For the past four or five summers, Mondays have been Animanga Club days for my kids at the San Marcos public library. For my kids, this means three hours to hang out with other kids who not only understand anime and manga, they truly, truly get it.
For me, this means three hours of interruption free writing time.
In the past, because my old laptop had a very short battery life, and... it was big, I was limited to places wherever I could find a plug, and had a nice big table to set up on. And believe me, the tables with plugs at the San Marcos library fill up fast.
This also meant people being able to look over my shoulder to see what I was typing away at so industriously, often to their (and my) chagrin. And as I've said in the past, I have issues with people being able to look over my shoulder when I'm working, whether it's writing, sketching, sewing... I don't like it.
Now, however, I have my new SHINY, and I'm sitting with my back to a wall. It's... nice. Plus, the MacBook is light, and doesn't get hot, so... I can have it in my lap. If I get really adventurous, I might go hole up in one of the library's out of the way corners to write... except then, the kids would panic because they wouldn't be able to find me when the club lets out. Oh well.
I can't get over how quiet this laptop is. There's no optical drive, so... no whirring, no clicks, no fan noise... just the gentle clicking of my keyboard. And wow, isn't that miles and miles away from the loud percussive clacking of the IBM Selectric I first learned to type on in junior high?
Yes, I'm that old. Typing was required when I was in junior high.
So... it's nice to only hear quiet when I sit here and write.
Just thought I'd mention it...
Showing posts with label library. Show all posts
Showing posts with label library. Show all posts
Monday, July 22, 2013
Monday, June 18, 2012
Writing in Public...
Yes, I'm in the public library in San Marcos yet again for another summer. For the past three years, the Impertinent Daughter has been going to meetings for the Animanga Club. The Impossible Son and I would find a table with available plugs and hunker down for the duration. Sometimes, he would find a pile of manga to read, or books that interested him. Or I would check out a library computer for him to play games on while I did some writing. Because I've been finding it easier to write at the library than at home.
Writer's block sucks, by the way, just in case you were wondering.
This year, though, the Impossible Son is old enough to go to Animanga Club, too, so I am actually alone at my table... and finding it almost impossible to write. Part of it is missing my little companion... who isn't so little any more, by the way. And the other part is... paranoia. Because most of the tables near accessible and available plugs do not have sides that face convenient walls, so... anyone can walk up behind me and read over my shoulder, and regardless of what I'm writing, I have never liked having anyone read or look over my shoulder. Sucked when I was taking art in college, because that's all the teachers do is look over your shoulder to judge your progress.
Anyhow, whenever I'm working on something a little... er... adult, shall we say... I can always tell who read over my shoulder by the fact that their ears are turning red as they hurry away.
*sigh*
Add in my extreme dislike of sitting with my back to doors or wide open areas, and you can see my problem. Thank you, high school, for giving me that particular issue.
Still, my kids are enjoying themselves and probably were a big hit when they walked in the door. Come on, it's an Animanga club, and the kids both have wildly colored hair. The Impertinent Daughter, though she started the summer red, is now once again blue, and the Impossible Son opted for bright florescent green (it glows under black light, how cool is THAT??). This, of course, makes me the Coolest Mom Ever. Thank you, Manic Panic.
So far, all I've really accomplished today, writing-wise, is a long email to my mom, and this blog entry. Did I mention writer's block sucks? Because it does. Like a Hoover. Or a Dyson. No... a Hoover. Because it sucks like crap.
Anyhow, if this keeps up, I'm either going to have to beg my husband for either a new battery for this old laptop so I can sit in odd corners and type away to my heart's content (what a COOL idea, and I know just the corner I could use, too!!), or beg for a new laptop, which really, we can't. Because I want my next laptop to be a Mac (no, I am no longer a fan of Windows, how did you know?). And to be fair, the next person in the family who should get a laptop should be Miss Impertinence. After all, she'll be starting college in two years...
*has a moment of major Mom-Freak-Out*
OMG... she'll be graduating high school in two years. Excuse me, I have to find a paper bag, because I'm hyperventilating. Because, no way. I mean, she only took her first steps LAST YEAR... right? Where the hell did the time go?? Is it a rule of quantum physics or something that time goes from dragging so that it takes approximately three years to go from Christmas to Christmas to suddenly only a week passing before it's Christmas again?? Since when did we go from "slower than molasses in January" time to warp speed, warp factor 11?
Those commercials weren't kidding. Life comes at you fast. Somebody should have told me to wear a helmet!!
Writer's block sucks, by the way, just in case you were wondering.
This year, though, the Impossible Son is old enough to go to Animanga Club, too, so I am actually alone at my table... and finding it almost impossible to write. Part of it is missing my little companion... who isn't so little any more, by the way. And the other part is... paranoia. Because most of the tables near accessible and available plugs do not have sides that face convenient walls, so... anyone can walk up behind me and read over my shoulder, and regardless of what I'm writing, I have never liked having anyone read or look over my shoulder. Sucked when I was taking art in college, because that's all the teachers do is look over your shoulder to judge your progress.
