PC vs Mac for the Writer

Answering this question as easy as possible: is PC or Mac better for us writers?

Back in November I had to trade out my Macbook Air since it decided to die on me out of nowhere. Luckily I was able to save all my files before jumping ship, so no progress on my book was lost, thank the gods. So I decided to pick up a PC Laptop instead and see if it would serve me better. I grew up with PC’s, so it was a format I was much more familiar with until I decided to use a Macbook Air during my college years.

Since about age twelve I’ve been using both PC and Mac laptops for writing. I wrote my first book on an old Dell laptop, before trying out Mac for a good three years.  I used that Macbook for all my college essays and research projects, and for a good chunk of my work-in-progress book “TALES FROM THE LAST GREAT LAKE.” I ended up really pissed at that laptop for dying on me all of a sudden, but kudos to it for carrying me to my B.A. in English.

So which worked better for me as a writer?

Well..they both have their pros and cons. Macbooks are much better for writing outside of the house. My Macbook Air was super easy to carry around if I wanted to get some work done in a waiting room, airport, coffee shop, you name it. And Macbooks also seem to have a much better battery life. I could write for hours out of the house and not worry about the battery at all.

The PC laptop I have now isn’t the greatest for “on the go” writing; it’s not only noticeably heavier, even when compared to the Macbook Pro, but its battery doesn’t last as long. Meaning I either need to sit next to an outlet if I want to write in public for an extended period, or I should just not bother lugging it around. Granted there are PC laptops with great battery life but they are a pretty penny and I’m not rich.

If you’re the type of writer who loves to write in a Starbucks for hours on end, Macbooks are the way to go. But if you’re usually going to just stay at home for writing, either one will do just fine.

However, the PC has a lot more user-friendly formatting. Downloading software and extensions is easier to work with which means less headache time, more writing time. Also, almost all PC laptops nowadays have touch-screen. For a writer that means if you’re re-reading past chapters, or doing some research, it’s much faster to scroll through tons of ePubs or PDF’s with your finger than awkwardly scrolling on the touchpad. My current laptop (Samsung Notebook 7 Spin) also bends back so it can turn into a tablet. This makes reading on my laptop so much easier. Macbooks really need to upgrade to a touch screen if they want to impress me in this regard. Plus it makes watching Hulu or Netflix simpler too, for those well earned breaks from writing.

Finally like most other writer I love having music to listen to. Now I haven’t been able to test the speaker quality of many PC’s, but my Macbook Air’s speakers were the best I’ve had compared to the three PC laptops I’ve owned. They all work just fine. But for good background jams to get that mood for a scene just write, I definitely miss my Macbook’s. (Then again this is easily remedied by plugging in headphones, but still.)

Overall, I might have to lean more towards PC, for the fact that they’re almost all touch-screen these days and there are a lot more options for different models, functions, features, and capability. With Macbooks, be it Air or Pro, you know exactly what you’re getting every time and there is less diversity with that.

My experience with writing on a Macbook made it easier to write on the go, but that’s about the only reason I would choose one over a PC. If I had a PC laptop as light as a Macbook Air and with that kind of battery life there would be no contest (technically they’re out there, but based on reviews I’ve read they dearly lack in quality.)

Again, take this all with a grain of salt. I’m not a professional rater of computers and this is all just based off of hundreds of hours spent writing on different types of laptops and how that worked for me.



The GOOD news is that the reason this blog has been so inactive is because I spend all my free time working on TALES FROM THE LAST GREAT LAKE.

I just have the grand finale to write and then the first draft is FINISHED.

Just a reminder that this blog isn’t dead; the author is just very busy and trying to get this book wrapped up fast as I can. You’ll be hearing about it long before the ink dries, don’t worry.


As long as I can remember I have wanted the answers to everything. Into my preteen years I needed to know things like “Who is God?”, “Who am I?”, “Why am I here?”, “Why is all of this happening to me?”, and of course “What is my purpose?”

When I thought I had the answers, I was content. Content to let myself sit back and assume everything I had been raised to believe was true. Content to not change my worldview. When the answers were taken for me, I had to open my eyes.

Now I don’t have the answers, only a sense of wondering and aimlessness plaguing at me. But maybe…that’s not such a bad thing?

Maybe we will never know who we really are in this life…and that’s okay.

Maybe we’ll never have a definitive answer of who God is, what the universe is made of, and why we’re here…and it’s all okay.

It’s not about having all the answers. It’s about experiencing everything this plane of existence has to offer before we’re sent back home.

I’ve lived my whole life never feeling like I truly belonged, like I never had a place I could call home, and at this point I’m learning to accept the fact that I might feel this way until the day I die. I won’t be home until I leave my body and join the stars. But until then, I have shit to do.


Ruger stood outside the church building the following Thursday morning, a day that had been forecast for a cloudless sky and a gentle breeze from Canada, paving the way for a perfect day on the lake for boaters and fishers alike.  Instead the air smelled of rotting lemons and tasted like a curse soured by time.  And instead of a blue roof adorning the auditorium, clouds the color of cavity ridden teeth sagged down and cast the humidity of a room without windows.  The marquee downtown began to flicker out the beginning of the end of its days.  And instead of a sweet wind rustling the leaves, the air hung as still as a corpse, and the only sound was that of the cicadas chanting in every field around town, surrounding civilization with the wild cry.  A sickly yellow haze passed over the land.  Sweat poured from places people forgot they could even sweat, soaking them in their own stench until no one offered an embrace or arm on the shoulder, or even a handshake, but they kept to themselves to drown deeper into the steam clutching at their throats, until the night may offer a small bit of comfort.  It was not turning out to be a golden summer.

–  TALES FROM THE LAST GREAT LAKE. Work in progress. Coming soon.

Why I Write What I Write

You probably noticed that this blog has not been active recently. Lots of new stuff has been thrown onto me lately. New car. New job. New home. New friends.

So, between moving into a different place, working full time, and adjusting to life all on my own, it’s been tough to make myself stick to my writing and not put it off too much.

When I finally had a day off today and enough time to write, I found it difficult to enter back in the swing of things with so much else on my mind. I could be worrying about budget, my car running low on gas, keeping up with social connections, picking up prescriptions, or a bunch of other things. It’s so hard to focus sometimes.

But I also found that it’s not enough just to want to write a good story. Not enough to want to finish this project just because I started it.

In order to keep at it, I have to remember the why. Why am I writing this book? Why does it mean so much to me? Why have I put so much of my time and energy into a story that’s still far from done?

And when I go back to answering that question, I find the Muse sitting down next to me and draining the lead from my fingers. I guess for me the satisfaction of finishing a project or the possible success of a project can’t motivate me.

And most of all, if I can’t honestly answer why I’m writing what I’m writing, maybe I should not be writing it at all.

For me that “Why” answer has varied from “Dammit I had a bad week and I can indulge in a self-insert fanfic all I fucking please” to “I really need to write this in order to process my past.” As long as there is a why in the first place.