Notes From Safari

TJ is a school teacher in Los Alamos, and I have his typewriter, an early-1950's Smith-Corona Silent. It used to be mine, until I sold it to him (or, more precisely, his school system) for use in his classroom. Sometime last year he told me some of the key levers had been bent, by overly-eager (I'm assuming) students. TJ was able to drop the machine off to me for repairs later in the year, during one of our Sunday ABQwerty Type Writer Society meetings. I easily managed to put the key levers back into good order, but since then it's been difficult arranging for TJ to pick up the machine. And now, with everyone (supposedly) in lock-down it'll have to remain with me for a while longer.

But today I decided to set the machine on my workbench and test it out, to make sure there were no other nagging issues. It does type very well, no mechanical issues of note, even the ribbon is sufficiently fresh. And I'd forgotten how much I like the typeface. But I needed a piece of paper to test-type with, so I grabbed an instruction sheet from a pile of clutter on the bench, for a safari rack that me and my grandson had installed earlier this week on his truck, and I was sufficiently inspired by the word "safari" in the instructions to hurriedly compose this vignette on the reverse side. Afterward, I read it to my wife, and she was sufficiently impressed that she's now encouraging me to continue this story in installments.

No, I don't really know if you can weld broken steel in the bush with a makeshift thermite furnace, but hey, a little exaggeration never hurts! And don't go four-wheeling with that Smith guy, he'll get you in more trouble than you can shake a stick at.

The other day I'd felt sufficiently cinematic (is that a real feeling?) that I wanted to record some B-roll black & white video on my Lumix G7 with one of my Minolta MD lenses. It was snowing lightly, a rather rare occurrence in April (though our mile-high altitude doesn't preclude such an event) and the inclement weather was rather inspiring, since sunny days are rather commonplace. For adapting manual focus lenses to my digital camera I'd already been using the 7Artisans 25mm F/1.9 lens and the Minolta MD 50 F/1.7 at various times, but had never given the 58mm Rokkor lens a real test. After some test shots around my office and outdoors, I decided that the 58mm was at least as sharp as the 50. Naturally I'd need to reduce the light incoming to the sensor if I hoped to use the lens wide open at F/1.2, so I put on a variable ND filter, after futzing around with finding the proper adapter rings.



By itself the Panasonic G7 isn't that big of a camera, but with that big 58mm lens and even wider ND filter hanging off the front it's rather sizable. But it has a reassuring heft, and the haptics are about perfect for manual focusing, since the G7 has focus peaking and the G-series cameras pioneered the "tilty-flippy" screens (that other manufacturers pretend these days they invented), that makes these cameras so convenient to use.

One thing led to another, and before I knew it I was creating a motivational video on creativity and writing during this unsettled period. I thought the B-roll intervals between shots worked pretty well for the video.

Message in a Bottle, and Other Thoughts

This was a fun project, resulting in bona fide messages sealed in glass. We discussed the merits of actually tossing our bottles into - where, exactly? We're in the high desert, after all, almost a thousand miles from the ocean. Perhaps we can wait for spring runoff on the Rio Grande (last year's runoff was spectacularly high) and hope the bottles make it downstream of Elephant Butte reservoir into the southern reaches of the Rio Grande, hoping for the Gulf of Mexico. Most likely they'd get trapped in some brush along the riverbank and get buried in sand, or discarded as litter. Is tossing a glass bottle into the river littering, when there's a real message inside? Probably.

Another idea was to take a trip to California and toss it into the Pacific ourselves. Hmm, maybe.

Last weekend I sat down at the Skyriter and composed a one-pager about the merits of keeping it or not. As it turns out, it ended up in the hands of a young man eager to put it to good creative use. Here were my thoughts:



Going back further in time (in case you haven't figured it out, I'm dealing here with a backlog of writings) in mid-January I sat on Kevin's front porch (it must have been a warm January afternoon) and enjoyed a bit of writing on his Groma Kolibri, equipped with a green ribbon. This is the one I worked on earlier in 2019, and it's a sweet machine. For some reason I decided to underline the first letter of each paragraph, which is an interesting typographical idea, perhaps I'll do more of this. In the piece I mentioned "birdie time," this being our weekly visit where we try to get their bird used to our presence, as we'll be bird-sitting for them. Kevin also makes this wonderful statement, that I'm "a collector of typewriter experiences." Well spoken, and a great way to differentiate myself from the classic typewriter collector.