Anyhow, whenever I'm working on something a little... er... adult, shall we say... I can always tell who read over my shoulder by the fact that their ears are turning red as they hurry away.
*sigh*
Add in my extreme dislike of sitting with my back to doors or wide open areas, and you can see my problem. Thank you, high school, for giving me that particular issue.
Still, my kids are enjoying themselves and probably were a big hit when they walked in the door. Come on, it's an Animanga club, and the kids both have wildly colored hair. The Impertinent Daughter, though she started the summer red, is now once again blue, and the Impossible Son opted for bright florescent green (it glows under black light, how cool is THAT??). This, of course, makes me the Coolest Mom Ever. Thank you, Manic Panic.
So far, all I've really accomplished today, writing-wise, is a long email to my mom, and this blog entry. Did I mention writer's block sucks? Because it does. Like a Hoover. Or a Dyson. No... a Hoover. Because it sucks like crap.
Anyhow, if this keeps up, I'm either going to have to beg my husband for either a new battery for this old laptop so I can sit in odd corners and type away to my heart's content (what a COOL idea, and I know just the corner I could use, too!!), or beg for a new laptop, which really, we can't. Because I want my next laptop to be a Mac (no, I am no longer a fan of Windows, how did you know?). And to be fair, the next person in the family who should get a laptop should be Miss Impertinence. After all, she'll be starting college in two years...
*has a moment of major Mom-Freak-Out*
OMG... she'll be graduating high school in two years. Excuse me, I have to find a paper bag, because I'm hyperventilating. Because, no way. I mean, she only took her first steps LAST YEAR... right? Where the hell did the time go?? Is it a rule of quantum physics or something that time goes from dragging so that it takes approximately three years to go from Christmas to Christmas to suddenly only a week passing before it's Christmas again?? Since when did we go from "slower than molasses in January" time to warp speed, warp factor 11?
Those commercials weren't kidding. Life comes at you fast. Somebody should have told me to wear a helmet!!
Monday, June 27, 2011
Library day...
So, I'm at the library today. The Impertinent Daughter has her Ani-Manga Club meeting. The Impossible Son gets to play on the heavily filtered kid computers and go to library approved gamesites that he can't go to at home, because our computer slows down to neolithic speeds otherwise. I'm not sure how the library's tech team does it, but the library computers seem to have no problem with it. Our Mac, though, does.
And what do I get out of this? Time to write, uninterrupted. Well, except for the fact that there are those who wander about, looking specifically for people using personal laptops, and feel compelled to do a bit of "over the shoulder cruising."
I hate it when people look over my shoulder when I'm working on something, whether it's writing, sewing, crocheting, drawing, whatever. I can't stand it. And it would be truly nice if I could set up somewhere with my back to a wall, but there are no plugs near the tables by walls, and my laptop's battery power lasts for about, oh... 23 seconds. Yeah, need to replace it, I know, I know, but... you know, things like dental appointments, and mortgage payments and FOOD come first.
Anyhow, I do what I can, and try not to feel too paranoid, and the kids are happy. Well, until the Impossible Son gets bored of the computer and wanders around to find a book, then comes to sit with me. Then he'll start snorting and snickering, and feel compelled to read the funny bits of whatever book he's reading out loud to me, and I won't get it because (a) I haven't read the book and (b) he's giggling too much to be coherent. I'll still laugh, though, because he's funny, though I'll pretend I'm laughing at what he's reading, to save his feelings, you understand.
Plus there's the added bonus of people-watching. I enjoy people-watching. You never know what you're going to get. Last week, I got to watch a young guy who had "Saggy Pants Syndrome." His jeans were hanging down around his thighs and his underwear, as a result, were slowly sliding down as well. I was amused when he pulled his underwear up... but not his jeans.
Then he sat down. This did not help.
It ended when a librarian came by to fuss at him for his jeans practically falling down around his ankles, whereupon he felt compelled to start wandering around. He passed me, and I realized he was also Hygienically Challenged.
Yes, a good time was had by all.
So, I suppose at some point, I should finish this entry, and like a good little author, get to work.
Yeah, not so much of the writing getting done.
*sigh*
Note to Muse: This would be a really good time for you to show up. WHERE ARE YOU??
No love,
Jo
Oh well, back to the salt mines!!
And what do I get out of this? Time to write, uninterrupted. Well, except for the fact that there are those who wander about, looking specifically for people using personal laptops, and feel compelled to do a bit of "over the shoulder cruising."
I hate it when people look over my shoulder when I'm working on something, whether it's writing, sewing, crocheting, drawing, whatever. I can't stand it. And it would be truly nice if I could set up somewhere with my back to a wall, but there are no plugs near the tables by walls, and my laptop's battery power lasts for about, oh... 23 seconds. Yeah, need to replace it, I know, I know, but... you know, things like dental appointments, and mortgage payments and FOOD come first.
