If you’ve been a regular follower of One Typed Page, perhaps you saw a page from Kent Peterson (“Tales from a Rolltop Desk”) about an easy way to get typed pages into an editable text file for your computer.

It’s called a Rocketbook, which is really two things: a reusable paper-like notebook ($) and a smartphone app (free) that’s used for scanning and transcribing handwritten pages in their notebook. Not only does the Rocketbook app recognize handwriting, it recognizes typed pages!

To get typewritten pages into a text file, install the Rocketbook app (iOS or Android) on your smartphone, then download the free Rocketbook page template. Place a typed page within the borders of the template (you might need to trim), then aim the Rocketbook app at the page. It automatically recognizes the page, transcribes it to a text file and creates a PDF image, then emails these files or uploads to your cloud drive, like DropBox or Google. Super easy. Got multiple pages? Just keep snapping and when you’re done Rocketbook combines them in a single file.

If you plan on using Rocketbook often, do what Kent does: laminate the Rocketbook template, cut out the middle, then lay the template over your typed page. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Send! That’s three pages a day for your big project, then another snap for your One Typed Page submission.

When I said Rocketbook can email OR send to your cloud drive, in fact, it can send to multiple destinations simultaneously. The template has seven icons on the bottom that correspond to where you want the file(s) to go. For example, I configured the Rocketbook icon to send to my email and the diamond icon to send to my Google Drive. Draw an X above an icon to select its corresponding destination. (You’ll need to choose, otherwise by default they’re all configured to send to your email account and you’ll get seven emails with identical attachments!) The destinations feature is great if you want to send a page to yourself and a copy to One Typed Page! (Just the PDF, please & thank you.) If you’re using a laminated template, use a whiteboard pen to make your destination selection.

Finally, since it’s a text file, Rocketbook creates carriage returns at the end of each typed line. Once you get the text into your favorite document application (Highland 2), you’ll need to do some adjusting by combining lines and adding returns.

That’s it! Easy. Grab the app. Download and laminate the template. Scan and send!

p.s. For lamination and photocopying, I go to my local FedEx Office.

Image Credit: Rocket / Jen Garcia / Creative Commons 2.0

What is it about shiny objects that activates the possessive impulse? Ever since primal man first unearthed a gold nugget, we’ve been drawn to all things glittery. Even more so if it’s scarce. Knowing our weakness, WriterTypes set his trap via auction, since there’s nothing like a bidding frenzy to drive the price even higher. To make sure I didn’t give in to the chrome mania, I abstained from martinis on the evening the auction ended, made chamomile tea and went to bed early. The funny thing, it wasn’t the typewriter I coveted, but the platen!

With no disrespect to the chrome, having my face reflected back to me while I wrote seemed like an evil distraction. And if you haven’t caught the vibe of Typewriter Review, I tend to view the typewriter as tool rather than collectible. To spiff them up beyond a good cleaning seems to put form over function. And having a barnyard full of them makes it a job keeping track of the herd, rather than your job as writer, which is to hit the trail with one good mount and go on a journey. Or since it is Star Wars season, find your Millennium Falcon, stick with her, explore the galaxy seeking riches, while getting into a few tight spots, fighting your way out with cunning, or blaster if need be, but always on the move, driving your own story.

Like any good smuggler’s ship, it might look beat up on the outside, but under the hood it’s retro-fitted with the latest tech. And for this, I am happy to report the Turboplaten is now available for stand-alone purchase. Perhaps you have a stable of typewriters because they all lack the one essential component that’ll allow you to escape the space port.

So who is the genius behind the Turboplaten and the chromed typewriters? While most eBay sellers hide behind a username, Dean Jones wants you to know you’re dealing with a person. Not out of vanity, but the firm belief in the old school practice of looking someone in the eye, shaking their hand and standing behind your word. Jones is so sure of his creations, that he offers a no questions asked, full money back guarantee, including shipping!

Putting new rubber on platen cores is nothing new. But the Turboplaten is no ordinary rubber. It’s made of polyvinyl chloride, or PVC. The beauty of PVC is that it can be hardened to produce what we commonly see in plumbing pipes, or with a few tweaks to the formula made into clothing. The sweet soft spot between these two applications is what Jones uses as the base for the Turboplaten. It starts out as clear tubing and when he sheathes the platen core, whatever color he paints the core shines through.

Why use PVC over traditional rubber? Besides infusing it with color, Jones claims PVC will outlast rubber, which tends to harden with age. By upgrading to the Turboplaten, you’ll not only get a lifetime of use, but the writer who inherits your machine will benefit. That’s right, it’s your duty as a sworn member of the typewriter underground to perpetuate humanity through writing. Future generations depend on you! Now we just need to find someone to invent the Turbo Ribbon of Never Ending Ink.

