Trouble writing

the art of writing and growing up means doing without

8 November 2008

I'm having a rough time writing. I mean "writing" as in stringing words together to form sentences, and then putting sentences together to form a picture. I have no trouble with touch-typing (in the dark) or writing with a pen or pencil (need light for this though).

I'm sitting on the floor in this room lit by a single lamp. The desktop is showing a live-stream of the Habs vs Leafs game. The boys, Ben and his buddy Frank, is outside having a smoke. Lots of interesting things going on in the game, but they're missing all that and I'm not telling them what's going on because they really ought to stop smoking.

I'm typing on a laptop, which is sitting on an empty postal parcel. The laptop is a tremendously old Compaq that a good friend sent over to us several years ago. It actually runs on Windows 98. I think that's really all it can run on, although I'm wondering about certain types of Linux. Either way, it's something I use when I need to write.

The Compaq works beautifully in what I need it to do. That is, it prevents me from playing computer games and surfing online. But really, it lacks a certain something, a major certain something. It lacks class.

The laptop, a slightly clunky item, does its best to give you an appearance of being forgettable, heavy and outdated. I think that may be a security feature. It does not associate itself with romanticism, nor does it provide the image of a down-and-out writer, desperately churning out prose in poetic form, feverishly involved in getting the story out before it mutates, because as we all know, stories exist as polyforms when it is pre-written.

When I think about a writer, writing, I think about Shakespeare, sometimes sitting by candlelight as he writes furiously with his quill, making great scratching noises, getting ink in all sorts of places that make you wonder about toxicity.

Or, I think about, well, pick any good writer, typing on the typewriters of old, the classic finger-snappers, going click clack clackety CHING, as they fling paper after paper of type-written product from their machine.

And then there's Douglas Adams, experimenting with various Macs as he took us on trips all over the world and beyond. So sure, ok, the Mac analogy didn't quite work, but admit it, even if you're a PC user, Macs are quite pretty.

Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate this Compaq. Without it, I'd be wrestling with Ben for the computer, or I'd be writing on paper, which is fine, but transcribing my own handwriting can sometimes be a chore. I also like the Compaq because it was a gift and it has seen is through hard times.

But today, I saw something that could have added to the romanticism in my writing. It was a Made in Canada Royal Silent DeLuxe portable typewriter. It was beautiful. The keys had a lovely sheen to it, shiny. It looked like it was made just yesterday. And when I tried it, it made a satisfying clack sound, or maybe more like a click. It moved smoothly, like the entire thing was bathed in WD40.

I would have liked to own this thing, bring it out from time to time, just to caress the keys, or give it a good polish bit by bit, and change the ribbons, or something. It even came in a case. A tiny one, quite unlike the clunker my mum has at home, that one was possibly called a secretary. Goodness knows it took up that amount of space. This little Royal, I could possibly bring it unto a plane, if they allowed it.

But of course, I turned my back on it, because I'm being stingy with my cash right now and we had other things on our list. Besides, there's all that issue with the ribbon and using up precious paper and all that.

I really regret turning away, though. Sitting here, trying to rack my brain as I type, I keep thinking about that lovely typewriter. Yes, little Compaq, you do your job, but you're like the office worker who've been with the company since forever, slowly tottering away at your job, you know. Please, please find something else to do on weekends aside from going to the office!

Yes, I love you digital world and I really love my indoor plumbing, but there are some things made in this world that deserve that special nostalgia coming from deep within us, and I don't mean someone who's been with the company for 20 years. You know what I mean.

I want something I can play with, take out and admire for its smooth lines. Maybe give it a good polish every other weekend. Something with that extra wow! in the design. Something you can look at and go "Oh baby, I want you so bad."

I want the old Volkswagon, the old Leica with the matte cases (although, have you checked out the Panasonic Lumix DMC-LX3? Gorgeous creature that. It's on my wishlist. Even Ben approves of it so far. But I digress), the old Singer swing sewing machines...

Sigh.

It didn't help when I found out another little bit about the Royal silent typewriter that I saw. The first editions rolled out? Hemingway's favourite! Ack! And later on, apparently, it became the favourite of other journalists and writers-on-the-go. Cripes! How could I have turned away from that?!!!

Don't look, I'm hitting myself.

Still, I think I've done a fair job on this machine tonight. Why think about something that's just going to make life more difficult? I'm talking about the paper and ribbons etc. And maybe oiling and stuff too. I have no clue how to maintain a classic typewriter! I guess I can do without it. So I ogle from afar.

Sure, I'm sad but then, as the great Western philosopher Jagger said, and I know this to be true because he was quoted in the first episode of House, "You can't always get what you want." (Score double points for quoting a pop culture reference in a pop culture reference!)

As a note though, I just recalled what the guy at the store said. He said, "I don't know how much that costs, I don't think it works even."

It took me awhile, but I wonder, did he think that the typewriter should be plugged in?