That was all I needed to be an awesome writer.
A typewriter.
The idea that the words could go on paper as fast as my mind could put them together was amazing.
At 13, I just knew that I could write amazing stories if only my hands would write faster. The faster I wrote, the harder it was to read. I needed something faster.
I needed a typewriter.
My grandmother brought one out during one of my visits to her house. It was old and big and black. The keys were beige with long metal arms that held them up.
Click.
Click.
Return.
It was so cool, the way you had to watch for the edge of the paper so you could slide the return arm before you continued typing.
I couldn’t wait to learn how to do it really fast, like secretaries typed.
In highschool, I took shorthand and typing in the same semester. I could “write” super fast now.
For Christmas, I received a real, electronic, typewriter. It was the fanciest typewriter you could get without crossing over into the world of word processors.
I typed my essay for my college scholarship on it. I typed the story that was eventually published in the college magazine on it.
But that big amazing story never did come out on paper.
Now, I blog. My typewriter is a keyboard, an android tablet, or my phone’s keypad.
My amazingly awesome story still isn’t coming out on paper. My mind is still going faster than my hands and fingers and move.
So I sit on the couch with notebook and pen and hand write my next post.
Because in the slowing down, I find the story.
Photo by Trevor Pritchard, on Flickr
