I always considered myself a reader. I didn’t always think of myself as a writer. I liked to write, sure. I thought everyone did. Guess I wasn’t paying attention. It came as a strange revelation when I learned — in my late 30s, when I was writing/editing fer-reals — that not only were many not keen on writing, whole bunches of folks actually hated it. Who knew?
I began my adventures in writing with a #2 pencil. My penmanship sucked. Cursive letters were supposed to have a forward slant; mine all wanted to slant backwards.
With the alphabet and the foundations of literacy nailed, teachers began asking us to put our own words on paper. I had mixed success with this period in my writerly evolution. I was fine with being told to write. Just didn’t appreciate being told what to write.
The technical thrill of my initial writing experience was the fountain pen. The refillable fountain pen. The refillable fountain pen that leaked and dripped and clogged, the RFP that got ink all over my hands (and clothes), which I then transferred to the page, smudging it even worse. Yes, ok, I never mastered the implement — but I still remember the magic of touching nib to paper, sweeping it out and up and down and around, and watching that slightly-shiny/already-drying blue or black line trailing along behind.
In junior high, my in-class writing endeavors were greatly enhanced by an upgrade in the pen department: the cartridge fountain pen. SO much easier than the refillable, omg.
In-home, we had another upgrade. Dad bought a new IBM Selectric typewriter and a “teach yourself touch typing” book,
and I was set. Perhaps my most memorable (typed) work from that period was my 8th grade (highly-derivative, highly-predictable) end-of-the-world short story with my best-ever title: The Crossroads of Oblivion. The title is courtesy of my Dad, as well. When he was heading for the loo, he sometimes said, “I’m going to see a man about a dog,” and sometimes said, “We have now reached the crossroads of oblivion.” I stole the latter phrase and re-purposed it; a true-writer born.
Next time – Tools of the Trade II: a big leap backwards
Loved reading this! I totally remember typing papers on my parents old typewriter.
Thanks for stopping in, Shannon! Amazing how we remember the sound and feel of our childhood typewriters, isn’t it? I wonder if the kids of today will look back fondly on the experience of using their parents keyboards and word processors!