i recently inherited a typewriter.
yep, it’s non-electronic, clunky, chunky, noisy, and sooty. and i feel so blessed to be given such a boon.
it was from a writer friend of my family who, sadly, passed away three years ago. since then, the typewriter sat in a dark corner in our friend’s house until her written bequest was known, where the typewriter was one of the things that we’ve inherited from her.
it’s a green-colored ca. 1940s well-worn Royal Arrow, whose likeness is shown below, in black.
it’s not in mint condition but it has the warm feeling of a machine that has been lovingly used for the purpose it was created: to pour forth words, word, words.
each morning since Saturday, which was when I received the typewriter, i’ve spent more than an hour hammering out anything that came to mind. i know that one of these days, i have to write a decent story or poem or something that is coherent and worth reading… a piece of literature.
when my shift changes to daytime, i plan to flesh out, in the evenings, a story that’s been haunting me for months now, and i’d be doing my typing by lamp light… a bit of romanticism for my stressed-out brain.
a bit of trivia. there are still publishing houses that refuse submission of manuscripts if these have been computer encoded. these publishing houses still prefer typewritten material.
just thought you’d know.
[image courtesy of mytypewriter.com]