The second important thing that happened was, night fell. It was dark, and my house on the Russian River was relatively isolated. I didn't have neighbors for at least a mile in any direction. Even better, a state preserve and recreation area meant it was near wilderness for many miles to the north.Just before midnight, I stood in the back yard, about where my pool might be going some day, and pulled the hood/mask down over my face and sealed it by 'zipping' the two layers of material together telekinetically. As I did, the heads up display blinked on. Cool air flowed over my face and sections of the suit went stiff."Here's the situational display," Bud's voice came through the suit. Suddenly there was a split screen view of two maps. Both showed me as a small blinking three bar chevron. The left hand map showed me from a top down perspective and the terrain and buildings around me were rendered as wire frame images. The right hand display showed me from the side with the elevation of. I have two, loaded to capacity, some of the shelves buckling under the weight. Paperbacks are jumbled with hardbacks, inexpensive and expensive volumes mix together in untidy heaps. Condition matters little to me in my organization. New books are stacked with the poorly bound and rotting ones. Today I’m writing sci-fi, so I pick a Richard Matheson book from the pile and flip through the acknowledgements to the first chapter, ‘PART ONE: January 1976…’ Its interesting reading books about the future written in the past, Orwell’s 1984, Matheson’s I Am Legend, 2001: A Space Odyssey. It’s fun to get into a book that is 100% bullshit and imagine what the original readers thought of these grim looks at their future which is rapidly becoming our past. I often wonder about the great literary minds of the past and present. I imagine them crouched over their typewriters and I wonder, if any, what habits they enjoyed while whittling away at their various opuses. Did they have a hard scotch,.
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