By common reckoning, the year was 1461

MacDuff the Mac having at long last achieved a state of onlineness, persuaded by Time-Warner tech support last evening that there is, oh, yes, indeed, an internet in these greeny climes to which he has been exiled — today we chose faces decided to get on with downloading the needed software to make and upload books to the iBookstore.

This proved…difficult. Indeed, though much has been accomplished in pursuit of said software, yet it eludes both my hand and MacDuff’s hard drive. This is not, I hasten to say, the fault of either my hand or MacDuff. No, I lay this failure squarely at the feet of Steve Jobs.

In order to access iTunes Connect, which is the door behind which the special! software! is hidden, one must obtain an Apple ID and a password. This was done and my email address duly certified. I then went to iTunes Connect, certain that iTunes Producer would very shortly be in my possession, doubtless for a small fee.

In this I proved to be optimistic. For though I enter the Apple ID I had just verified and the password, ditto, iTunes Connect stands steadfast in its refusal to allow me to pass the door, stating Apple ID does not have permission to access iTunes Connect.

What I can’t figure out is if this means ever or only until the new ID and password filter through Apple Universe, though, really, how long ought that to take?

I also can’t figure out if there isn’t somewhere else besides iTunes Connect where one might obtain this all-important program. It being Appleware, probably not.


I also today talked on the phone with my sister, changed out old files for new, and signed about 100 of the 800 pages to be tipped in to specially pre-ordered volumes of Ghost Ship. It’s amusing how weird your signature looks after you’ve signed it only a hundred times. I may have a new name altogether by the time I get to sheet 800.

The day has been gray and clammy, threatening rain at any moment, though only now has the rain actually begun, in a dispirited, grumpy sort of way.

Scrabble is asleep in the copilot’s chair, directly next to MacDuff. Mozart naps on the arm of the sofa, the position from which he supervised my signing; Hexapuma is Worshipping His Steve.

Hope everyone is having a good weekend. What’s doing?

To history buffs, the year was 4171 A.U.C. To Christians, it was 3418. To Moslems, it was the middle of the year 2882. But by common reckoning, the year was 1461.

–Header for Chapter One of Starwell ©1968 by Alexei Panshin

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.