The Feel of the Keystrokes
A symbiotic partnership with a typewriter will progress a draft, because typewriters do not possess a convenient means to modify what the rhythmical clacking has let out of the mind and onto the paper. Already, I have deleted and rewritten the lead more times than there are tantric positions. Computers, keyboards, and word processor applications allow writers to embrace a ménage trois of simultaneous drafting, editing, and proofreading. Each stage in the writing process prefers to be massaged with individual care and attention. And I am lovesick with the ease I can type, backspace, or cut, copy, & paste. So I do not use a typewriter to write.
There are distractions luring us away from the orgy of drafting, editing, and proofreading. When I am using a computer, however good it is at lubricating my desire to write, there is a library of electric glory holes beckoning my curiosities — and I am not referring to internet pornography. An internet connected computer makes it too easy to open another tab, effectively burying your word processor. Social media snuffs the immediate idea waiting to be spilled onto the screen. Search engines gag the electric ink begging to be shed. And notifications are enough to deflate the mojo to write. Only after overcoming of the seduction of distractions may writing occur.
I have considered reigniting my partnership with a typewriter. Years ago my sister had gifted me a thrifted Royal Safari typewriter. I wrote many personal letters and pounded out a few ink sheds with the Safari before selling it (for what reason I fail to recall). Later on my mother and her partner gifted me an antique Remington typewriter in working order with a fresh ink ribbon. However, the rows of keys are situated in raised steps making typewriting an achy and uncomfortable task for my hands. So the Remington is kept as a decorative item. But I have not completely abandoned the idea of drafting with a typewriter.
When I was a child I remember my mother using a half-electric, half-mechanical typewriter to draft her college assignments. It plugged into the wall and used continuous printer paper that had the holes down the lengths of the sheets; you used to have to tear along the perforated lines to separate a sheet of paper. This half-electric contraption had two modes: direct or indirect word processing. When used in the direct mode, the typewriter’s key face would strike the paper as you stroked each key, like a traditional typewriter. However, when used in the indirect mode a built-in LCD screen would display your keystrokes. You could draft, edit, and proofread through the LCD screen before hitting print and committing your work to printed paper. This half-electric, half-mechanical typewriter was a proto-laptop in many ways.
I perused a few thrift stores and even spent some time searching online for used half-electric, half-mechanical typewriters. There were some options that reminded me of my mother’s proto-laptop. But I was not turned on to the idea of having to maintain or repair an obsolete writing implement. So procuring a new mechanical typewriter that was ergonomic, unlike my Remington, engorged my energies. My considerations for the colours, brand names, and price points of modern mechanical typewriters sucked up too much of my energies better spent writing. And if I did buy a typewriter, how would I convert the typed draft into a digital file for ease of editing? I swiped left on any further pursuit for a mechanical typewriter.
Typewriters were a part of my evolving apprenticeship as a writer, but my laptops were the conduits for my first pieces of published written work and for my love for the feel of writing. I was gifted a Toshiba laptop for graduating high school in 2005. It had a licensed copy of Microsoft Word, but the Toshiba’s own neural pathways were so entrenched that any process or program running other than Word would bring the laptop’s processor to a standstill. The Toshiba, moreover, had a fantastic, heavy feel to the key strokes. It was like broken in leather, durable and comfortable. It was not until I retired the Toshiba (after a decade of use) and started using a lightweight HP that I realized how much I appreciated the feel of a keyboard when I wrote.
I was never satisfied with writing on the lightweight HP. Computationally the laptop functioned fine. But the keyboard felt awkward like trying to kiss a blow up doll. I bought the HP when I started university. After the first couple weeks of classes I opted to leave the HP at home and to use the library computers to complete the majority of my written assignments. There, in the university library, I was seduced back into writing. The stroked-out mechanical keyboards renewed my love for the feel of writing. I knew what I was missing, so I bought a mechanical gaming keyboard to use with my HP at home.
Eventually I upgraded to a preowned Lenovo desktop for home use. The HP was parked in a drawer and I used the gaming keyboard with the desktop. Life and writing went on. My father, in a fit of wine soaked drama, hammer-fisted his own laptop. The violence left his laptop irreparable. I gifted him my HP, which worked well for him as all he needed was to check email, scroll Facebook, and stream Netflix.
