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I haven’t used my typewriter in years. Everything is done by hand. They tell me I should get one of them newfangled computers, but I ain’t in the mood to learn new technology. I write until my hand cramps up, and then I record my thoughts on a cassette tape, which I play back and listen to multiple times until my fingers start seizing and I start to feel pins and needles in my palm.
My novel remains unfinished. I remain unpublished.
By Belinda Roddie URL on 07.11.2018
Clickety, clack. Clickety, clack. There was no sound more endearing, rhythmic, a contagious longing towards the consistency and culmination of thoughts and ideas laid forth into the fervour of one’s fingers. It rang like the bells of a morning prayer service of a mosque, the deep, intermittently long peals emanating from Notre Dame Cathedral before evening mass. Between the footsteps felt around, an earthly ringing of bells, one felt just about at home, poised to write some more.
By Issie Kay URL on 07.11.2018
I miss those old typewriters. Oh dear, told another lie. I remember the carbon paper, I remember the white out, i remember having to thread the paper through, i remember those uncomfortable keys, I remember how heavy they were, I remember tons of mistakes thrown on the floor. Electric typewriters were a real improvement. The fault of computers is that they let you write so much drivel.
By Joanna Bressler on 07.12.2018
‘Simple, keep it simple,’ she said.
Turning back to the typewriter I had my fingers on the keys, my mind going a hundred miles an hour in the wrong direction. I wanted nuance and finesse, the characters to bush up against each other and rub burrs and bruise themselves doing it; I wanted mere proximity to cause damage, even the change of touching to burnish and burn.
‘I don’t want you writing pages of words where nothing happens. When you are writing, you must think: and then what happens next. There must be action and drama, you must hook your audience and keep them in suspense, that is all.’
By Meredyth URL on 07.12.2018
The typewriter had been sitting in the corner staring at Sarah for what seemed like centuries. It belonged to her mother, and she couldn’t bring herself to move it from her mother’s old writing desk. It would be 10 years tomorrow….
By Michelle on 07.12.2018
I like the sound the keys make when you type on a typewriter. I think they were good times, typing on a typewriter, not knowing what a computer was. Simpler times, no social media, no random judgement made. I am sure there was more mental peace and better food to eat.
By Alekhya on 07.12.2018
She clacked away on the keys, loving the sound it made. “Stop it.” Her mother’s voice sang from the kitchen and her hands fluttered away from the keys. “Sorry.”
Her mother’s gentle laughter was surprising. She thought she was going to be in trouble.
By Bridget Grace URL on 07.12.2018
Iremember typing class in High School. My mom told me that everybody needed to learn typing. It would come in handy in college. I got a C in the class, just barely.
By gary on 07.12.2018
Click clack click clack.
It echoed through the hollow room. Nothing left there but dust. Sitting on an old apple box, she stowed away a typewriter so that maybe her memory would live on.
By Jordan Ashley URL on 07.12.2018
the kids are watching in amazement at the bulky typewriter in display at the museum,. Being kids of the 22nd century they cant believe people used something as big as a reactor to type letters!!
By Shanmuga URL on 07.12.2018
That was the first gift he sent. It seemed innocent at the time as if he was sending me a bouquet of daisies. Only as the letters continued did I see the dark intent that started to harass me at every turn.
By writinginthedark URL on 07.12.2018
One day I went to use my typewriter, when I got to it it didn’t have any ink or paper. So I went and grabbed some more ink and paper, to put it in the typewriter. But the paper wouldn’t go in it or the ink, so I looked at the brand and size and it wasn’t the same. Someone has stolen my typewriter, I was so sad I got it from my mother who past when I was 20.
By Keith Foley on 07.12.2018
Click click. You’ve gifted this. A heavy weight on my shoulders. Buckled in a black box. To pursue a written dream. Did you realize I’d write about you? In the future. The cruel you. The true you, hidden behind a mask.
By Caspar on 07.12.2018
it can’t be that today’s word is one of my favorite things! I’ve got a dozen or so at home, a few more in the office, and then there are those I had to let go over the years, duplicates, or monsters too huge to keep dusting and hauling around. many live in closets and under beds, stuck like time capsules in their snapped-shut cases, waiting for I don’t know what…
By Liz URL on 07.12.2018
But what if I mess up?
By okayfine on 07.12.2018
The world’s first typist was Lillian Sholes from Wisconsin, the daughter of Christopher Sholes, who invented the first practical typewriter in 1878.
She probably had no idea what the implications of her father’s invention or her abilities truly were.
By Kristian Pierce on 07.12.2018
On his desk sat an old typewriter. He’d used it to tell stories about the days of his youth and nearly forgotten memories of the war. It seemed the more he wrote, the better he could remember. Even in the final days of his life, he was as sharp as a tack.
By Jacob on 07.12.2018
He longed for his old trustworthy friend, the one that had not let him down in 36 years, But his boss had thrown it out. Now all he was left with was this machine he was not familiar with, a machine that seemed randomly to accept or decline his bidding.
By Fran Hunne URL on 07.12.2018
Why? Better than quill or fountain pen or biro or pencil? Blood scratched with a knife and made into letters with a twig scoured from the bare scrub outside the cave…
The click click of the keys.
By annie brosnan on 07.12.2018
He doesn’t know what to write. Or rather, he doesn’t know what words. There’s no way to describe the things that he saw in a way that’s appropriate for the masses. He’ll die with it locked away in his heart and mind.
By Sixty-four K on 07.12.2018
The clack of my keys was soothing. At least I thought so. From Jonathan’s muffled groan, I could tell he did not feel the same.
“Seriously, Eva?” His voice was miffed as he spoke through a pillow. “I’m trying to sleep!”
By Emily on 07.12.2018
The typewriter dinged and Quinn lifted the paper from the holder and smoothed out any imperfections. Her eyes quickly ran over the text, smiling satisfactorily upon having finally completed her task. Jacob didn’t know what was coming.
By AJ Kenobi on 07.12.2018
I learned on a manual, nothing quite like the click, click, sound of the return carriage, paper in and out. Smell of ribbon and paper. White out for mistakes… miss those days
By Gary on 07.12.2018
I wish I had a typewriter, because nostalgia is a weird thing; I’ve never owned a typewriter yet I feel like I have, and I don’t know why I feel like that. Isn’t that weird. Ha ha. Hah hah. Hah.
By Antonio URL on 07.13.2018
I AM ENGLISH, I HAD A DREAM: Time to feel the typewriter , but It sounds like success.
By Robert Kohlhammer on 07.13.2018
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.