In 1981 I was at the tender age of fifteen years. A somewhat reckless youth who had lost all hope in the education system and was kicking against pretty much everything except girls, fags and heavy metal. In ten short years, thanks to a combination of bullying and teachers who didn’t care, I had gone from loving school and being something of a prodigy to loathing every second of it and longing for the final exams to come and end my misery. I have my reasons and there are many of them which are perhaps best left to another time. The long and the short of it is that as the thrill of the electric eighties dawned, young Alan Stevenson yawned.

One day it was announced in school assembly, to a tremendous buzz of excitement, that the school was getting four computers in the science lab. This was 1981 remember and MS Office was still an expensive little twinkle in Bill Gates eyes. The computers the school were getting were Sinclair Spectrums which now seem almost stone age but at the time were the stuff of Star Trek to kids the likes of me. I didn’t even do science and had to actually ask where the lab was.

Once the lab was located myself and two mates (one tall, one ginger) made our way to the outside one lunchtime to view these amazing machines through the window. It was almost as if Sir Clive had delivered them himself such was the rush of adrenaline about the place and students and teachers alike who were knowledgeable in such things would gather in the lab to look and yes, dare I say it, even touch them. Such privilege wasn’t afforded to us though and so we had to stare through the window with our greasy teenage noses pressed against the glass to see these technological marvels of the twentieth century.

Our noses hadn’t been pressed for long before there was a voice behind us saying ‘What are you three up to?’ We turned quickly and saw Mr P___ standing with his hands on his hips. Mr P___ was a short, moustachioed little piss-quick of a man who taught woodwork. His eyes only came level with my chest but he clearly thought he was the staff hard man when it came to keeping kids in line. He once accused a friend of mine of smoking (who hadn’t) because, and I quote ‘I saw the smoke coming out of your ears boy!’ A neat trick if you can do it.

‘We were trying to see the new computers Sir.’ I said, cringing inwardly at having to call him Sir.

‘I wouldn’t bother if I were you Stevenson.’ He replied. ‘The likes of you will never have anything to do with computers.’

* * *

Fast forward forty years. I’m currently on my sixth PC in total, with another one waiting in the wings. I have done ECDL and passed with distinction and have taught countless others the basics of computing. I went back to that school as a 36 year old man and worked as a Learning Resource Assistant (Mr P___ had left by then) for the English Department and I’d say that 75% of my job was computer based. Add to that I have created three blogs, numerous websites and written three full length novels; ON A COMPUTER!!!

So, I think it’s safe to say that Mr P___, once again, was talking out of his scrawny arse. Computers have been a part of my life since 1991, only ten years on from that fateful day outside the science lab.

What has amazed me most in all that time is the rapid advancement of the technological revolution we find ourselves living in. If you had told that fifteen year old boy that one day he would own a telephone that he could carry around in his pocket and send texts and email from it and interact on social media and all the other wonderful things that phones can do now, he would have laughed on your face. But it’s true. The advances have been breath-taking.

About fifteen years ago I looked into the possibility of self-publishing. I had a book (not a great one but not bad) ready to go and I had been rejected by several publishers who all said the same thing – ‘we like it but it’s too short.’ It was 54000 words and I just couldn’t see how I could add another 16000 to get it to where they wanted. And so, self-publishing seemed the way forward. Back then of course, self-publishing meant finding someone to manufacture and print the damn things and then you would end up with 500 to 2000 copies of your book sat in boxes in your garage and be scratching your head wondering how on earth you were going to sell them all.

But, things have changed again. It has now become so easy (dare I say too easy) to get self-published via on demand printing through the likes of KDP, Ingram Spark and Lulu. You sign up, you upload and hey presto, you’re an author. An independent author. Not a fake, not a wannabe, not a plastic author. A real, bona-fide independent author. And that, Mr P___, is what that long-haired scruff who was eyeing up the Sinclairs has become. An independent author.

In fact, I’m writing this on a computer right now.