I’ve hardly ever been able to carry this out, and
for that I blame word processors. They provide a person with too many opportunities to
second guess everything they’ve typed, meaning that a single paragraph can take
hours to construct. It’s incredibly frustrating!
But a manual typewriter doesn’t allow this option.
Nope, once you’ve punched a key and printed a letter straight onto a sheet
of paper, there’s no turning back. You’ve done it now – you might as well
follow that messy train of thought and clean it up later (my idea is to type first drafts with a typewriter, and then to later copy that onto a word processor for
editing).
Indeed, these are the primary reasons why I have
chosen to invest money into a classic machine. Plus, could I honestly pass up
the opportunity to own such a marvellous piece of iconic nostalgia? I’ve become quite infatuated
with nostalgia over the past few years, as various people know, and I often
wish that I’d been alive to experience the first seventy years of the twentieth
century (yup, I’m that specific!).
A manual typewriter can communicate so much about a
decade, just by observing its appearance. Building them was certainly an art;
from the curves of their frames to the stylisation of the brand’s logo. And
they were built to last, unlike 90% of the gadgets which frequent our shops, homes, and workplaces these days. Here’s what Tom Hanks says on the subject, in an article published
by The New York Times earlier this month (read it in
full here):
The machine, too, may
last as long as the rocks of Stonehenge. Typewriters are dense things made of
steel and were engineered to take a beating, which they do. My dad’s Underwood,
bought used just after the war for his single year at U.S.C., had some keys so
worn out by his punishing fingers that they were misshapen and blank. The S key
was a mere nib. I sent it to a shop for what was meant to be only a cleaning,
but it came back with all the keys replaced. So long, Dad, and curse you,
industrious typewriter serviceperson.
And I mustn’t forget to mention the therapeutic side to typewriting. Don't bother kicking holes in your walls anymore – if you’re really having a bad
day, write about it on your manual. Because of the sheer force you’ll need when
pressing down on the keys, you’re almost guaranteed to feel a little better!
So which typewriter did I choose to offer a new
home? Well, after much browsing, deliberation, a few bidding wars and some near
misses, I can reveal that I am now the proud owner of a 1958 British-made Remington
Quiet-Riter. Doesn’t
she just ooze that distinctively '50s style?
She also arrived with her original case (though very musty and worn), three ribbons (including the one inside the machine), all the
original instructions, and various other bits and bobs. Quite a find, I’d say!
Fancy watching a TV commercial, straight from the
Fifties, advertising the American version of my Quiet-Riter? It’s on YouTube in
all its cheesy, upbeat glory!
Oh, and I’ve named her 'Betty'! (Insert crazy writer
jokes here!)
And from now on, you can expect to see Betty
frequently on my blog. I’ve decided that, each week, I will share something
that I have produced on my typewriter. But it won’t be in the normal,
word-processed format – instead, I’ll scan whatever it is that I’ve typed and
attach the image to a blog post. It could be anything – part of a story, part
of a poem, an opinion, a quote, etc. You’ll never know!
But until then, folks, let me once again direct you
to Tom Hanks’ ode to the typewriter. I just love it!
