Journals, Binders, Blogs

It was about time to start a new 3-ring binder, after the old one, started in June of 2020, was full up. This piece goes into the start of that new binder. I organize my writings into one binder for personal journal entries and One Type Page (OTP) entries; and another binder for my own blog's articles (like this one). And that other binder of blog articles is fat, with articles dating back to 2016, itself soon needing to be replaced.

Once they're full, I store them either in my office closet, or in plastic storage boxes, stacking up from the weight of decades' worth of writings and photography.



The old binder, now full, was a freebie, acquired last year when I was in the waiting room of my optometrist and noticed they had a stack of binders they were tossing out. So naturally I came home with, not only new glasses, but some extras. But this time, I went to my neighborhood big-box office supply retailer and specifically chose this bright green binder, to stand out amongst the drabness of my office bookcase. A typewritten adhesive label or two later, and it was all ready to go.



I don't look through the old writings often enough. It's fun to not only read what I was thinking back then, but look at what paper I was using (I tend to frequently mix up my choice of typing paper), and also what machines were in use. It was interesting, looking through that fat binder of archived blog articles, to see machines being used that I don't even have any longer. This kind of "metadata" I find just as interesting as the writing itself.

Naturally, this begs the larger question of how best to archive one's personal writings. It's a sticky issue, because most of us aren't blessed by tenure at some institution of higher learning, where our work might be archived in some institutional archive; nor have most of us achieved some significant professional stature as a published author and thereby acquired some archivability of our work through reputation alone. If you're like me, you're a struggling writer, in that in-between space squeezed by one's job and family responsibilities on the one hand and some innate creative urge, just bursting to get out, on the other.

When you mention archives, many people immediately think you're talking about computer data backups. There is that, but what I'm talking about is bigger than data backup. Many of us creatives have amassed significant volumes of work on paper. Work that, sure, could be archived digitally, but what would be the point? Would that hard drive or thumb drive survive long enough to mean something down the road, or be tossed in a drawer or box to be forgotten, then discarded?

The point is the future reader. Is it good enough for someone to read, down the road, when you've shed your mortal coil? If not for some stranger with passing interest, is it interesting enough for family offspring to keep? Maybe. Depends, on your relationships, and on the work itself. Many of us have accumulated mounds of what others might call "clutter," but you might call the priceless offspring of a life's worth of creativity. You'd like for someone to keep it all, but down deep know that's unlikely. Personally, I'd expect much of my stuff to be tossed into the recycle bin.

One could, if one were proactive (gosh how I tire of that business-speak term), cull out the best of one's personal work and cudgel it into some self-published tome, to leave to one's offspring as the distilled essence of your creative thoughtlife in book form. A single volume, a condensation of one's work, small enough to likely survive that great paper-tossing-to-the-curb event, come your demise. Leave behind one, maybe two, good books for them to read. It'll probably outlast that archived hard drive or USB stick.

While we're on the subject of culling, I just today shipped off the Hermes Rocket, to a kid in California who will probably get more use out of it than I. And just a few days ago I gave the Groma Kolibri back to Kevin, from whence it came, as again I wasn't using it much, and he'd enjoy it, I'm certain. But don't mistake this for some kind of personal valor, because, you may recall, I've also acquired the massive yet wonderful Royal KMM, which sits prominantly in the office on its typing stand, ready to do battle at a moment's notice.

That leaves this Royal Mercury as my only remaining manual ultra-portable (not counting the handful of thermal ultra-portables). And I still have a good number of medium-sized portables, better suited for longer writing sessions than any ultra-portable, yet still luggable if the need arises.

Here's a video about this subject. Enjoy.

Bigly Typers or Shrimp Typers?

The Bigly Typer:


The Shrimp Typer:


Post-Script: They're both good word threshers. One's obviously more portable than the other. For me, the key to entering into that creative zone is being able to focus on the words in my head, my fingers on keys and, to a lesser extent, ink on paper, without excessive fuss or distraction. The Behemoth Olympia SG-3 achieves this by its in-your-face massiveness: it literally blocks your view of distractions in front of you, while elevating the printing position so you're looking forward, not down at the table.

