My ancient MacBook is getting ready to be put out to pasture. It seems just yesterday that I brought it home from the Apple store in Hawaii and took it out of the box, all shiny and new, purring to life as soon as I pressed the power button. It played my CDs without skipping, it navigated the internet with ease. I could have so many tabs open in my browser! Now it sounds like an airplane about to take off, freezes at the slightest provocation, and gives me the spinning rainbow wheel of death at every opportunity. Its keyboard is eternally grubby and the plastic covering on the bottom is warped by heat. Matt, my wizard of all things technological, does not specialize in Macs, and we agreed that I should start using the desktop and/or get an updated Chromebook soon. The resident Chromebook promptly and mysteriously shorted out its screen shortly after witnessing this conversation, and I became fearful that the MacBook would follow suit and devour the final draft of Hellhound out of spite juuuust before publication.
It did not, obviously, and for Hellhound’s sequel, I’ll be getting the Windows version of Scrivener and moving house to the desktop. (I’ll also be doing a lot of copy-pasting from the Mac file to the Windows, since a lot has already been written and, lo and behold, you can’t open a Scrivener Mac file in the Windows version of Scrivener, but eh, you can’t have everything). The laptop does have one saving grace, though: it’s the only machine in the house that will still take discs. “As long as you want to copy your mixes from college onto a hard drive,” whispers the laptop, “you will always need me. Can you cope with life without Britney Spears and Journey?”
Touché, MacBook. Touché.