my mom had a typewriter that she brought on vacation one summer. We went to my uncle’s lake house in Ontario. I don’t remember why she brought the typewriter, but I remember really wanting to be able to write well. I wanted to have something good to say.
I like type writers becausee they were the first thing invented that let the computer become a reality. Right now I would not be typing this right now on the internet because the computer wouldnt have been invented because the typewriter wouldnt have been invented. All in all the type writer was a huge invention in the breakthrough of technology.
it types. and reminds me of my childhood. i would break the keys and they would get stuck and not come back up again, until a little prompting. nudge, nudge.and the ink smudges and the blankos. and the pushing back.
typewriter man, i love him so. He make up the most beautiful words and types them up to make them look pretty, he said just like me. Oh how i love that typewriter man he is a typewriter
Typewriter. Ha. That’s interesting that you chose that word to give to me. I have a new word processing program called Q10. Every time you type a key it sounds like a type writer making noise. It’s more fun to type with a typewriter, that makes you feel like a real writer. An old school. Cigarette in hand, got the keys crankin away, wearing a top hat.
so there was this word and then there was this task. I fear I have failed at the latter although the time for action is at hand. All of this could not have happened without the typewriter!
CLACK, CLACK, CLACK. Loud as nothing else; none of the elegance of the quiet keys of today’s computer keyboards. But something timeless and wonderful, a sign of the times and change.
This has helped many writers take jumbled plots rolling about in their heads and translate onto the page. That steady clacking of the keys has broken down many a writers’ blocks.
type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type
the word typewriter was first invented in the 1800’s, when a man named william typewriter stubbed his toe in the street next to the man who invented the typewriter. his toe began to bleed profusely and the man who invented the typewriter brought him a paper towel to wipe off his toe.
my grandmother owns a typewriter. she used to work in an office as a young girl. she said she had lovely long painted nails that never broke she was so skilled. she still uses it. i can feel the memories coming from the keys as they whack the paper.
old
archaic and reliable
classic
style
passion
love
interesting
clock work
ornate and functional beauty
intricate
interesting
I didn’t do sentences but more what they reminded me of.
I love typing. I clicked the back button. now i have to retype everything. Writing helps me express myself. I feel better after I ‘blog” about my day. It’s a great feeling.
the large machine with several colours of buttons made me gasp in awe. It boasted a large price tag of several hundred dollars-but i knew from the moment i laid eyes on it it was meant to be mine. MINE. no one else’s
She sat at the typewriter, hands at the ready. She was waiting for the words to flow from her brain into her fingers and create her art. Writing poetry, writing the unsung great american novel. She just wanted her muse to hit
I want a typewriter. I really, really want a typewriter. It has everything I need to get these damnable words out onto the page. What it doesn’t have is access to facebook, to email, to twitter, to blogs, to a dozen dozen other things I shouldn’t be doing while the real work waits.
typewriters were often used in olden times. they had to retype everything if they made a single mistake because each letter was pressed onto a page with ink as you typed it. there was no backspace back then. i think that would really stink. i don’t know how i would survive without a backspace button. i recently wrote a 20 page paper and i would never have been able to do that on a typewriter.
I remember coming home from school when I was six or seven and my father showing me an old typewriter, which he jokingly referred to as a “big pencil”, that he had bought somewhere, an auction, perhaps, since he attended those frequently at that time. I don’t know why it was so much fun to use, but it was, so I’m not sure just why I didn’t use it more often.
The typewriter clicked and clacked, making far too much noise in the empty apartment. Boxes were everywhere, lying around, some half-open to get at life’s necessities, but nothing was put away. It was hard, of course, to put things away in a two-room hole where there wasn’t any furniture, but when you’re a struggling writer who catches your boyfriend in bed with next-door’s dog-walker and it’s his apartment, you take what you can get.
Typewriters are really great. I mean seriously, think of the noises they make. I heard of a girl who performed nationwide, playing the typewriter. There aren’t that many different sounds, the click, the kaching, the weird scratchy return sound, but they are wonderful wonderful things. It makes this computer really boring.
The typewriter’s keys were the only noise in the room, a background noise that suddenly encompassed everything yet no one noticed it. A ding sounded as the the first row of sentences grew too large and demanded another line.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” he asked, his hands gripping the rolled newspaper like it was his only lifeline.
Typewriters remind me of The Perks of Being a Wallflower.
I’ve always wanted one.
The typing seems so elegant and classy, regardless of the tediousness.
my siblings and I used to delve into piles of old things in my grandmother’s garage, looking for something new to play with. My favorite was always the typewriter. We would bring our finds into the house, and I would just pound away at the keys, imagining I was writing the stories sprung from my imagination.
