SSshhhh!!! Don't Tell the Pocket Book!!

So. I read today that no self-respecting writer should be without a blog. Luckily, I'm not particularly self-respecting; after all I know me, and it's not pretty, as many would probably testify. However, today I have finally decided that for a writer, a blog may be a good idea, so I am therefore stepping bravely into the modern world, and damn the consequences. Hell, I might even get a phone that does internet. But enough of the big-man talk.

The only problem I am having so far (and I do admit it's possibly a little early to be finding problems, even for a picky swine like me), is that i feel like I am cheating on my trusty little leather-bound pocket book. My scruffy brown companion has been with me everywhere over the last four months, helping document all my rambling thoughts, snippets of ideas and the records of the characters i have encountered then made snap judgements about on trains and in cafes. It has been soaked, scorched, dropped, thrown and shamefully even forgotten at times, but it has always been there, waiting for me like an obedient manservant. My Jeeves if you will. And now I've replaced him with a robot hoover.

He will never be truly replaced though (Great. I've personified it. I feel even guiltier now). What he lacks in modernism and readership numbers, he more than compensates in making writing actually feel like writing; he gives the unrivalled sense of pen on paper, the place where it all began for us as writers. Unless of course you are young enough to only remember writing on a computer, in which case, i have some shocking news: I spent 19 years of my life using a phone that had to stay plugged in to the wall. You kids don't know you are born. Anyway, I digress.

He will still keep safe all the little secrets and germs of ideas that I don't want anyone else to read, and best of all, he can't be beaten for portability. At least all the time I don't have a smartphone anyway. Maybe i'll hold off getting one of those for a while, actually. That way, I can have my literary cake and eat it after all. Which is good. Because I like cake.

So thats my first postcard posted then; and I enjoyed writing it every bit as much as the traditional way. Reading back, I have also discovered i may have a phone obsession, which I'm sure there is probably a perverted sounding word for somewhere out there, but that's a matter for another time.

Yours,

J. Swike.