Anyhow, I do what I can, and try not to feel too paranoid, and the kids are happy. Well, until the Impossible Son gets bored of the computer and wanders around to find a book, then comes to sit with me. Then he'll start snorting and snickering, and feel compelled to read the funny bits of whatever book he's reading out loud to me, and I won't get it because (a) I haven't read the book and (b) he's giggling too much to be coherent. I'll still laugh, though, because he's funny, though I'll pretend I'm laughing at what he's reading, to save his feelings, you understand.
Plus there's the added bonus of people-watching. I enjoy people-watching. You never know what you're going to get. Last week, I got to watch a young guy who had "Saggy Pants Syndrome." His jeans were hanging down around his thighs and his underwear, as a result, were slowly sliding down as well. I was amused when he pulled his underwear up... but not his jeans.
Then he sat down. This did not help.
It ended when a librarian came by to fuss at him for his jeans practically falling down around his ankles, whereupon he felt compelled to start wandering around. He passed me, and I realized he was also Hygienically Challenged.
Yes, a good time was had by all.
So, I suppose at some point, I should finish this entry, and like a good little author, get to work.
Yeah, not so much of the writing getting done.
*sigh*
Note to Muse: This would be a really good time for you to show up. WHERE ARE YOU??
No love,
Jo
Oh well, back to the salt mines!!
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Life with the Impossible Son
So, we're walking out of the San Marcos Library, and the Impossible Son says, "You know what I hate about super models?"
Okay, I thought, That's a bit of a non-sequiter! I'm used to those, though, thanks to the Impertinent One. "No, what do you hate about super-models?" I said, curious.
"They complain too much!" He skipped along next to me and frowned up at me. "Always complaining!"
"Oh," I said, nodding thoughtfully. "Spend a lot of time around super-models, do you?"
He grinned and started running for the van. "None of your beeswax!" he shouted over his shoulder.
"Hey!" I said, catching up. "I'm your mother! I have a right to know if you're hanging out with super models!"
The Husbandly One and the Impertinent Daughter stared at us with puzzled frowns. "What's going on, Mum?" Miss Priss asked.
"Mr. Impossible complained about super models, and I asked if he made a habit of hanging around them without telling us and he told me it's none of my beeswax!" I said indignantly as I got in the car.
"Wow," said the Husbandly One. "That's disrespectful."
"Hey," said the Impossible Son with a casual shrug. "I have a whole secret life none of you know about! That's just the way it is. Deal."
Then later, as we headed for home, the Impossible Son piped up, "Hey, Mom, are you going to bake cookies today?"
"I'll see what I can do," I said with a sigh. "Why?"
"I want to take a few samples so I can go down to my secret lab and do more work on my formula."
"Formula?" said the Husbandly One. "What formula?"
"I'm working on a formula for mind control," said the Impossible Son, leaning back in his seat with his DSLite. "If I get it right and add it to Mom's cookies, it will help her plan for World Domination Through Cookies move forward! I'm like... her assistant. Like... a mad scientist, but... none of you are allowed in my secret lab, so don't ask!"
"Okay," said the Husbandly One dubiously. "Just don't blow anything up. I'm not sure our homeowner's insurance would cover explosions and damage from an underground secret lab."
Yes, the Impossible Son has a rich, imaginative life. I wonder if conversations like this are the reason behind some of the very strange looks we get in public? Heh, heh, heh...
Okay, I thought, That's a bit of a non-sequiter! I'm used to those, though, thanks to the Impertinent One. "No, what do you hate about super-models?" I said, curious.
"They complain too much!" He skipped along next to me and frowned up at me. "Always complaining!"
"Oh," I said, nodding thoughtfully. "Spend a lot of time around super-models, do you?"
He grinned and started running for the van. "None of your beeswax!" he shouted over his shoulder.
"Hey!" I said, catching up. "I'm your mother! I have a right to know if you're hanging out with super models!"
The Husbandly One and the Impertinent Daughter stared at us with puzzled frowns. "What's going on, Mum?" Miss Priss asked.
"Mr. Impossible complained about super models, and I asked if he made a habit of hanging around them without telling us and he told me it's none of my beeswax!" I said indignantly as I got in the car.
"Wow," said the Husbandly One. "That's disrespectful."
"Hey," said the Impossible Son with a casual shrug. "I have a whole secret life none of you know about! That's just the way it is. Deal."
Then later, as we headed for home, the Impossible Son piped up, "Hey, Mom, are you going to bake cookies today?"
"I'll see what I can do," I said with a sigh. "Why?"
"I want to take a few samples so I can go down to my secret lab and do more work on my formula."
"Formula?" said the Husbandly One. "What formula?"
"I'm working on a formula for mind control," said the Impossible Son, leaning back in his seat with his DSLite. "If I get it right and add it to Mom's cookies, it will help her plan for World Domination Through Cookies move forward! I'm like... her assistant. Like... a mad scientist, but... none of you are allowed in my secret lab, so don't ask!"
"Okay," said the Husbandly One dubiously. "Just don't blow anything up. I'm not sure our homeowner's insurance would cover explosions and damage from an underground secret lab."
Yes, the Impossible Son has a rich, imaginative life. I wonder if conversations like this are the reason behind some of the very strange looks we get in public? Heh, heh, heh...
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