I’ve always wanted a typewriter. I think it’s a very classic way to type. I imagine great people only type on typewriters. It seems so fun and classy. Someday I shall definitely get one.
writing. it’s an old-fashioned way of writing, and I am reminded of playing with my grandmother’s typewriter in the garage of her old house. we loved playing with those old toys and things. my friend cameron has one.
i loved watching my dad type on his old typewriter. it was a special one, now that i think about it. he felt proud to tap away on it. like his words deserved the best vehicle possible. i love my dad. he taught me so much.
Everything is laid out before you
Waiting for you to take what you want
And make what you can.
If only our life could be as easily controlled
As what is printed on paper
By a typewriter.
Oh that was a long time ago
I remember it well though
it was green
metal
and rather small
as typewriters go, of course
white keys
and every mistake had to be worked around
erasing was not possible
not on a typewriter
I cannot seem to find ribbon anywhere for Gigi’s typewriter. It sits collecting dust on my dresser. The smell of must is intoxicating, and I never saw her type on it. The ribbon is 40 years old, and I am afraid of it breaking. As she will break the moment it does. It frays and inks my fingers, but I cannot part with its beauty. When will I learn to let things go and use them properly?
Typewriter is not something that I use often. Obsolete because of this computer, used to play a silly typing game– a typing game about typewriters. I have one in my closet, sloppily painted green because of a song on the Darjeeling Limited soundtrack. Type writer tick tick tick tick.
The clicking sounds from the typewriter were his fuel to keep going. With a cigarette in his mouth and a pencil behind his ear, he continued clicking away into the night.
Typewriter. Click. Click. A to Z. The punch of the keys, the gamble of words. Paper goes in, blank. It comes out riddled with ideas and ink. Click. Click. The end.
my mom had a typewriter that she brought on vacation one summer. We went to my uncle’s lake house in Ontario. I don’t remember why she brought the typewriter, but I remember really wanting to be able to write well. I wanted to have something good to say.
I like type writers becausee they were the first thing invented that let the computer become a reality. Right now I would not be typing this right now on the internet because the computer wouldnt have been invented because the typewriter wouldnt have been invented. All in all the type writer was a huge invention in the breakthrough of technology.
it types. and reminds me of my childhood. i would break the keys and they would get stuck and not come back up again, until a little prompting. nudge, nudge.and the ink smudges and the blankos. and the pushing back.
typewriter man, i love him so. He make up the most beautiful words and types them up to make them look pretty, he said just like me. Oh how i love that typewriter man he is a typewriter
Typewriters are fun! Typewriters are great! Yeah life. :) I am too high for this.
i already did this word gimme a new one
Typewriter. Ha. That’s interesting that you chose that word to give to me. I have a new word processing program called Q10. Every time you type a key it sounds like a type writer making noise. It’s more fun to type with a typewriter, that makes you feel like a real writer. An old school. Cigarette in hand, got the keys crankin away, wearing a top hat.
so there was this word and then there was this task. I fear I have failed at the latter although the time for action is at hand. All of this could not have happened without the typewriter!
CLACK, CLACK, CLACK. Loud as nothing else; none of the elegance of the quiet keys of today’s computer keyboards. But something timeless and wonderful, a sign of the times and change.
This has helped many writers take jumbled plots rolling about in their heads and translate onto the page. That steady clacking of the keys has broken down many a writers’ blocks.
type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type
ah, the life of a writer.
the word typewriter was first invented in the 1800’s, when a man named william typewriter stubbed his toe in the street next to the man who invented the typewriter. his toe began to bleed profusely and the man who invented the typewriter brought him a paper towel to wipe off his toe.
type type typing away the feelings that were lost that one day years ago stuck in a room hooked up to tubes and being pumped with unwanted nutrition
my grandmother owns a typewriter. she used to work in an office as a young girl. she said she had lovely long painted nails that never broke she was so skilled. she still uses it. i can feel the memories coming from the keys as they whack the paper.
old
archaic and reliable
classic
style
passion
love
interesting
clock work
ornate and functional beauty
intricate
interesting
I didn’t do sentences but more what they reminded me of.
I wish I had a typewriter. They’re so old-fashioned and classy. Detectives use typewriters, and I want to be as cool as a detective.
I love typing. I clicked the back button. now i have to retype everything. Writing helps me express myself. I feel better after I ‘blog” about my day. It’s a great feeling.
“This will fuck you up.”
Damian marched around the room, barely able to contain himself. He waved my manuscript about like a field hockey stick.
“Seriously, is this how you think?”
I nursed my scotch. Of course it was. But I couldn’t tell him that.
