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."
"Your toilet articles?"
"Ah, yes. Plastic bag dispenser in buttery-just dump 'em into a bag and
shove them in with the bundle. Honey, you're going to make a wonderful wife!"
"You are so right. Long practice, dear-widows always make the best wives.
Want to hear about my husbands?"
"Yes but not now. Save it for some long evening when you have a headache
and I'm too tired." Having dumped ninety percent of my packing onto Gwen I
tackled the hardest ten percent: my business records and files.
Writers are pack rats, mostly, whereas professional military leam to travel
light, again mostly. This dichotomy could have made me schizoid were it not for
the most wonderful invention for writers since the eraser on the end of a
pencil: electronic files.
I use Sony Megawafers, each good for half a million words, each two
centimeters wide, three millimeters thick, with information packed so densely
that it doesn't bear thinking about. I sat down at the terminal, took off my
prosthesis (peg leg, if you prefer), opened its top. Then I removed all my
memory wafers from the terminal's selector, fed them into the cylinder that is
the "shinbone" of my prosthesis, closed it and put it back on.
I now had all the files necessary to my business: contracts, business
letters, file copies of my copyrighted works, general correspondence, address
files, notes for stories to be written, tax records, et cetera, and so forth, ad
nauseam
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