For those of you staring at the screen of your smart phone, or at Starbucks with your laptop balanced on your lap while sipping a non-fat vanilla latte with extra squirt, this is a typewriter. It’s what we used to write our books on, or for the more primitive like me, make our hand-written scribbles legible for those we hoped would find favor with our writing.
Now, there are typewriters and there are typewriters. This is an Adler portable, the sweetest little machine you could ask for. It was also my first typewriter, presented to me by my wife when she learned I harbored secret thoughts of following Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Wolfe, and writing the great American novel.
Typewriters made us better writers. You composed your sentences in your mind, edited them, reviewed them, and then typed them. Re-writing meant re-typing, and correcting a badly typed manuscript meant you ended up re-typing the whole thing and believe me, that was no fun, especially when you were a two-fingered typist.
I still miss the sound of those keys hitting clean white paper. What are your memories of using a typewriter?
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Sincerely, E. Paul Bergeron