I was getting by with the Lenovo desktop at home and the computer stations at the library when I took an opportunity to work in the promo office for a local nightclub. I was employed to write social media posts, among our duties. However, the job did not supply a laptop. To be successful at the nightlife I morphed into a digital nomad. I found a cheap, used Lenovo SL510 ThinkPad for sale with Windows 10 Pro installed. Using the ThinkPad’s keyboard reminded me of writing on my Toshiba. For few hundred dollars I upgraded the Thinkpad with a SSD and more RAM. It performed remarkably well.
I swapped the optical drive in my ThinkPad with a caddy to hold an additional hard drive. I used this hard drive as a digital repository for all my music, and I would listen with headphones to my unique and varied albums, ensuring not to disturb my roommate at the time.
The job with the local nightclub did not last long. University coursework was too demanding and I was not in tune with the local nightlife. So I quit before I was fired. Shortly afterwards my ThinkPad prompted me for a subscription key. There was a yearly licence that needed to be renewed to use the operating system. I suspected that the ThinkPad was probably stolen. And eventually I lost access to its operating system. I still had a desktop running Windows 10 Home edition, but I was miffed that I had a fresh SSD and RAM sitting in a laptop I could not use.
It did not make sense to have computer hardware I could not use. I bought a copy of Windows 10 Home with a legit licence and attempted to install it on the ThinkPad. During my attempts to install the fresh operating system I learned that the BIOS was locked with an administrative password, further cementing my belief the laptop was stolen. The ThinkPad was as good as a brick.
My roommate at the time was aware of my computer trouble and she offered to give me her MacBook (from 2010). I think she felt pity for my old computers. The MacBook would have been seven or eight years old, and my roommate tasked her (ex)boyfriend to clean the Mac before giving it to me. I ended up using the SSD and the RAM from my bricked ThinkPad to invigorate the gifted MacBook. It was a phenomenal computer to use. With the MacBook I recorded podcasts, I mined crypto currency, and, most importantly, I wrote. When I used the keyboard I felt like I was sexually active again after a dry spell.
Part of me thought I was cheating on a non-existent girlfriend. The MacBook recorded and edited dozens of podcasts, and it was the means to finish a degree at the University of Alberta. But I still had a bricked ThinkPad with a hard drive with hundreds of songs that I could not access. So I bought another used ThinkPad SL510, simply swapped the music hard drive, and then installed a legit copy of Windows 10 Home for an operating system. The clunky old ThinkPad satiated my lust for the feel of a good keyboard. Though, curiously enough, I would frequently switch between using my Lenovo desktop, the ThinkPad, and the MacBook write.
I met my (real) girlfriend in 2019, and about a year into our relationship my podcasting counterpart was without a computer. My girlfriend had an old ’07 MacBook stashed away under the bed, which we dug out, dusted off, and gave to my friend to use. He was thankful; however, the ’07 MacBook did not have any hardware upgrades. I think the laptop was more of a burden to my friend than a useful gift. So after a couple of months I opted to trade my MacBook for the ’07 MacBook. The MacBook suited him much better than the geriatric ’07.
The ’07 was not at the end of its life, yet. I procured a refurbished battery and completely wiped the hard drive, installing a free open source operating system, Ubuntu. The ’07’s keyboard was smooth like uninterrupted foreplay. I drafted dozens of short essays on the aged laptop (including the majority of this story), before the hard drive strained to keep up with the keystrokes. The ’07 currently rests under my desk and might be reinvigorated with some inexpensive hardware.
I continued to draft, edit, and proofread with the Lenovo desktop and Thinkpad. Unfortunately, my mechanical gaming keyboard lost the functionality of the “N” key. It was more of an inconvenience than a tragedy. The multi-coloured gaming keyboard, though satisfying to type with, never paired well my personality. I used a wireless keyboard for the interim while I hunted for a new mechanical keyboard.
Alas, I was lucky to find a Lenovo branded mechanical keyboard, new in the box with matching mouse, exactly like the ones I typed on at the computer stations in the university's library. In some ways I felt as though I came around full circle.
Some may comment and say I’m a bit of a snob. Other may suggest it doesn’t really matter, so long as the computer works well enough to get the words down. However, I believe it is important how a keyboard feels and how it responds to the keystrokes of the writer. Because if no one reads my essay, at least I know I enjoyed the process of writing it.