The Typewriter Bus idea mentioned above was my idea for a mobile typewriter bus for conducting public type-in events in various places. It could have school desks bolts to the floor with typewriters securely mounted, and an external fold-up sideboard table along the outside for standing-while-typing outside. I can envision a fold-up awning on either side for shade, and a 50-states typewriter bus tour. I only need lots of money and time. Maybe. Maybe not. But never let your dreams die.

The next three pieces were composed on 30 December 2019, again at Kevin's, using the Torpedo 18. It must've been a heck of a session, as it progresses from the first page involving a review of the last year as it pertains to the founding and growth of the ABQwerty Type Writer Society, to a short essay on pictures versus language and my desire to explore personal story-telling, to another short essay about my paper negative photography. A hodge podge of subjects, for certain.

2019 Year in Review:


On visual versus written media, and personal story-telling:


Thoughts on paper negative photography:


I should've been posting these pieces here as separate articles, but I do tend to procrastinate, more so lately. I hope you find this variety of writings to be of interest. Please leave a comment down below if you wish, I'd love to have a dialog with you about these ideas.

One Atop the Other

That "4" keycap on the Torpedo is the only remaining missing cap that's temporarily been replaced with one from a different machine. I intend on carving myself a replica keycap from poplar wood, sanded and finished to be as close as possible to the other original keycaps.

Sunday we had our December meeting of the ABQwerty Type Writer Society. I recently acquired a 12-pack of red/black nylon ribbons, in the DIN size without grommets, for $9.99 from Amazon. They've been nicely dark, well inked. I think a real value in ribbons, I highly recommend them. Here's my review of them:



Today, Andrea and I rode the recently opened ART bus (Albuquerque Rapid Transit) from Nob Hill, through downtown, to the west side and back. This has been a project that's been several years and tens of millions of dollars in the making, that runs on Central Avenue, the old Route 66, from Tramway Blvd on the east to Coors on the west, while also making a stop in the uptown area, the closest it comes to our suburb. Much controversy and economic upheaval has accompanied the project, including torn up streets and many small businesses along Central that have shut down or moved. Small businesses are a fragile economy, which the city didn't seem to appreciate during the construction phase.

From now until the end of the year the city is offering free rides. We boarded in Nob Hill near Kelly's Brewery and rode west to Coors, then hopped onboard a return bus and stopped downtown, where we walked around and I recorded video and still photos. Then we caught another eastbound bus and ended back in Nob Hill, where we ate lunch at a tacoria, where it was two dollar Tuesday. It was rather ironic having to drive our private vehicle across town so we could then ride the bus.

The busses were originally intended to be electric, battery-powered, but the city had issues with the electric busses not meeting contract requirements around battery range and recharging time; plus, they were very expensive. They also didn't want to spend even more money on electric light rail lines. So they finally reverted to propane-powered, two-section, 60-foot long busses. They are modern and new inside. I hope they stay that way. Once the city starts charging for rides, an all-day pass will be around $2. I'm thinking it might be fun to drive down to the rather close Uptown area and pick up the ART bus for a day of coffee shop typewriting and street photography downtown.

Here's the video of today's ride:

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.

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)

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.

Going For a Walk

Post-Script: I wrote this on the new (to me) IBM Model 71 Selectric I. The ribbon was nearing the end, hence the poor imprint quality until I switched it out with the new roll supplied by the repair shop. Two aspects of this experience of composing on the IBM come to mind. First, I distinctly noticed the absence of a combination black/red ribbon. Being able to highlight certain letters in red is something I do miss with this otherwise fine machine. Second, there were times when I reached for the platen knob to manually move the carriage back for some needed correction, only to remember that the carriage is fixed, and instead I had to press and hold the backspace key, then impatiently listen to the cyclic kerchunk of the mechanism as it did its backspacing.

I originally thought, when the idea for this piece came to me during my walk, of composing it by hand via fountain pen, then doing the finish work on the IBM; but time was running short this afternoon and I instead composed the whole piece at the keyboard.

