I have spent six years writing a historical novel which I still love creating. The more I use a laptop however, the more frustrated I become. The only thing I like is the neatness of the font. The thing I hate is placing a soulless mechanism between me and what I write. Even with new laptops and printers there is often some electronic impediment I don’t know how to fix. I think back to university days when I hand wrote sixty- page essays and two theses on different coloured stacks of beautiful paper – white for draft one, green for two, and glorious orange for the final. The departmental secretary removed errors of spacing and punctuation with an immaculate eye. In ten days the work was edited, printed and bound within the university. My computer written book however, is a model of alienation – a dilution of soul perhaps, which may have entered the blood of the writing . It is the work of a creative writer who is also a Luddite. The novel has taken four times longer than it should have, and if I write a sequel, it will be by hand. I never forget that the greatest works in human history were handwritten also. Thank you for reading, and listening between the words.