For the shrimp typers, the challenge for me is not getting distracted by the machine's less-than-optimal performance, or erratic behavior. For example, I'd sat at this very same spot in Sweet Cup's loft the day before, with the Hermes Rocket and the same type of coffee drink, and didn't have the same creative flow going. Certainly, we can feel more or less creative one day to the next, but something about the Skyriter's keyboard just felt more natural. I don't even think it had to do with its more ergonomical carriage return lever, either. Funny enough, there were a few skips with the Skyriter that the Rocket didn't have, yet I got along better with the Skyriter.

I noticed midway through the piece that, because of the seating position, my eyes were closer to the machine than at a normal-height desk and chair setup, helping me to focus on the keyboard and helping to reduce distractions; yet I didn't sense that the day before with the Rocket. I guess that's the mystery of creative writing, trying to figure out why one day it works and the next day it doesn't.

These brief moments of inspiration aren't predictable; one has to be prepared to strike (literally!) at a moment's notice; hence the reason to always have a machine set up at home, or in a grab-&-go bag, ready for action.

There's a confidence I have when writing on the SG-3 that I don't often have on these shrimp typers, and it has to do with reliability. Less chance for hick-up or glitch with the big fellow, one less thing to pull my mind away from the inner dialog, that's so fragile to maintain. I have this same confidence on reliable machines like the Smith-Corona Silent-Super, that's pretty much living up to its name.

I think one secret to creative writing with manual typewriters is this issue of reliability. It's not that we must go down the rabbit hole of joining a cult (Hermes, Olympia - pick your poison), but rather that the still small voice inside us remains small and faint, we have to find those nagging distractions and eliminate them. Some machines are just more reliable than others, meaning we have more time to join those fragile chains of thought together. I think you can catch a glimpse of this when you see photos of 20th century writers with their machines. Many authors switched from one machine to the other, finally choosing one brand or model because it just works. It's all too easy to forget this when we are mainly collectors and hobbyists.

Update Just to Update

Post-Script: I had a pleasant distraction while writing my treatment for the Cold Hard Type project, which was that the co-owner of the Rust is Gold coffee shop asked me to type some index cards with names of coffee beans that they roast, for a photo shoot she was doing. I was happy to oblige.



They have a cool motorcycle display, that changes every once in a while, as a local club meets there.



One of the adjoining booths sells '70s HiFi and guitar stuff. Pretty cool.



As you can see in the top photo, I wrote my treatment on the Royal Mercury (the more recent one I'd acquired), but this typecast today was written on the old Underwood Portable.



Yesterday, while working on the video about the typing platform, I pushed my office chair back and tipped over the folding tray table, with Underwood atop it, which crashed to the floor. Luckily it is hardwood with a rug on top. The machine doesn't appear harmed at all, which surprised me. Gotta be more careful!

Mr. Smith From Corona

Post-Script: Perhaps it's the feverish summer weather (actually, it's been rather nice in the high desert this week), or because it's July and with it comes the commemoration of both the Trinity Test and Roswell. I'd like to think, being the rational person I am, that in 1947 the only nuclear-certified and combat-experienced bomber squadron on the world, the 509th Composite Group, happened to be stationed at Roswell Army Air Base. And over in White Sands they were beginning to test German V2 missiles. So perhaps there's nothing more to it, right?

What else happened in 1947 besides (supposedly) Roswell? How about the National Security Act, that created the CIA and NSA. How about the US Air Force becoming its own military branch. Or the US was (supposedly) "enjoying" a global monopoly on nuclear weapons, that would only last another two years. Lots of changes in a short period of time.

But if you're a sci-fi fan like I am, and also a typewriter nerd, you can't help but notice that Corona typewriters and the town of Corona, NM share a common name. And Corona, NM happens to be near one of the supposed crash sites of the 1947 incident. So, naturally, this story comes together with that in mind. This is becoming a theme for my fiction, what you might call typewriter insurgency fiction. Is that yet a thing?

One thing I love about sci-fi is it doesn't have to be realistic, though in order to be successful it does rely on realistic characters.

This is my entry of Typing Assignment No.18, on the theme of sci-fi. If you're so inclined, write up a one-page sci-fi story on a typewriter and post a scan of the piece to a publically-accessible photo hosting website, then post the link to your image in the comments section of this YouTube video. Deadline is this coming Sunday, July 29. I hope to see your story in the upcoming review video. Until then, keep watching the skies, and be careful out there!

Story first-drafted on SCM Skyriter, completed on Royal QDL.

