Brilliant.
Arrived in the Mile High and before the internet could get hooked up, my computer suffered some sort of stroke. Crimeny. Right as I'm sitting here with no Web, no car, no job, nothing but loads of time to devote to novel-writing. I suppose I should have impulse-purchased that old typewriter I saw in Chicago. That'll teach me to be frugal.
So the computer is in the shop and it's going to cost me about $300 to fix, and hopefully nothing I've saved there will get erased, like my research, and photos, and wedding info, and the images I've saved for this blog, and my entire iTunes library. I tried to perform an emergency back up of my stuff, but the computer froze mid-burn and went black. Clearly, my computer is an anarchist.
This, apparently, is the typewriter Hemingway owned, and actual descendants of some of his cats. I love how the descendants of Hemingway's cats have been traced, but my family still isn't entirely sure if great grandpa came from Russia or Germany.
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