All futures aside, how does it perform right now? Before conducting the test, I sent Jones a picture of my 1947 Smith-Corona Sterling. Jones suggested turquoise would go handsomely with the black curves. My hidebound traditionalist self reluctantly took a back seat to the prospect of a writing revitalization. Perhaps a bit of color in the landscape was all that was needed. Besides, when you roll the paper in, it’ll be mostly covered. So that was it, we settled up on PayPal for a hundred dollars and Jones got to work.

Fortunately for me, platen removal on my Smith-Corona Sterling was easy. A couple screws and a spring. The Sterling is the base model. If you have the Silent or Super Duper Silent, platen removal is just a lever away, no tools required. Perhaps the design engineers at Smith-Corona foresaw a future where only a handful of typewriter techs remained and maintenance fell into the hands of klutzy writers. That’s what I love about the Americanos, unfussy, simple, open and easy to maintain. Need to remove a platen from an Olympia? Good luck and may the force be with you.

If platen removal stokes panic, send your typewriter to Jones and for an extra hundred dollars, he’ll perform the entire operation, plus give your typewriter a refresh. Jones told me he has a dunk tank for a chemical wash, and is prepared to take on the grimiest jobs. Not only do you get a new platen, but a like new typewriter. However, as we all know, shipping typewriters can be a perilous journey. If you’re skittish about shipping, or lack the supplies, I highly recommend finding your local FedEx Office. For around twenty-three dollars, they’ll pack it for you with what’s called the fragile service, which includes a sturdy box and all the bubble.

When the Turboplaten arrived, I had been expecting a solid band of turquoise, but was rewarded with something more unique. According to Jones, the process isn’t perfect and the handcrafting sometimes produces unexpected coloration. If I wasn’t happy, he’d be glad to redo at no charge. I embraced the imperfection and installed it pronto.

Jones told me he named it the Turboplaten due to what he believed was a quicker return action of the typebar. The Turboplaten, he claims, is firmer than rubber, and when the slug slams the platen it rebounds with turbo speed. My unscientific test with a thumbnail bears some of this out. It’s supple, yet not soft, with enough grip between paper and feed rollers. The Turboplaten provides the dampening needed to produce a strong imprint. Does it rebound quicker than rubber? To be honest, I couldn’t fathom the difference. Is that measure important? Maybe if you’re under intense competitive pressure for the world speed record, then perhaps not. Does it turbo charge your writing in other ways? Absolutely. Having a new platen in your machine softens the experience and eliminates the annoying smacking sound you get on those aged, rock hard platens. Not only does it sound bad, those reverberations are bad for the type slugs. Rubber or PVC, take your choice. But in the modern world of custom skins and colors, the Turboplaten is a great way to personalize your typewriter, while getting the benefits of a platen refresh.

Jones offers the standalone Turboplaten for a hundred dollars, plus shipping, via eBay. You send him your platen, he’ll strip off the old rubber and sheath it with a Turboplaten. If you want to send your typewriter for a total refresh, select 2 Turboplatens for two hundred dollars. You won’t be getting 2 platens, it’s the only way he can charge for the extra service. After placing your order, he’ll contact you to confirm platen color and other details. If you’re feeling particularly plucky, he’ll even offer to repaint the typewriter body for a bit extra.

Visit Dean’s store Writertypes.

—
Image Credit
Typewriter by Plaisanter via Flickr (Creative Commons CC BY-NC 2.0)

November 5, 2019

If you’re one of my North American compadres, then you might’ve noticed a weakening of the sun. While many things seem in chaos these days, the Earth still reliably tilts at the axis and continues to spin in orbit around the sun. During these dimmer months, many of us writers shine a bright light on the recesses of our minds, conjuring images and stories and committing them to paper. For if we didn’t, we might find ourselves committing ourselves to the men in white jackets, our arms bound around our torso, tucked into a discrete wagon and hauled off to that happy place.

Writers can be such a moody lot. Perhaps it’s all those hours hunched in slavish solitude over keyboard, vainly tapping out mostly nonsense and the occasional runs of competence. But you do it anyway, despite the dangers to health and hearth.

Whatever your genre, fiction or not, your writings are the inevitable expression of who you are. That’s why for many of us it often invokes a sense of therapy. We feel well afterwards. Now imagine giving that feeling an extra boost, not only to your mental state, but your physical health.

Scientists call it “expressive writing”. It’s the type of writing where you explore your deepest thoughts and emotions. Numerous studies have shown its therapeutic use in treating depression, anxiety and those pesky intrusive thoughts of traumatic events. Once unburdened, subjects have often seen other health improvements. Perhaps you’re not in such a mental place and life has been treating you swimmingly. But if you’re like many of us, your subconscious might be hiding the inevitable cuts and bruises you’ve accumulated along life’s journey.