I've yet to find my writer's voice doing these kinds of pieces; the sense of nostalgia is too strong. It's hard to maintain some objectivity as an external observer. I consider it an exercise, which I hope you find acceptable.

A Visit to the Neighborhood Walmart

You stand in line at Customer Service, adjacent to the entrance. Nearby there's a cloistered foyer-like area between two sets of automated doors, where shopping carts are corralled, awaiting their customers like steeds their cowboys. Next to Customer Service, in front of the automated doors, in an open area seemingly too empty, representing potential wasted retail square footage, not even a display kiosk, stands a security officer. He appears to be just a few years out of high school. Fresh-faced, tall and skinny; hardly intimidating to the type of person who might be inclined to commit crimes on the property.

I'm here in Customer Service because I need to exchange an item purchased the previous week. There are three people in line ahead of me. Behind the counter, a middle-aged lady is tending to the line while two others are seemingly supervising, at least according to their badges. Behind them, there is a sign on the wall with the eery message Blood Disposal, below which is a dispenser of biomedical hazard bags. Adjacent is a return bin labeled Celebration. I find myself amused by the dichotomy of this found phrase, Blood Disposal Celebration. This could be a good band name, or title of some experimental video. These are the thoughts that come to you while waiting in line at the neighborhood Walmart Customer Service.

Other than the blue vests and ID badges, it would be difficult to tell the employees apart from the customers. There is a kind of default civilian attire on display by both classes, casualness bordering on grungy, a kind of grunge so authentic as to make the most acute culture-maven pine with jealousy. I ponder the dichotomy of the fashion-conscious who seek out authenticity in appearance by appropriating the cultural artifacts of a socio-economic strata completely foreign to them. Here, the casual grunge is not an affectation but an artifact of hard economic reality. I ponder that thought, as I slowly shift my weight from one foot to the other, and back again, tending to a careful balance between impending impatience and a purposeful attempt at keeping my attitude at bay, taking the high road, reminding myself that standing in line is a rather normal anti-activity for dense populations in the civilized world. I remind myself that I am an accomplished line-stander from way back, so far back as to pre-date the terms "old school" and "back in the day". This too shall pass, I tell myself. The line barely moves. I can almost sense the lights momentarily dimming, but am not certain; maybe it's just me. I have visions of cloaked, huddled masses of Slavs, partly obscured by sleet and snow, standing in some Soviet bread line, grim determination their only solace. Perhaps it's not that bad, I tell myself. Or maybe, I ponder, perhaps the Customer Service line at the neighborhood Walmart is our own kinder, gentler form of Soviet bread line. I find a strange comfort at that thought. The line still barely moves.

Eventually, as each customer is attended to, their returned items are packaged in one of those ubiquitous gray plastic Walmart bags - the kind that eventually become part of the landscape, snarled around tumbleweeds in an adjoining vacant lot - which are then stapled shut and tossed in the appropriate bin behind the Customer Service desk, piled high with other identical gray plastic bags, for some other nameless, faceless soul to restock. I can't imagine what it would be like to have the job of restocking; and yet, if you walk into any 24-hour Walmart, late at night, you might be witness to those ghastly silhouettes of the doomed, frantically restocking shelves. You wonder what form of hell this must be, what crimes were committed that this punishment would be meted out upon these tortured souls; until you suddenly realize their labor is self-inflicted, fueled by hard, cold economic reality. Jobs are hard to come by, out here in the badlands. I check my watch and the second hand has barely moved. Other people behind me in line are twiddling at their phones. Me, I have a flip phone and try not to feel too superior.

It's almost my turn at the Customer Service desk, and another employee is making subtle motions implying a second station might be readying to open; you never can be too certain about these things - only God and the shift manager know for certain, and neither are telling. Should it open while I'm still in line, I'll have to decide which station to choose.

