This post brings back a lot of fond memories — I wrote my first novella when I was eleven years old (hint: the novella was atrocious) on a typewriter. This would be sometime in 1999. I didn’t really have a choice, actually: I grew up pretty damn poor so my family couldn’t afford a computer and they all knew at that point that I wanted to be a writer, so they hunted down my Grandpa’s old typewriter and, as the tired old saying goes, the rest is history….I still miss that beautiful typewriter sound and feeling, that magnificent fucking groove, summed up perfectly in these lines: purposeful pressure placed on each key, the arm slapping the roller and the paper superstitiously interceding so a character may appear. Over and over. I’d type nonsense and streams of consciousness and letters to my partner a room away. Just to be typing. I would type the same thing over and over again; craft a letter in many drafts. Just to make use of the machine. — J.W.
With one click of the mouse, I became a collector. I bought a second typewriter.
I bought my first typewriter in October 2011. Goodwill opened a store in the area, which my partner and I promptly checked out. It turned out to be a well-planned visit as I found a Smith-Corona Classic 12 in fine condition sitting on the shelves, waiting to be snagged by the first analog-enthusiast to cross its path. I didn’t know it yet, but I was one such enthusiast.
Over the months that followed, I would learn how to properly clean it, fix some of the keys that were stuck, and that, while the office supply store does not carry the ribbons I needed, e-commerce would make finding such things possible. Every step of the way, I was excited. I was engaging with a technology that had supposedly become outdated and loving it.
Not least of…
View original post 412 more words