I get feedback from one of my friends, coworkers or otherwise readers of the blog, or even just somebody with whom I’m speaking in person or over the telephone. The theme of this feedback is often that I speak and write “like a book.”
The brutal, honest truth here is that this is totally intentional on my part. I don’t know if it’s that I intend to sound stuffy, or if it’s just that I intend to write in such a way as to convey that I’m actually sitting at my computer, much like Kevin Costner in the 1983 Apple Lisa advertisement, or one of those guys in another old computer ad (PDF). You know the kind — they’ve got this guy sitting at the computer in question, and he is considering his science or business data very, very carefully. Like, he’s really serious about this stuff. And he’s sitting in the most awkward position, possibly using the mouse wrong. But man… science or business!
Yeah. That’s basically it. Of course, my vision is slightly altered from either of these. I see it as a situation where I’m sitting at the desk in my office, which is both minimalistic and fairly well-appointed. I have a fairly simple, but huge, desk with a lightly colored granite or granite-like countertop, glossy and smooth to make it easier to use a mouse. Floating in the middle left region of this large surface, which is probably four feet deep by six or eight feet wide, is my computer, which is a late ’80s or early ’90s desktop computer. I’m thinking of something similar to a SiliconGraphics Indigo2, a NeXTStation, or a Mac II series machine. Atop this desktop wonder is a glorious monitor, between sixteen and twenty one inches in diagonal size, and it’s naturally one of the most beautiful monitors available at the time. It matches the machine in question almost perfectly, of course. In front of the machine are a great keyboard and an acceptable and matching mouse.
Although a fairly great office chair is available, it spends much of its time docked in the corner of the room, hidden out of the way of the desk and the fireplace, which as the evening wears on and I lower the desk from standing height to sitting height, brings warmness to the room against the cool, chilling dusk, which peeks in from the large window, the curtain of which had been open just a sliver.
Although the height-adjustable desk is by no means a necessity, especially in the 1990s, It’s something I’d very seriously enjoy having around, especially given that it’s nice and I can sometimes focus better on my work on the computer when I am able to do something and draw my focus to and from the computer as I move around the room with freedom in order to refocus, or reference some printed material, or in the case of my current room/office with more than one computer, do something on another computer. Seriously though, will somebody buy me one of these?
It is also fairly common knowledge that I’m on the war-path against CRT monitors, especially large ones, and old, inefficient machines. So why do I want you to think I’m using a high-watt ’90s technical workstation and a giant CRT display? I think the presumption that I’m making is that this is either “1993 Cory that magically has enough money for a midrange UNIX technical workstation for the purpose of his illustrious writing career,” or “Cory who has discovered the best energy source, and is using this old UNIX machine as a beautiful front end to a small (or large) but far more powerful system, primarily because he can do it without worrying about his carbon footprint.” Also, American writers tend to be granted things like addictions, excesses and the like.
But please, don’t think of me as being addicted to anything, but you can think of me as a 1990s novelist with money to spend on a high end computer, if you’d like.