Some Typewriter Love
June 3, 2012 § Leave a comment
I’ve always wanted a typewriter. An old one. A real antique with experience, experience with writers, with people driven to tell a story, to start a conversation.
I developed a fondness for typewriters at a young age. Mostly for all the romantic reasons. Hearing the click of each letter, reading over words that shine in wet, glossy black ink. Thinking of what fingers may have crossed the keys before my own. I’ve fantasized about the ding of that bell, the smell of the ink, that lovely noise of simple typing…a symphony of productivity.
And I like to fantasize about the people. Ever since I was little I could close my eyes and see pictures, detailed images of people and places. I guess that’s what you call imagination. And when I first learned what a typewriter was, I would close my eyes and see women from long ago in rooms with plush, pale pink furniture. I’d imagine them rising early, pulling apart long, draping curtains to let in cracks of morning sunlight and then sitting at well-polished wooden writing desks. I’d see their eyes light up as they sat down to work. And then fingers flashing energetically across keys. Click, click, click, click. Ding.
So yes, I’ve always had a very romantic appreciation of typewriters. Perhaps a little too romantic, but I allow myself my indulgences. And one day I’ll have one, even if it just sits gathering dust while I type away faithfully on my Mac.
Does anyone out there have a typewriter or a similar appreciation?