Origin of the Species
I like telling the (100% true) story of crafting my first sci-fi novellas on my mother’s 1950s manual Underwood typewriter.
In between the Underwood and my Powermac G3 (pictured here), I briefly owned a Compaq Presario and Serif PagePlus, on the advice of a family friend (Dave G), who encouraged me to pursue my writing more seriously.
I upgraded from the Powermac G3 to a tricked-out G4 tower — complete with “must have” features like the ability to burn CDs and DVDs. Ah, the old days, when Blockbuster was still a thing. I moved to a Macbook circa 2008 and, more recently, Macbook Air.
And let me be clear. I don’t “miss” the manual typewiter’s keys jamming into a hopeless knot. Or white-out. Or the typewriter’s taunting refusal to realign properly after correcting a mistake.
And don’t get me started on fading ink ribbons …
But there was something uniquely satisfying about the clack of keys striking the page, ping! at the end of each line, cranking the carriage return — wrrk! — and adding another finished page to the growing stack of a manuscript.
Memories of my mom’s Underwood remind me of thirteen-year-old Deven, who spent hours and hours reading speculative fiction, followed by hours and hours writing speculative fiction.
Because I loved writing. And I still do.
I have a few writing colleagues who have pursued the “writing to market” track with incredible energy and dogged determination. So much so, that they can’t wait to quit. The magic is gone, and a labor of love that once brought them creative joy has devolved into life-sucking drudgery.
I still love to write. If returning to an ancient manual Underwood was my only option, you’ll find me happily clacking away, enjoying the ping-wrrk! of carriage returns, and muttering “Et tu, Brute?” under my breath at fading ink ribbons.
I’m a writer, and I love what I do.