On the Virtues of Typewriters and Pencils

Here’s the thing with pen­cils and typewriters—they nev­er go out of date, they nev­er need updat­ed soft­ware, and they nev­er require virus pro­tec­tion.

Three years ago, I found I was spend­ing a lot of my writ­ing time mak­ing my com­put­er usable. I had an iMac, of course, which was great, but for a portable I had an IBM ThinkPad, which seemed to have been steeped in a stew of virus­es right from the fac­to­ry. I got tired of jerk­ing around with Win­dows, so I erased it and loaded on (per my friend Jason’s sug­ges­tion) SUSE Lin­ux. This worked well for a while, but then I dis­cov­ered I could­n’t net­work it to the iMac and was spend­ing a lot of time email­ing files to myself. There had to be an eas­i­er way.

There was. For com­put­ers, Alexas insist­ed (twist my arm, dear) that we scrap all the old ones and buy two brand-new Macs—an eMac and an iBook. So we did, and they’re work­ing fine. But as far as writ­ing drafts of work, I want­ed the speed of typ­ing with­out the BS of com­put­ers, so I got an IBM Selec­tric III. If you’ve nev­er typed on one of these babies, I urge you to seek one out and give it a try. A pro­found sense of solid­i­ty and com­pe­tence emanates from these machines, and each let­ter you type bangs onto the paper with a reas­sur­ing snap, much like a riv­et into a ship’s hull. But I digress.

The only rub with the Selec­tric was that it required pow­er, so I decid­ed to go even old­er-school and find me a man­u­al type­writer. One day I was help­ing Jason (a noto­ri­ous pack rat) clean out one of his 37 stor­age units, and we came upon an 80-year-old L.C. Smith & Coro­na. He gave it to me as “pay­ment” for help­ing him, and I added it to my bur­geon­ing col­lec­tion.

Then, recent­ly, the Smith & Coro­na began to fail (the peri­od key stopped work­ing), so I start­ed think­ing about anoth­er man­u­al to replace it. I’d always loved the ones Hem­ing­way used (Rem­ing­tons & Roy­als), and I must admit I liked the asso­ci­a­tion, so I bought a Roy­al Qui­et Deluxe from Mr. Type­writer. The one he sent me had the clas­sic “Lit­tle Old Lady” sto­ry: it had sat in a woman’s clos­et for over fifty years, tak­en out only three or four times to type a let­ter. It was made before WWII, so it has about 10 times more steel than it needs, but I’m not com­plain­ing.

The main point about writ­ing with type­writ­ers is that they’re an anti-tech­nol­o­gy tech­nol­o­gy. For one thing, it takes con­sid­er­able prac­tice to type well on a typewriter—especially a man­u­al, which you won’t be able to use if your fin­gers aren’t strong. This means that you need to write slow­er, and as a result you find your­self choos­ing your words more care­ful­ly. Also, since they’re only good for typ­ing, there’s no email, porn or video games to dis­tract you.

As for pen­cils, they may be slow­er (a lot slow­er, in fact), but they’re reli­able. I also like the process of sharp­en­ing them. (Think of Spe­cial Forces sol­diers sharp­en­ing their Bowie knives before a covert op.) If I’m work­ing in pen­cil that morn­ing, I’ll usu­al­ly pull out a dozen or so fresh ones and sharp­en them until the points could pen­e­trate the hide of a shark. When one becomes dull, I move it to the back of the line and rotate them until it’s time to sharp­en all of them again. For the record, like an expert wine taster, I’ve sam­pled just about every pen­cil out there, and if you’re search­ing for the per­fect pen­cil, let me save you some time. The fol­low­ing are the three best (not in order because each one is great for its own rea­sons):

* The Mira­do Black War­rior — Any­time they show a cup of pen­cils on a movie or TV show, these are the ones you see. Says Alexas, “They’re black, so they don’t stand out in a pic­ture.” Besides being pho­to­genic, the Black War­rior is round and won’t hurt your fin­gers dur­ing long writ­ing ses­sions (they were Steinbeck’s favorite for this rea­son). Also, the lead, while not hard­er than oth­er #2s, is more resilient, so you get few­er annoy­ing breaks.

* Sta­ples brand — Believe it or not, these are con­sis­tent­ly good pen­cils. What’s bet­ter, they’re cheap. A box of 72 might run you four bucks. Although they’re the old-school hexag­o­nal shape, the lead is nice and dark, and the erasers work well.

* Staedtler Noris ergosoft — Made in Ger­many, these are almost impos­si­ble to get in the U.S. When I first dis­cov­ered them four or five years ago, Sta­ples and oth­er places car­ried them. Then, for some rea­son (either they weren’t pop­u­lar enough or they were too pop­u­lar, out­selling the oth­er brands), they sud­den­ly dis­ap­peared. After going with­out them for a few months, I final­ly tracked down an obscure whole­saler out of Illi­nois that car­ried them and had to order a gross. But why do I like them?

First, they have a tri­an­gu­lar grip, so they’re ergonom­ic. Sec­ond, they have a rub­bery coat­ing that gives with pres­sure (soft), so your lit­tle fin­gies don’t get bruised. The lead is a rich black (although it breaks a lit­tle too often for my taste) and the coat­ing has an aes­thet­i­cal­ly pleas­ing black & yel­low design. The only down­side to these pen­cils, besides their rar­i­ty, is that they don’t have erasers. If you nev­er make any mis­takes, you’ll be fine.

** As an adden­dum, fol­low­ing is a lit­tle video of me using some of my type­writ­ers. This video was filmed by my friend Jason Scott a few years after this blog entry orig­i­nal­ly appeared. It’s titled “Equip­ment Test” because he’s a doc­u­men­tary film­mak­er and was test­ing out his new cam­era equip­ment.

 

By Chris Orcutt

CHRIS ORCUTT is an American novelist and fiction writer with over 30 years' writing experience and more than a dozen books in his oeuvre. Since 2015, Chris been working exclusively on his magnum opus. Bodaciously True & Totally Awesome: The Legendary Adventures of Avery “Ace” Craig is a 9-episode novel about teens in the 1980s. It’s about ’80s teens, but for adults (in other words, it’s decidedly not YA literature), and he’s applied this epic storytelling approach to the least examined, most misunderstood, most marginalized narrative space in American literature: the lives and inner worlds of teenagers.

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