Typewriter

I'm the new owner of a 1970 Smith Corona Galaxie Deluxe typewriter. I was lucky enough to stumble upon it from an old couple in Sedona. It originally belonged to the husband, but the wife was the one selling it, probably adamant about clearing up space. He couldn't care less, it seemed. He used it in 1970 for his thesis paper in college and never again. He locked it up in storage and kept it in mint condition. I mean, it feels as if I just received it from Smith Corona in 1970, not a single scratch or defect. Even more neat is the fact that they never threw away the original paperwork and user guide. The original bill of sale is tidied up with it. It’s large, heavy, and bulky, not much of a convenience to have in a van, but it's sparked some true inspiration in me.

As I type and the keys spring back up and the ink stamps itself on the paper, I can’t help but feel I'm being transported back in time. Some of my favorite artists used them, obviously not out of thrill, but because at the time we didn’t have $2000 laptops that save our writing with autocorrect and artificial intelligence to proofread the errors that could change one's writing for the worse. Photos of Ernest Hemingway and Hunter S. Thompson live in my phone, typing away in some forest or Hawaiian island. The child in me comes out as I write on it. I feel like one of them, with a lit cigarette hanging off my puckered lips, a glass of malt whiskey chilled in the cup holder, and the blank stare as my eyes pierce the eggshell-colored paper, contemplating my first words in ink.