Each choice has some risk. If I choose the newly opened station, does that signal my impatience with the middle-aged lady at the first station? That I'm meting out my exasperation by snubbing her? Or, if I choose her station instead, does that mark me as stoic and inflexible; that, damn it, I made my choice and I'm sticking with it? Is it a signal to the other employee that they took their own sweet time opening up a second station, ignoring us poor saps in line, so to hell with you? Yes. Maybe. Actually I'm not certain, but now it's becoming less important because there's only one guy in front of me, with a shopping cart containing some partially wrapped contraption-like thing that looks entirely out of place here, like it could not possibly have been sold in a Walmart, but instead some secondhand junk truck stop bazaar, something long and gangly and coiled up, with a tinge too much patina and wear to have been purchased recently new. I begin imagining some gang of thieves who hock their booty at the neighborhood Walmart Customer Service in exchange for cash or credit. I begin imagining some one-offramp town near the interstate highway where the local Walmart has put all the other local businesses into receivership; and everything that every person in town owns and wears, aside from major appliances and automobiles, is purchased under that one roof, and how can they, like the tall, gangly security guard man-child, tell if a customer has shoplifted if everything they're wearing, from shoes to jewelry, was purchased there? I begin thinking of a wallet or purse stuffed to overflowing with receipts for everything one wears. I begin thinking about thermally printed cash register receipts and their intrinsically short lifespan before the paper begins to fade. I begin thinking that perhaps this is intentional, as I gaze into that internal maw of limitless conspiracy musings. I purposefully have to shut the door on my inner paranoia.

The guy in front of me, he's struck up a conversation with a lady in front of him, who I thought was his wife but now I'm not so certain, their intimacy seemed too overt for having just met in line; but then I begin to wonder, how long have we actually been in line, that they had time to become acquainted and intimate, and is this the new form of dating venue, instead of singles bars, meeting someone in the Customer Return line, and suddenly I realize I'm next in line and I have to make my choice.

It is only ten minutes later but feels like a lifetime. I'm now walking out through the automated glass doors into the bright daylight, partially filtered by clouds and a blustery, cold wind, into the vast parking lot that faces toward the south, my favorite direction because the vista is so sun-lit, so replete with possibility and the warmth of hope. I think I know which row I parked in, but suddenly don't recognize the rear of my vehicle until I'm almost upon it. I begin to notice that many of the vehicles around me look newer, fancier, except for some stand-out beaters that now sport a new-found patina of appreciation. I press the button on my key fob and that familiar chirp reminds me that my errands are not yet complete, but that I have survived for another day the Customer Service line at the neighborhood Walmart, and I am perhaps the better for it, but am not entirely certain.

(Composed and edited on the AlphaSmart Neo.)

The Strip Mall Jesus and First Church of Perpetual Video

Post-Script: Inspiration for this short-short story, my submission for Typing Assignment No. 10, was from remnants of a dream I'd had, last week. It seems I've have episodic dreams over the years, set in the same or similar environs, that evolves over time as my life experience and employment changes. The dream I'm certain was based on a TV repair shop I'd worked in, decades ago, in a nearby strip mall, at the corner of Eubank and Menaul Blvds here in Albuquerque. While the owner of the shop wasn't exactly a messiah-type, mixed in this dream is also something to do with small storefront churches I've been in over the years.

Typed on my aunt's repaired-as-good-as-it's-gonna-get Royal 10, now situated on my office desk and ready to deliver back to Colorado, when I have the time and the weather cooperates.

How about you? Do you get inspired to write creatively from dreams? Perhaps this is another topic for the Typewriter Video Series. Hmm...

"And Don't Call Me Freddy"

Post-Script: This whole project began as an inspiration, late at night, sitting at my office desk with Underwood Portable at my side. These machines indeed are tools for writing inspiration, especially this kind of writing that's imaginative and, being fiction, doesn't have to conform to reality.

Since I needed a photo to adorn the beginning of this article, I figured a pinhole image would be needed, in order to get sufficiently close to these garden ornament ants. I used a little cardboard pinhole camera I'd built some years ago, with a 4" square format and wide angle of view (about 1.5" focal length). I attached a rectangular wooden base to my tripod, already fitted with 1/4-20 tripod bushing, and clamped to that a larger sheet of old plywood. This served as a mobile foreground stage, which I could move around my yard and adjust its framing with the tripod's head. A 25 second exposure in bright sun was made onto pre-flashed grade 2 RC paper. Inversion of the tones was done in the Preview app on my Mac. I really need to get some more full-featured photo editing software, but that'll involve spending some money and doing a bit of research.

