January 24, 2009
This was supposed to be written on my typewriter, but as luck would have it, after 1.5 years of not using my typewriter due to one cross-country move, one cross-town move, and something like a divorce, when I finally plugged my typewriter in today, well, the keys didn’t correspond to the letters the typewriter was printing. So much for electronic typewriters. Obviously several wires were crossed and some chips were scrambled, so when I struck the letter “K” the letter “V” came out. And I think “S” got me the mark of the British pound.
I like the typewriter because it makes me feel like my writing is real. I hit an object and that object hits another object and through a kind of miniature violence out comes my letter. Viola! Of course my novel was written completely on several laptops and computers (some died along the way and one was dusted off and reborn) so I am not sure what it is about the typewriter for me. It seems like each time I begin to write after not writing for a long time, I long for the typewriter. It’s the sound of it. It sounds like something is happening. The scariest thing about starting to write again is the thought of nothing happening, but with the typewriter something is happening. Your words, no matter how benign or boring, are engraved upon a page. Almost impossible to delete, but easier to burn.