Fresh Ribbon

NaNoWriMo Observations, Day One

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1. I can write more in an hour than I thought I could.

2. Outlines are for other people.

3. Creation is my favorite part anyway.

4. The story writes itself and I should have done this years ago.

5. I couldn’t do this on a manual typewriter. I hate that.

6. I can tell the problem won’t be getting to 50,000 words by month’s end. The problem will be forcing myself to step away from the novel and back into my daily responsibilities.

7. It’s delicious telling my Inner Editor to go to hell.

NaNoWriMo or Bust, and a Video Poem

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http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=1192767&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1

Codes from Musser on Vimeo.

NaNo

This typecast is brought to you on Alice, a witty debutante of an Olympia SF that – if my life were different – would definitely be used in Typewriter Brigading the NaNoWriMo. When I figure out what I’m doing wrong with my camera, I’ll share photos of Alice and another FABULOUS Olympia, both delicious cursive hand-me-downs from the best typing buddies a girl ever had.

Typewriter Storage as Art. Problem Solved. Kind of.

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The lovely machines at my house are multiplying like rabbits. The problem , thus far, isn’t how to get rid of them (GAD!), it’s where to store these vintage beauties.

I ran across Rebecca Horn’s Blue Monday installation on the Guggenheim collection, and voila! Storage as art. I even found a blog where David Scrimshaw had a happy little storage accident – more art.
So now I’m thinking hard about the seven or eight typewriters cozied under my bed, nesting in their cases like off-season tulip plantings. Clearly, I need a storage solution less on the hide-it-under-the-bed side and more along the lines of oooh aaaah art.
I’m also thinking about the five typewriter cases stacked side-by-side in the bookcases, but not too much. While the effect is scarcely art, it does add a bit of ambiance – another A-word. Close enough for me. Besides, hanging 15- to 20- pound typewriters up like a string of freshly-caught bass has got to be a strain on some structurally important part of the house. I’ve lived in too many old houses to play fast and loose with architectural integrity, even for Art.
It’s not like I leave all my typewriters under the dust ruffle to die. I do take them out for regular spins that can last four or five days each, giving each a good run for their ribbons every single night. I write on them. A lot.
It would be odd to turn my house into a Typewriter Guggenheim, not that there’s enough space to even imagine it. I’ve had houses with indoor vistas, but now I’ll take the storage problem over the electric bill every time. Especially lately.
Another Terribly Good Idea might be to fill out my collection by scattering a few typewriter-related goodies here and there. Fish Nor Fowl gathered a charming group of vintage typewriter delight from Etsy, and I suspect many of these will end up on the Christmas List/in my house/not under the bed.

Hitchcock and the Stylish Monster

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Marnie is one of my favorite Hitchcock movies, and that Tippi Hendren is one creepy gal. The thing is, I visited Little Flower Petals earlier and saw her new Olympia that looks exactly like this one, then scooted over to Strikethru’s place where – binding machines aside – she threw out a little search for typewriters in the movies.
I realize this particular machine isn’t the star of the picture. Marnie stars a young and delicious Sean Connery, for God’s sake. The office scenes are full of those Hollywood-glam Olympias, though. Tippi even had stunning psychotic episodes behind a few of them.
I love it when a memory comes together, especially when it involves Big Honkin’ Typewriters and Sean Connery.

I Need a Black Arm Band

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I’m heartsick. This gorgeous cursive Royal belongs to someone else and I just watched her go. Damn Ebay, and damn my earlier resolve not to buy another typewriter until September.
Why do the best typewriters show up when I’m trying to be good? It would be easy to wish terrible things on the person who bought it, but instead I’m going to sling out what little gypsy abracadabra I have left and hope the new owner finds it too feminine, clunky, unrepairable. I’m scattering a Boredom Curse out, like birdshot.
I’m wafting them with Oh-Dear-I-Guess-I-Should-Just-Resell-This-On-Ebay-After-September-1st vibes.
My vibes used to be unparalleled, but I’m a little rusty now. Wish me luck.
Good Lord.

Tree Karma

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tree

Don’t worry, the typewriters are all in a safe part of the house. I can’t decide exactly why the tree is getting even with me. Was it for all my youthful/poetic ridiculousness back in the day when I zoomed past it in the VW? Maybe the indignity of a subdivided pasture? The reams of paper I’ve trashed that were once relatives?

The tree could be trying to do me a favor. Maybe it’s just waiting to take out my ’02 Avalon and I’m just not parking it strategically.

Makes no difference. If the wind kicks up I’ll never hear it fall over those damned monastic-droning windchimes anyway.

(This typecast brought to you by Mamie, my elegant Smith Corona Silent.)