“You gotta get your mind out of the gutter, man. Let’s hit the town.”
the large machine with several colours of buttons made me gasp in awe. It boasted a large price tag of several hundred dollars-but i knew from the moment i laid eyes on it it was meant to be mine. MINE. no one else’s
She sat at the typewriter, hands at the ready. She was waiting for the words to flow from her brain into her fingers and create her art. Writing poetry, writing the unsung great american novel. She just wanted her muse to hit
out of date, cool, vitage, loud, satisfying. In the Sarah Dessen book, this lullaby, the mom writes romance novels with one.
I want a typewriter. I really, really want a typewriter. It has everything I need to get these damnable words out onto the page. What it doesn’t have is access to facebook, to email, to twitter, to blogs, to a dozen dozen other things I shouldn’t be doing while the real work waits.
typewriters were often used in olden times. they had to retype everything if they made a single mistake because each letter was pressed onto a page with ink as you typed it. there was no backspace back then. i think that would really stink. i don’t know how i would survive without a backspace button. i recently wrote a 20 page paper and i would never have been able to do that on a typewriter.
I want to live in a wonderland… with butterflyes, and a lot of funny things. I wanna be happy in my world, with my friends.
I remember coming home from school when I was six or seven and my father showing me an old typewriter, which he jokingly referred to as a “big pencil”, that he had bought somewhere, an auction, perhaps, since he attended those frequently at that time. I don’t know why it was so much fun to use, but it was, so I’m not sure just why I didn’t use it more often.
The typewriter clicked and clacked, making far too much noise in the empty apartment. Boxes were everywhere, lying around, some half-open to get at life’s necessities, but nothing was put away. It was hard, of course, to put things away in a two-room hole where there wasn’t any furniture, but when you’re a struggling writer who catches your boyfriend in bed with next-door’s dog-walker and it’s his apartment, you take what you can get.
Typewriters are really great. I mean seriously, think of the noises they make. I heard of a girl who performed nationwide, playing the typewriter. There aren’t that many different sounds, the click, the kaching, the weird scratchy return sound, but they are wonderful wonderful things. It makes this computer really boring.
The typewriter’s keys were the only noise in the room, a background noise that suddenly encompassed everything yet no one noticed it. A ding sounded as the the first row of sentences grew too large and demanded another line.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” he asked, his hands gripping the rolled newspaper like it was his only lifeline.
Typewriters remind me of The Perks of Being a Wallflower.
I’ve always wanted one.
The typing seems so elegant and classy, regardless of the tediousness.
my siblings and I used to delve into piles of old things in my grandmother’s garage, looking for something new to play with. My favorite was always the typewriter. We would bring our finds into the house, and I would just pound away at the keys, imagining I was writing the stories sprung from my imagination.
I’ve always wanted a typewriter. I think it’s a very classic way to type. I imagine great people only type on typewriters. It seems so fun and classy. Someday I shall definitely get one.
writing. it’s an old-fashioned way of writing, and I am reminded of playing with my grandmother’s typewriter in the garage of her old house. we loved playing with those old toys and things. my friend cameron has one.
i loved watching my dad type on his old typewriter. it was a special one, now that i think about it. he felt proud to tap away on it. like his words deserved the best vehicle possible. i love my dad. he taught me so much.
Everything is laid out before you
Waiting for you to take what you want
And make what you can.
If only our life could be as easily controlled
As what is printed on paper
By a typewriter.
Oh that was a long time ago
I remember it well though
it was green
metal
and rather small
as typewriters go, of course
white keys
and every mistake had to be worked around
erasing was not possible
not on a typewriter
I cannot seem to find ribbon anywhere for Gigi’s typewriter. It sits collecting dust on my dresser. The smell of must is intoxicating, and I never saw her type on it. The ribbon is 40 years old, and I am afraid of it breaking. As she will break the moment it does. It frays and inks my fingers, but I cannot part with its beauty. When will I learn to let things go and use them properly?
Typewriter is not something that I use often. Obsolete because of this computer, used to play a silly typing game– a typing game about typewriters. I have one in my closet, sloppily painted green because of a song on the Darjeeling Limited soundtrack. Type writer tick tick tick tick.
The clicking sounds from the typewriter were his fuel to keep going. With a cigarette in his mouth and a pencil behind his ear, he continued clicking away into the night.
Typewriter. Click. Click. A to Z. The punch of the keys, the gamble of words. Paper goes in, blank. It comes out riddled with ideas and ink. Click. Click. The end.
My sister used to have a pink typewriter. We bought it on ebay a long time ago. I like the sound the typewriter makes when you use it.