Here's the video of this project:

Typing Assignment #2

We had a great response to Typing Assignment #1 on my YouTube channel, with 18 participants entering their one-page typewritten pieces. For many of you, this was your first foray into creative writing, which I can only respond by feeling grateful that this project has already born some creative fruit. I hope you continue to be inspired and wear out many more ribbons with your future writings!

These short pieces, though each unique, had many aspects in common, especially the devotion and love reflected between machine and user. There was also a strong sense of melancholy, for these machines having sat so many years and decades in disuse, before being rediscovered. Humor was also in plenteous supply, with one writer having the typewriter revolution being started by the machines themselves, and another writer stating that the machines collect their owners - not the other way around. For anybody like us collectors who've sensed that magnetic attraction to some otherwise anonymous thrift store, only to find some wonderful machine inside, waiting to be taken home, we can certainly relate.

Of course, a single page is entirely inadequate for many of these stories to be fully realized; but that is another reason why these one-page assignments are so worthwhile, in that they require just enough creative effort to whet the juices into further expanding the treatment into a full-blown short story, which I hope many participants will take advantage of.

Typing Assignment #2 is less fictional creativity and more along the lines of analytical thinking: write a one-page essay on what you find unique and/or valuable about using typewriters as writing tools. Unless I hear otherwise, we'll assume the due date will be next Sunday, July 2. Please have your entries written, scanned/photographed, posted to social media and the link posted into the comments section below before then. If you require more than one week for this assignment, please post a comment into the YouTube video itself; I'll consider extending the due-date based on responses. I suspect enough of us are typewriter aficionados that we already have a good idea of why we like to use these machines for creative writing.

Good luck and happy writing.

The Line Writer Returns?

Post-Script: Here are the two poems Noah wrote today:





It's easy to see coincidences where there perhaps aren't any, but earlier today I'd posted a video and blog article about the first in a series of Typing Assignments. Do things like this blow on the wind, like pollen or dust? The very day when I issued this first creative writing assignment, my grandson returns to the typewriter after a long hiatus. All we can do is count our blessings - and keep writing.

Here's Noah's blog.

The Value of a Virtual Community

Post-Script: Noah is now in his own room at the hospital, and is mostly sleeping. Skin grafts will begin in a few days. Thank you all, near and far, for your thoughts and prayers.

I sat out on the back porch this afternoon, Olympia SF in my lap, typing while smoking a cigar. I hope this typecast isn't permeated with the aroma, for you sensitive nonsmoking readers. I observed that, while the last round of adjustments seem to have mostly fixed this machine's line spacing issues, there's a bit of wonkiness on the first letters after a carriage return. So not 100% yet. Repairing these entirely mechanical devices is, appropriately enough, an analog function. It's not like it's either entirely broken or entirely perfect, a Boolean logic function, but always somewhere in between, in that fuzzy gray area of real life. Such it will be with Noah's recovery, too. We'll give him all the support he needs. Best of all, the body has built-in healing systems of regeneration, unlike this inanimate assemblage of metal.

I feel the need to get at least one video produced this week, but haven't settled on a topic. And I need a haircut, and the barbershop doesn't open till tomorrow. Maybe something to do with reading through the archive of Noah's old typings, and the value of getting kids started with typewriters - even though, in his case, he really hasn't been using a typewriter for a few years. Still, there's something about these strictly mechanical devices as enablers of creativity, for this generation of millenials who didn't grow up with them as a regular part of their lives.

Regarding the top photo of Noah's car, I wasn't certain about posting it online, but there it is, in all its ugliness. I don't intend on keeping this blog entirely focused on this family issue, but I'll keep you updated as events warrant. Thank you again for all your thoughts and prayers.

"A Fine Mess"

A brief short story, composed at the nearest Duncan Donuts accompanied by a cup of their brew. No, not Starbucks fancy, but serviceable, not too strong coffee. I was inspired by a round of typewriter repairs I did last week. For this Olympia SF, I found a fix to the nagging issue of the line spacing problem, which I'd once thought was a permanent condition. Just a bit of courage, inspired by the Right Reverend Ted Munk and his Typewriter Repair Bibles, was all it took. No, there's not yet such a manual for the Olympia, but I did further tinkering and had some success.

