Out of Touch

It’s always interesting when the Internet ceases to exist.

Well, in ones own home.

I really don’t want to see the whole modern world come to a screeching halt with commerce in a tangle. rather amazing how quickly it has become possible to order something from half way around the World while sitting at your dining room table.

And half the time not having the faintest idea that it was from China, India, or Belgium.

On that last . . . I was aware that I was buying from Belgium . . . but it was half the substantial  price . . . but in 2001 I wasn’t yet at ease with flinging money into the ether, confident that in the end I would indeed be receiving, in this case, a semi-pro level bassoon for the musically inclined son who was off to college in a few months.

Skip forward twenty-two years and this is commonplace.

But I still mostly collect free or cheap information from the internet.

And when that is cut off, it feels very limiting.

Also very freeing, especially of time. I can’t instantly get an explanation of police ranking, but I can’t also spend hours deciding among the possibilities, getting distracted by army ranks, and should I use Russian or German terms?

You just stick a marker in to /// check later and get on with the writing.

The only advantage to living in the boonies, in a house older than the internet which has never been cableized is that, well, that occasionally your phone line has issues or the geriatric DSL system has a problem, and there you are, in splendid isolation.

Cursing that once again, you failed to find out how much it would cost to (1) cableize your house (2) get that hot spot thingy working that you already paid for (3) look into a dish or just give up and live at Starbucks.

And also getting a lot of distraction-free writing done.

Decisions, decisions . . . all right. THIS TIME I swear, I really will get the hot spot thing working.

Fortunately I did get the latest book published before the latest outage, horrible cover and all. I really need to do covers earlier in the process, so I don’t feel rushed and give up too soon.

Got lots of writing done. Might be a little too . . . something . . . have a sample . . .

As the dinner gong sounded, he carried trays of appetizers up the stairs to a table in the main entry so the under staffed servers didn’t have to go so far, then soups . . . he froze as the lights flickered, steadied. The wind driven rain hit the north and west windows.

The storm’s here. I hope we can get through dinner without the power failing.

He hauled trays of the beef and vegetable dishes as thunder rumbled, lightning throwing sharp flashes of light through the uncovered upper windows, and the glass panels on either side of the main entry. 

Everyone was jumpy, and not just because of the storm. Rising voices from the smaller dining room, men yelling over the storm and each other . . .

Arkady set down a tray crammed with deserts and stepped to where he could see through the doorway of the smaller dining room.

Lord Ipati leaping to his feet both hands up and raised . . . guns in both hands. Waving them theatrically at the ceiling. “Will you all just shut up and . . .”

A flash of light, crash of thunder, felt, not just heard as the lights died.

The crack of shots fired, muzzle flashes in the dark . . .

OK, the idsolation may have unhinged the brain a bit . . . Don’t worry, probably only temporary . . . I am back in touch with the rest of the world, honest . . .