In preparation for a research trip to Europe next year, I have bought a Powerbook which can store nearly five million words; in addition, it has an external drive for further storage on floppy disks. A fax-Modem attachment will allow me to electronically mail columns back to Australia. The newest machine weighs the same as the one I did not buy in 1983.

As with everyone who has made the change to computerised word processing, I now cannot imagine how I produced books with only an electric typewriter. Hence, I am surprised when I encounter writers who have not converted. Yet when I look back over the past decade, I realise how long I hesitated before buying my first word processor; then how many years passed before I began to compose directly into it; and finally how inadequate remains my ability to use all its functions. This final column for ABR is to encourage computer illiterates and to solace other semi-literates.

I had decided to buy a word processor almost two years before I did so. Fear of the unknown was the principal reason for delay. My catch-22 went thus: I have so many overdue deadlines that I must computerise; yet, because I am so busy I don’t have the spare time to learn how to use a computer. My empathy with our backward manufacturing sector increased. In the end, I made the switch because I discovered that an acquaintance was the local distributor. I trusted him to set me up and accepted his assurance that I could phone him anytime for guidance.

Such promises are never fulfilled but I have been game to make each switch of systems only because of the prospect of personal support. Either a friend had that system already, or I trusted a salesperson to maintain support after cashing my cheque. If I had had to teach myself from the manuals I might know a great deal more, but I would never have got started.

Only once in ten years have I encountered a salesperson who made me feel at ease about my incompetence. For example, when I plucked up the courage to admit I was so silly that I did not know how to format a disk, he replied: ‘That’s not silly, Mr McQueen. You’ve just never needed to know before.’

Other salespeople have tried to be helpful but they spoke in ways that only someone who already knew the answer could comprehend. I would never ask them more than two follow-up questions for fear of appearing to be as incompetent as I was. Programmes are needed to train staff to be as user-friendly as the machines.

Price and selecting a brand and type also slowed down my initial plunge.

The dedicated word processor I bought in 1985 cost several times more than a comparable machine would today. Set-up costs for new equipment continue to deter writers from abandoning their typewriters. However, discarded models are available for a couple of hundred dollars because they have almost no resale value. The machine that costs you $3,000 today will fetch less than $300 two years from now. That sharp decline will not apply to the printer. Indeed, purchasers of second-hand printers are likely to sling you a hundred extra dollars to take your old computer away for scrap. When you upgrade, hold onto both machines in case the new one breaks down.

Repairs can add to your costs. Only once in seven years have I faced a major bill – for $700 and it might have been $1,300. Insurance against accident, theft, or loss does not cover mechanical failure. The repair firm, Honeywell, had a virtual monopoly. Hence, its staff were reluctant to price the job in advance, or to detail what they had done afterwards. In addition, they failed to restore the software after repairing the hardware, leaving me to cope with a screen filled with a scrambled bridge game.

In 1985, the WANG brand and model chose themselves as the most popular. The decision to follow the market leader proved a mistake. No sooner had I invested thousands of dollars than microchips rewrote the rules. Here is another insoluble dilemma: if you buy now, a better model will appear next month; if you wait for the latest version you will never own one.

The next stage in laptops is to make them lighter. The big obstacle is in the work life of batteries, since none lasts for more than an hour or two, despite promises of up to eight hours. In addition, most writers will welcome simpler not more powerful machines. We do not need to design space shuttles. A spreadsheet for taxes is about as visually sophisticated as we need.

Since 1987, I have used a terminal for an IBM standard during my two years in Tokyo, a Toshiba laptop T1200, and now the Macintosh Powerbook 100. Each time I moved, the transition seemed easier, as if a little of the logic of word processing had lodged in my brain. It is important that the operator not go faster than the computer which must proceed step-by-step. Typing speed and accuracy have improved, perhaps because corrections are so easy to effect that my confidence increased, hence my capabilities.

Has word processing affected my prose style? The differences of which I am conscious – fewer qualifiers and modifiers, for example – are not caused by the computer though its presence encourages tinkering and tightening. Fear that word processing encourages slack construction seems superficial. Rather the danger from computerised writing, as from most technologies, is that the machine will indulge one’s predilections. Hence, my worry remains that my prose is becoming too condensed as I use the delete button to eliminate redundancies.

Almost every new word goes straight into the word processor whereas five years ago I prepared the first draft by hand before keying it in, as I had done with typewriters. Even now I do most rewriting on hardcopies. Perhaps a day will arrive when I will be able to correct as well as compose on the screen.

System failure earlier this year showed me that I could still create with a pen and paper. Otherwise, I have reverted to handwriting only to express one of the most heartfelt passages for my Tokyo diary. That was two years ago and I have not since taken up a pen to draft an idea into shape.

Whether computers have increased my productivity is no less difficult to disentangle from other reasons for greater output, such as higher demand, improved financial rewards and the accumulation of skills that facilitate composition.

When asked, five years ago, to write this column my only experience in the form had been for several months doing a weekly and then a fortnightly piece for the Times on Sunday. At the end of each year since 1988 I have offered to quit as columnist for ABR. Each time, as my offer has been declined, the comment has been added that my copy arrives as promised and in a manner that requires little editorial work. Those remarks have left me wondering how other writers approach the business of earning their livings.

Learning to use a word processor is another professional duty, just as I first learnt to read and write and then to type. Magazines are able to survive by reducing production costs via desktop publishing. Thus our interests as writers are served by being able to supply text on floppy disks.

A further step will be to produce the same book in two forms: hardcopy and machine-readable. My biographical study of Tom Roberts will have readers who are interested in the text, including index, but not all the other apparatus, and they should be able to obtain a $20 paperback. However, scholars and students deserve access to the footnotes and references on which the study has been created. One solution is to produce a compact disk version for libraries. Will my agent be able to find a publisher capable of producing both forms among the several who are anxious to sign up for the printed version? We hear more about the revolution in publishing than we encounter its results.