This short story is for all of you typewriter collectors out there who think their collecting problem has gotten out of hand. Read and heed. And maybe chuckle.




Post-Script: Here's the video on what I did to fix the Olympia.

"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...

Firmness of Intent

Post-Script: Perhaps I'm wasting opportunity by writing random nonsense while test-typing, instead of something more worthwhile like memorizing and typing the Gettysburg Address, or one of the Articles of Confederation, or a bible verse. But I see it as an opportunity to test my creative mettle while engaged in typewriter maintenance, a kind of right-brain/left-brain mashup. And I've come up with some funny stuff, some of which isn't appropriate for mixed company.

One thing I enjoy about building up a backlog of papers waiting to be filed is the pleasure that comes from reading back through those pieces and rediscovering them anew. I'm going to make a point of revisiting my old writings more often, for inspiration if for no other reason.

Today I spent some time organizing my typewriter collection, in preparation for an interview to be conducted tomorrow. I won't say anything else about it for now, but will update you when appropriate. I attached tags to all of my typewriter cases, so they can be more easily identified; some of those mid-20th century, medium-sized portable look very similar in their cases.

Typecast via Brother Charger 11. Yes, it's a stripped-down student's model, lacking tabs, touch adjustment or a repeat spacer. But it is solidly made and types fine; and is very portable, a pleasure to take out to the front patio on a cool winter day.

A Lizard on a Warm Rock

Post-Script: I love these kinds of blog articles, however crude or unpolished they might seem. The idea of being able to spontaneously sit down with a typewriter on your lap and bash out a thought or two with no ulterior motive or agenda is a compelling reason for blogging, like sitting down with a friend for no reason whatsoever except to spend time in idle chitchat. Separated by the miles via the interwebz, this is our version of spending time together. I enjoy reading others' blogs, and try to comment as much as I can.

I know many people find it difficult to continue blogging, with the busyness of life getting in the way. Part of this is a misconception, that we have to compose carefully polished prose, edited and revised multiple times before it can be seen by the public. Ideally that would be true, but sometimes time is a luxury, and yet to put blogging in some kind of priority in our lives means that people get to see us in all our private messiness; warts, typos, misspellings and all. As is fitting with friends.

Photo via Apple iPod Touch. Typecast via Brother-made Webster XL-747.

Voice-Cast Blogging

There is this thing I'd like to call the alternative writing community. It's the group of people who write with alternatives to the computer and word processor, like typewriters, fountain pens, and Alphasmarts for instance.

There is also an alternative writing technology using OCR software and scanning typewritten text, to create a text file. But I'd like to suggest another, alternative method of writing, which is dictation. I'm writing this using the Notes app on the iOS platform, using the microphone input keyboard method.

For anyone who's tried typing lengthy text using a phone sized screen keyboard, you know it's a chore. Even with predictive text entry, you have to make constant corrections.

Several weeks ago, I discovered that it was easier to use the microphone text entry method than trying to thumb in text by hand. I still have to make a few corrections, but they're much less than before and my speed of text entry is much faster.

What works the best for me is to speak slowly and distinctly each word, in a quiet environment. I have very few problems using it this way, although some people might think it sounds strange the way I'm talking, almost like a robot voice. Also, the microphone text entry only excepts so many lines of text before it buffers and stops, at which point you have to hit the microphone button to continue. But still, I don't think I can hardly type this fast and this reliably.

Because I have a digital field recorder, I thought at one point I would start doing podcasts. But now, with this microphone text entry method, I can use it to create the text for a blog article.

To use the microphone text entry on an iOS device, just to the left of the keyboard is a microphone symbol. Press it, then begin talking. For punctuation you can use the words for period and comma. Note that I had to spell out those words in the previous sentence because otherwise it wanted to use the punctuation instead.

Note that you can also use this same microphone text entry method with many android smart phones.

On my iOS device, I noticed that the microphone button was only active when the device was connected to Wi-Fi or the Internet. This might be because my Notes documents are backed up to the cloud.

When you finish each portion of verbal text, you hit the done button below the audio field and the software will auto correct your spelling and punctuation. So, it's not a continuous writing experience, but more like a sporadic start and stop method. But still, being able to write by talking is a much different experience.

"Who is he talking to?"

