On The Gold Coast: Computer Monster
Ever lost words in your computer? Judith Wallis has even thought of posting a notice on her clip board: All Lost Stories Please Meet Here 9 am Friday.
Somewhere in the depths of my computer is a monster. A greedy monster with an insatiable appetite for original writing.
Not just any old scrap but the best, those rare and delightful little gems that are composed in a flash of brilliancy. The sharp witty pieces that arrive in a moment of inspiration and are immediately lost from the mind. Certainly from my mind.
I find such moments impossible to recapture unless I write them down immediately, allowing the words to flow onto the computer screen in the first flare of creativity. And as I type the monster is smiling and licking his lips. I know he is lurking inside my computer waiting to gobble up my best efforts.
And he is mean. He does not strike at the first draught but waits, skulking on his bed of stolen words, until I have spent and hour or two correcting and editing my work. Then, when flushed with self satisfaction I go to make a celebratory cup of tea, he snatches my work from the screen and hides it, like the crocodile takes his meal beneath water, storing it in the depths to be devoured at leisure.
Back at the keyboard I search, checking all the hiding places he has used in the past. But the monster is smarter than I. He moves frequently to deeper, more arcane lairs, the discovery of which is beyond the scope of this technically challenged female.
I tried posting notices on the Clip Board.
All Lost Stories please meet here 9 am Friday.
Attention! Words in the Wilderness. It is safe to come out now.
and Regurgitate you B*. I want it back!
There has been no response.
If I loose something in my handbag the solution is simple. Just turn it upside down and shake. The missing object will emerge along with a mass of hoarded bits and bobs that may include a jelly baby smeared with melted chocolate, a forgotten memento from an afternoon at the movies with the grandchildren.
It is a pity I cannot shake the computer. There are times when I would like to. Instead I call a Monster Buster.
My favourite M.B. is a barely a metre tall. He wears a cheerful grin on his freckled face and his fee is reasonable, usually a selection of freshly baked biscuits, orangeade and an apple.
His own hunger satisfied he challenges that of the monster. His fingers lightly tap the keyboard.
‘There you are, Gran. Is that what you wanted?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ And I rewarded him with a kiss that makes him squirm.
My computer literate grandchildren are such a blessing.
