I’ve been adrift in the Cyber Sea. First, I hauled onboard ebook cargo and water swamped me ankles. Nevertheless, I found her to be a tight craft and christened her with a regal name. I ordered the crew: Stand fast, ye cowards. She’s a keeper, she is.
Always wary of some unforeseen emergency, I built a raft called the Amazon Wish List, least I become marooned on some topical island and can’t recall a single book title for me darling Kindle.
When I enlisted to serve on the USS Smashwords Ship, a white capped swell of some force buckled me knees. Curses, that travel guide comes with choppy water. Bail, bail for all your worth, yea hounds of paper and pen. But shall I find troubles or treasures in this new port?
In the midst of the storm and shanghaied from me work, a deckhand brought forth a percussion bomb that streams movies via the wind, but only in a perfectly triangulated mast of code, and, of course me shipmate’s computer illiterate, scurvy dog that he be. A tsunami of manuals and registrations nearly plunked me to the deep.
‘Support, support. Man overboard. What the heck is the sea witch SSID and where might I find a WEP key? Why throw these wet acronyms at me, you cryptic pirate? I should hire a translator to join me crew. Blast it! Can’t ye geeks speak Her Majesty’s English?’
And now I must add a dozen new passwords to me log, before I can tramp this coral pit. Tis not enough to be master of the written word.
I’ve yet to sail to the iPod islands that a related salty sent in honor of me day of birth. I did download iTunes, but me blubbery computer boat, as it were, slowed to half-knot. What’s up with that? Must have charted the wrong course there, hey? I’ll plod them waters another day.
Lashed to the wheel and braced for the wrecking, I received perilous news. I was late for a book session on Facebook. Heretofore, I had no inkling of any appointment, or how to navigate to this mystical land, or how to dock me ragged boat in harbor. Or what is expected of me when–and if–I arrive, alive and hale, upon this alien dock.
‘FB, blah. Tis a fat continent, filled with silly, lawless natives. A regular den of bohemians.’
Never have I spied so much email. Well, what. Not since me days of plundering the icy berths of Editred–now defunct. A hundred warning flags fouled me deck, when ER announced the failure of its writting kingdom.
‘Pitch the ballast overboard,’ I yelled. ‘Sail on, ye freaking tags.’
And all the while I master these things, me pen grows rusty. Me dory of stories freeze, dry rotting like a sea captain’s widow. Then me First Mate Blog gets ideas of mutiny. I’ll whip the cur silly, when I surf that way again.
A ray of sunlight beams on the stern, but I’ve had too much rocking. I am weary of Virtual World. I shall abandon ship. AWOL. I can backstroke to a calm sandbar and dog paddle from there. Let me sit with simple pad and trusty pen upon dry land. I’m soaked to the bone and want no more of the Cyber Sea… Well, not until I’ve drunk a barrel of rum and burnt me hide in the sun.