The Delete Key I Can’t Live Without: Why I Write About Typewriter Stories But Don't Use One

Why I write about typewriters but don’t use them in my daily life

Disclaimer: This article may contain Amazon affiliate links. Any purchases made from these links help me earn income at no additional cost to you.

Introduction: A Confession

I have a confession to make, one that longtime readers might find a bit strange. 

I write a series of short stories that are centered on typewriters. The Typewriter Diaries introduces you to different people, different typewriters, and the strange ways those machines change their lives. I’ve spent hours researching machines, where they’re made, and how.  I’ve heard secondhand what the bell sounds like before a carriage return and imagined the smell of a fresh ribbon.

But here’s something that might surprise you despite all that. I don’t own a single typewriter.

It’s a dichotomy I’ve thought about a lot, and something I can’t really explain, not even to myself. So today, I’m going to fix that. To understand why I write about these iconic writer’s tools but keep them at arm’s length, I have to go back to the beginning.

My Great-Aunt’s Typewriter: The Beginning

When I was young, from about the age of six to about nineteen, I spent a lot of time with my great-aunt. If you’ve read my post about how I became a Braves fan and stuck with them my whole life, you’ll have read about her. She also unknowingly fostered my love of writing and interest in older instruments of the craft. Aunt Mary had a daisy-wheel typewriter, something I wish I could have gotten my hands on when she passed. She taught me my first lessons in typing on that machine. I don’t remember any specific things that I’d written on it. I probably wouldn’t win any awards for any of it, but the feeling was something I’ll never forget. I would press a key, then another, and then another. Suddenly, the words in my head appeared on the page in front of me. Before long, I had written a page of my own words, something that just seconds before didn’t exist. 

I’ll never forget the sound of the type wheel moving, the hammer hitting the paper with every key I pressed. I remember Aunt Mary attempting to teach 11 or 12-year-old me how to type the same way she taught me to read cursive writing a year or two earlier. As funny as I thought it was then, I can thank her for being miles ahead of my fellow students when I took my first keyboarding class in middle school, and even more so in high school. She told me it was a skill that would come in handy, and I guess since she'd worked in an office for many years before her retirement, she would know. She’s passed on now, gone 11 years in two weeks, but the memories and skills I unwittingly learned from her live on. 

Unbeknownst to me then, the days spent with Aunt Mary, typing away on that typewriter, were the beginning of a lifelong obsession with writing and the tools thereof. Those spring and summer afternoons planted something in me that would grow into the passion that exists now. I’ve been blessed to discover a talent for it too, and I don’t take that gift for granted, at least not anymore. 

Fountain Pens and Me: Ink on Paper (and on Me)

The early spark from those spring and summer days with Aunt Mary eventually grew into a love of older writing technology. These days, I have a growing collection of fountain pens, and I use and love every one of them. The love of fountain pens comes with minor inconveniences, however, as I found out quickly when I started collecting. 

I should mention, for those who don’t already know, that I am left-handed. If you’re a lefty, you probably already know where I’m going with this. Writing left to right with my left hand means dragging my hand right through the ink that came before. Evidence of this is stamped on the heel of my hand by the end of any writing session. I started with Waterman ink in different colors. The Intense Black is probably my favorite of that line. Recently, however, I have grown partial to the Writer’s Blood ink, a copper-colored ink from Diamine. Being left-handed, my Lamy Safari pen with a left-handed nib has been an absolute game-changer. But even that doesn’t completely negate the ink on the heel of the hand that is almost synonymous with being left-handed. 

Does the ink on the heel of my hand after a writing session bother me? Only mildly. Does it stop me? Why would it? Some things are worth a minor inconvenience for a taste of nostalgia. 

My Twenties: A Decade of Losing My Way and Finding It Again

The road from the first experience with Aunt Mary’s typewriter to the blog you’re reading was far from a straight line. In my mid-to-late twenties, I lost my way for about ten years. I never said it out loud, but there was a voice in my head telling me I didn’t have what it took to do what I loved and get paid for it. It was the combined voice of everyone who told me it was just a hobby, that there was no way I could make money from writing. Foolishly, I accepted that narrative as fact and convinced myself I didn’t have what it took to be a writer in any capacity, much less make money from it.

What snapped me back to reality was reading. I received my first Kindle as a Christmas gift shortly after moving back in with my parents after a disastrous living situation that made up most of my twenties. As I read, beginning with Stephen King’s “Carrie,” I rediscovered the love for the written word that I had since elementary school. My desire to write soon returned as well. Another stepping stone to where I am today, even if I didn’t see it then. 