Typewriter Play

Post-Script: There's a lot more to say here about typewriter playing. They are indeed mechanical devices, which for many of us is an immediate inducement for further exploration. A lot of the magic of play comes from the power of words. Words fashioned into sentences have the power to fuel our imagination, through the power of language. Entire imaginary worlds can come into existence through language.

Typewriters are also vintage devices. They are foreign to our common experience, unless you're like me, with various machines sitting around the house just as much for decor as useful writing tools. As newcomers to typewriters, our's is a generation that has to rediscover their magic, their utility, their limitations. In previous generations they were treated pretty much as pragmatic tools for one dedicated purpose - document creation. But that purpose has, by and large, passed them by, supplanted in large measure by word processing. And so these wonderful machines find new usefulness in ways not dreamt of by previous generations. Like street poetry writing, or blogging, or even percussive music. Thus, through play we can find new things to do with these mechanical marvels.

In this recent video I also touched on the importance of copying. Not just for retyping the works of others for practice and inspiration, but as an aid in learning how language is crafted by masters of the art. Austin Kleon has much to say about this, through his wonderful book Steal Like an Artist, and also his blog. Be sure to check out both.

Here's the recent video I made about typewriter play:



Typecast on yellow tracing paper via Royal QDL (a.k.a Adobe Rose)

2018 Phoenix Type-In Gleanings

The 2018 Phoenix Type-In was the highlight of my year (so far). Meeting faces both new and familiar, interviewing Typosphere notables, trying out a wide assortment of machines - these are the things that make for fond memories. And also solidifying past relationships, made deeper with more intimate fellowship.

Besides coming away from the event with that combination excited/cozy feeling (and a Smith-Corona Skyriter), I also had a sheaf of typings, gleaned from the plethora of words left upon papers scattered across the tables. I thought little about them until, weeks later, I took the opportunity to study them, only to realize that here were some gems in the raw.



What follows are snippets gleaned from the detritus of the event. I've taken the luxury of permitting these images to be 800 pixels wide, busting the template for the sake of readability.












Post-Script: Some of these snippets are rather obvious - commentary on how the particular typewriter looks, operates and feels. This is normal; all too normal. I've attended enough of these events to become a bit jaded when all I glean are commentaries on how people like certain machines and not others. I suppose there is value in this, reinforcement of one's biases. In all fairness, it is interesting to happen across a comment that disagrees with one's own feelings about a particular machine. Like, how could a person not like a Hermes 3000, even if the carriage return lever is a bit high? Each to their own.

But then there are other typings that are wonderfully evocative of notable 20th century literature. Like the little quote from the beginning of Kerouac's On the Road.

And then there are the more cryptic, mysterious typings. Perhaps foreign to me through my lack of exposure to a depth of literature unfamiliar to me. Or truly original and bazaar. These are what I love, the mysterious notes that makes one wonder...

I culled these clippings from pages filled with the likes of "the quick brown fox." And now they remain as little snippets torn and frayed, yet invaluable. I supposed I'll put them in a folder and stash them away. Maybe I should consider putting out a book, of Type-In gleanings, interspersed with typewriter erotica, gleaming black lacquered paint and shiny round keys. Have Mr. Hanks write the forward. Perhaps. Until then, enjoy.

Manuals, Electrics and Creativity

See that lovely creature above? No, not the fake coyote, the Royal. Her name's Adobe Rose. I sat down at her this morning and typed out some extensive notes, in preparation for a video, on the subject of creative writing with manual and electric typewriters. I used the roll of thermal fax paper and liked the results. Very dark imprint, which she seems to do easily; better than many other machines in my collection. And a rather clear imprint for being elite-sized typeface.

But these thoughts didn't start today. They were the result of a late-night typing and socializing session I spent last night with fellow typewriter nerd Kevin.

In keeping with my renewed promise to blog more often ("Captain's blog, star date 60618.2"), I'm taking these raw video production notes and throwing them out to the typosphere - warts, typos and all. You can provide your own spell checking.

Being as how the piece was from one continuous roll, I've taken the liberty to divide it into three parts. Afterwards, you'll find a link (malicious advertising) to the resulting video. Enjoy.

Wither Goest the URL?

"Family Bingo"



Post-Script: I, on occasion, have these little thoughts or observations, too minuscule to make into some big project like a video but important enough to share, in the hope that someone will find value; or, that they might amass, each a mere stone, into some sizable structure, sometime in the future. I need to do more of this. Perfect is the enemy of good enough, someone once said. In this case, grandiose is the enemy of the humble. Something like that. Just little thoughts, observations, one piled atop another, to become, what? I don't yet know. But I've got to keep amassing these pebbles.