"Oh he's just dictating into his iPod."

You might not want to use this writing method late at night, when the family is asleep in bed. Although it's not really any louder than having the TV sound on.

To get the text into a Blogger article, you highlight and copy the entire Notes document, then paste it into your Blogger browser window.

Alternatively, you could try microphone entry directly into the Blogger window, but you wouldn't be able to edit it as easily.

I've made this observation before, but smart phone text entry via tiny keyboard seems like a step backwards in technology. It was Alexander Graham Bell who first discovered voice communication, and now we seem to be going backwards into primitive text entry instead. Imagine a mobile phone where all you can do is talk. Oh, I think they call that a flip phone! Such an advanced device!

No, it's not as sexy as typing a blog article or using a fountain pen but it's awfully convenient. And I do think that spoken text has a different feel to it than hand written. So that's it. Any of you bloggers who have smart phones should try this out and let me know in the comments below how you come out.

Post-Script: I should point out that working with Blogger using an iOS device is a bit more complex than what I suggested. For line and paragraph breaks, you need to insert the code "< b r >" after every paragraph and break. I do this by hand, in the Notes app, prior to copy/pasting the finished piece into Blogger. Also, to get my photo at the top of the article, I first mail it to my Flickr account (the image is a screen shot taken during the voice entry), then go to the desktop version of Safari and grab the HTML code for the image and paste it into the top of the Notes article. Then I resize the image by changing the height and width values to fit my Blogger template (using the calculator app to scale the correct values). Once that's done, I copy/paste the entire Notes document and paste it into the Blogger text entry field. Easy-peesy. Sort of.

Thoughts on 'A Place of Truth'

Post-Script: I enjoyed this documentary more than I expected; not only because typewriters play a central role, but also Ms. Mott's story is compelling, as is the life of the for-hire street poet. As I hinted at in my typecast, to blog via typewriters is one thing (tantamount to an amateur snapshot shooter wielding a camera); but to type for a living on the streets, that's the real deal.

But there's more involved than the machines themselves; poets like Mott are true writers, despite the venue within which they work. They love the written word and see themselves as carrying on in the tradition of mainstream literature, despite their working setting seeming far removed from academia.

I'm not certain professional street typists have gained the recognition they deserve as an important part of the typewriter renaissance; Abby Mott's blog deserves more recognition, be sure to visit.

Be sure to visit the film's website, and make an effort if you can to watch it.

To Stay on the Straight and Narrow

Post-Script: Do you remember, just a month or two ago, all the time I spent cleaning, adjusting, typing and typecasting with my more recently acquired Smith-Corona Silent Super? Well, this is its older stablemate, the venerable non-Super Silent, the one with the fixed tabs, and a bit more drab color scheme but in better mechanical condition. In terms of "haptics," this one feels every bit as good as the best mechanical typewriter, but is more compact in size than the larger Galaxy 12s or Hermes 3000s. And, being of elite-sized (smaller, 12 characters per inch), it just works better for me as a first-draft typer, especially with the seemingly endless roll of teletype paper threaded up. It is because of machines like this, situated in my patio room upon the tray table, ready to type up a storm, that I can, at a moment's notice, be creating words upon paper. An imminently practical, pleasurable writing instrument.

I've been taking a liking to this teletype paper. No, it's not a fine quality foolscap of rich vellum, it's instead more like rough, leathery, thicker newsprint. But I like the look it gives to printed words. They're meaty and physical. You can more easily see the ink impressed upon the paper's fibers. The paper's off-white tone looks like it's already aged half a century, like these freshly typed words could have been from a previous era; some sort of typewriter time machine at work, words from the present appearing as if they've come from the past.

The best part of using the roll of teletype paper is not having to thread up a fresh sheet of paper after an all-too-brief session of typing. No interruptions, just pure, nonstop writing pleasure.

The top photo shows a Bic Cristal medium-point in blue ink, one of my all-time favorite writing instruments. If it weren't for fountain pens, this is what I'd be writing with. I've taken to liking these pens so much that I go out of my way to stay stocked up on them; the larger 1.6mm tip versions are also very nice writers. Oddly, they're rather hard to find at my local big-box retail stores. Luckily there's Amazon to the rescue.