I started this blog in November 2023. Facing discouragement and self-doubt after not getting the traffic I thought I would, I pivoted slightly. I wrote on Blogger for almost a year exclusively before coming back to this platform and trying again. I knew I still knew nothing of what I was doing, but with the 3rd anniversary of this blog quickly approaching, I’m now maintaining two blogs and a Substack; the latter is linked in this post. This blog in particular includes a growing collection of short stories centered on typewriters, inspired by Tom Hanks’ book, Uncommon Type, and a YouTuber named Joe Van Cleave. Even with the love of typewriters I’ve developed, thanks in part to these two men, I’m reminded of the confession I made at the beginning of this story.

Why I Don’t Own a Typewriter (Yet)

There are a few reasons I don’t own a typewriter right now. None of them have anything to do with money or space, at least not on the surface. They are simply about me, my journey, and my process. 

Every mistake remains: I’m a good speller, mostly. One thing I am not, however, is a good typist. On a PC or laptop, that matters little. I hit the backspace key, and the mistake disappears, never to be seen again. Most typewriters don’t offer such a safety net. A mistake is printed in real ink, a permanent fixture on the page. The only fixes are correction tape, a correction fluid that comes in small bottles, or striking out the mistake, attempting to cover it with X’s or some other symbol. I’ve always been self-conscious of making mistakes, and the idea of a mistake staying on the page as a permanent reminder is intimidating. 

The physical question: I try to refrain from bringing up my physical condition unless it’s the subject of an article, but it’s worth mentioning in this context, I think. Manual typewriters, and even some electrics, take more finger force to operate. I rarely have a problem with such things, as my specific form of cerebral palsy doesn’t affect my hands or upper body quite as much, but it’s still something I think about. I’d like to think it wouldn’t be a problem at all, but I don’t know for sure. The question comes to mind more often than I’d like to admit, taking a seat right next to all the other insecurities that haunt me daily.

What spelling and grammar checkers stole from me: I would be lying if I said the convenience of spelling and grammar check software hasn’t dulled some of the natural abilities I once had. When the software catches everything, you risk not being able to catch it yourself. Owning a typewriter would likely lead to a shocking revelation of how much I lean on the safety net associated with built-in corrections and spelling and grammar checks. If I’m honest, I don’t know how prepared I am for that reality. 

The Irony Isn’t Lost on Me

Here’s what I realized while writing the X thread that eventually became this article: The very thing that stands as a barrier between me and typewriter ownership makes them such a powerful part of my stories. 

When you use a typewriter, there’s no hiding from your mistakes. There’s no delete key, no undo command, and no quiet revision history. Whatever you type is there permanently, and you own it. The permanence is exactly what draws me to these machines as a storyteller, and conversely, what scares the hell out of me as a typist. 

Perhaps that’s what draws me to write about these machines time and time again. The characters in the Typewriter Diaries series so far get to sit in front of these machines and commit to the page the way I haven’t allowed myself to do yet. Maybe I’m living vicariously through them and am just now realizing it. 

One example of this is the main character in “What the Lake Wouldn’t Take,” my latest entry in the series. Though I don’t blatantly say it in the story, he is the typist and wordsmith that i was before I became complacent. I know these skills can be learned, or in my case, relearned. So, perhaps I will take the plunge someday and take my chances with a vintage typewriter. You’ll just have to stay tuned to find out.

Maybe Someday

I don’t think this is the end of my story with typewriters. Skills can be relearned. Spelling without a safety net, typing more carefully, and trusting myself to make a mistake and move forward. Those are things I can practice. I even tried writing without the safety nets, which I discovered can be turned off. But my self-conscious nature won the day, and I fell back on them. Perhaps that’s the bridge between where I am now and drafting with a typewriter, or typewriter-adjacent device, to quote Joe Van Cleave. Perhaps there is a way to relearn the skills by forcing myself to use them again. Only time will tell.

And maybe one day, I’ll sit down in front of a typewriter, much like my characters do, and find out what happens when I stop worrying about mistakes, corrections, and that dreaded backspace key.

Until then, I’ll keep writing about typewriters and people who benefit from using them. If you haven’t read the Typewriter Diaries series yet, here is a good place to start. If you own a typewriter, or have your own reasons for not owning one, I’d love to have a conversation in the comments below.