Typecast via Adobe Rose onto the reverse side of thermal fax paper, using a new old-stock silk ribbon.

"An Interesting Day in Area 36"

Post-Script: A bit more from the Losers Blend mythos, inspired by the look and feel of this old Smith-Corona Silent sitting in its half-case on my lap in the afternoon shade. Perhaps not entirely compatible with the theme of Easter/Resurrection Sunday, but one has to strike when the iron's hot, creativity-wise.

I snapped the top picture on my front patio, hoping it might look something like a coffee shop patio table at the fictional Losers Blend coffee shop, inspired by my local Winning Coffee; but I didn't have true fanfold printout paper, so I had to punch some Circa binding holes in an old Freestyle Photo receipt instead; plus add a bit of sci-fi look to the image in post. Kind of reminds me of the color tone of that old 1970s movie Soylent Green.

The thought was running through my mind, as I was writing this, how easy would it be to find typing paper in this fictional future world. Recycled paper seemed a logical solution, typing between the lines of someone's old printout. You'll notice I didn't address the issue of typewriter ribbons; maybe they just soak the old ribbons in a bit of Synthspresso syrup? Hmm, now there's an idea...

Transformation

Post-Script: I didn't have carbon paper with me when I wrote that impromptu piece for our hostess, but I did snap a poor-quality photo afterwards, which I'll transcribe here:

She holds court this morning, like she does every morning now for over 25 years, the Queen Bee in her hive of a kitchen, every tool and implement at hand, mixing bowl readied, concoctions being poured and blended, things baking in the oven. The sunlight streams in from across the vista separating there from here, as if one could fathom the tremendous distances involved.

We, her guests, carefully descend the creaking staircase from our nests of Victorian rest to warm our gullets with coffee or tea, while outside a cool wind blows from last night's storm as a hummingbird mother perches in her golf ball-sized nest warming her eggs against the onslaught; nurture or nature? Perhaps that's not even the relevant question.

What is it that makes our hostess Andrea invite us to become, if but for a night or two, one of her brood? It would be too simplistic to declare mere commerce as the primary motivation; even though, out on that tree limb those chicklets, once hatched, will require to be fed every fifteen minutes. Are we that needy, too?

The Surgeon's House was intended, when built in the years of the Great War, as a place of healing, of wellness; the home of the one who brings solace in a time of great need. There are times in every person's life when a helping hand is needed, even though they might not realize their plight; perhaps that is why we secretly come to these places - not just for a bed and board, for we could find some simulacra in any Inn for sojourners - but that we secretly long to be nurtured back to some inner wellness.

Here, as she holds court in her kitchen, we find a gentle touch here and an insightful word spoken there, a sparkle in her eye and wholeness for our being in the gratitude of the meal served before us. We lounge amidst a life's gathering of living leafy beings while books and paintings feed and nourish our souls. Outside, the roar of Harleys and pickups, headed to nowhere, is but a gentle reminder that, if but for a night or two, we are home.

The broken latch on the Brother typewriter case I remedied by the application of a $5 tourist-quality leather belt, purchased at a local gift shop. Where there's a will, there's a way.

We found a neat antique store in Jerome, and I immediately spotted a mid-20th century typewriter sitting on the floor in its case. It turned out to be a Smith-Corona Silent, an exact mate to one already in my collection. It was a bit dirty and in need of some service. The platen was very hard, and it has pica-sized font. They were asking $28, which is a pretty good price for a tourist town antique store, as I've seen some sellers asking twice that back here in Albuquerque. I almost picked it up, but passed on it, as I already have one in my possession. And by passing on it, I was able to prove to my better half that, yes, I do have some degree of self-control when it comes to typewriter collecting. Perhaps this gives me more sway when I do find a model I really want in my collection, at some time in the future. Grease the skids, and all that! Any of you Arizona Typospherians in need of a Smith-Corona Silent might want to make the trek up to Jerome this weekend. The antique store is just across the street and up hill from the post office.

This typecast was written while seated in the passenger seat of our Subaru, somewhere on Interstate 40 between Flagstaff and the NM border. It proved to be a good way to while away the many miles of open country with something productive.

There will most likely be a video coming in the near future about car typing on the road; and also about using typewriters, as I was fortunate to do so, as tools for creative writing.