If you think about them, you know what they are. Without knowing it, they might be holding you back, getting in the way of your full potential. It’s not your fault you’ve been nurturing these wounds. We’re often told to toughen up and get over it. We bury them, cover them up, compensate for them, knowing they continue to lurk in the shadowy crevices of our brain. They’re like tiny vampires, sapping our energy, thoughts and even our health. But like the searing light of day, expressive writing exposes them, weakens them and often renders them powerless.

A daily journal is great. But this is often a breezy rehash of the day’s events, rather than a deep dive into that submerged wreck. For this to method to work, you’ll need to hop in the diving bell, connect the oxygen and flip on the halogen lights. Or in practical terms, hop on your typewriter, roll fresh paper into the platen, set the timer for 20 minutes and write.

A specific traumatic event is great, or other malignant thoughts and emotions. Loss and grief are often perennial pests. Do this for three consecutive days, maybe four if there’s some unexplored crevices. If writing from the first person perspective is too perilous, new research suggests third person may have greater health benefits. It allows exploration from multiple views and a distance. Like any writing on the typewriter, just let it go, ignore mistakes, grammar, whatever. You’re not going to save it. In fact, I recommend a ritual burning. It’s time to let it go. If starting a fire will raise the alarms, shred the stuff, cross-cut it, take a car ride, open the window and let the confetti fly! It may be littering, but the world is a better place because you’re a better you. It’s time to celebrate.

And who knows, with all these baddies expunged, you’ll finally be able to coax that shy muse from her hiding place.

—
Optimizing the perceived benefits and health outcomes of writing about traumatic life events. Andersson MA, Conley CS.
Stress Health. 2013 Feb;29(1):40-9.

Stepping back to move forward: Expressive writing promotes self-distancing. Park J, Ayduk Ö, Kross E.
Emotion. 2016 Apr;16(3):349-64

IMAGE CREDIT
Becoming Human, seriykotik1970, via Flickr (Creative Commons CC BY-SA 2.0).

William Craig commented on the post Titans of the Typosphere, where the merits of the larger office standard were reviewed:

I took your advice yesterday and bought a standard 1957 Royal FP. It turned out to be my least expensive typewriter ($25) and suffice it to say I agree with everything you say in this article.

The FP needed a lot of TLC (totally gummed up); but all the typewriter needed to get it working was a good cleaning (as in several hours of squirting naphtha and brushing with brass, steel and nylon brushes). Just as you say, this standard typewriter is in an entirely different league than my small collection of portables (’47 Smith-Corona Silent; ’48 Royal QDL, early ’60s Olivetti Lettera 22 & ’64 Olympia SM7). Interestingly, while the foam insulation of the FP is completely shot; to my ears the FP seems no louder than my Olympia SM7. In fact only the Royal QDL is appreciably quieter than the FP.

I’m surprised the standard typewriters get so little attention, I wish there was a fraction of interest and information on the standards as there is regarding portables. I suspect the many of the qualities that make the standard so good, make it less interesting. It appears the last comment on this article was 2 years ago! I thank you very much for this information; I think my typewriter may just have found me; and it turned out to be the standard Royal FP. It would never have found me had you not written this article!

The Response

Many thanks for your comment! And so happy you found your match. I might’ve emphasized this in a previous post, but worth repeating in case others want to follow in your footsteps. Look local for a standard typewriter. While portables might be flimsy in comparison, they usually hold up to the rigors of shipping better. They were designed to be locked in a case, stuffed in a trunk and transported in the coach carriage. Standards were delivered to the office in a wooden crate, unboxed and setup by the typewriter dealer. They didn’t move. They worked all day. When they needed a tune-up, the typewriter tech came to the office. When they were no longer serviceable, or the newer model came out, they were rounded up and dropped off at the second-hand office supply store.

Perhaps that’s why they’re harder to find and are often in worse condition than the portable. The portables we find today were most likely cherished members of the family. Many typewriter stories I’ve heard often included fond memories of going through college with their trusty portable. All those term papers! The long, solitary hours with a steady friend. When they graduated, their typewriter went with them, sometimes kept in the closet, other times used for creative projects, letter writing and when the grandkids came over, a novelty to play with. The office standards were used by paid typists. When the job was done, they went home and forgot about the typewriter. Once the office had no use for the typewriters, they sat with perhaps dozens of their forgotten comrades through the decades in a dingy, cold warehouse, the soft lubricating glaze gumming up, the joints stiffening through lack of use and the supple rubber hardening. They’d served their purpose, locked in purgatory, waiting for that day when they’d be relieved of their burden and buried in a landfill, or rescued by a writer motivated to find their voice.

And this might make what I’m about to say troubling — or challenging, depending on your views.

It’s hard to explain, and I’ve hinted at this topic in previous posts, despite fears of not being taken seriously or labelled a kook. Since these long forlorn standards lacked the love they deserved, the creatures that channeled their energy into the much loved portables often passed the standards over. Who was more likely to hear their voice, the over-worked office typist or the struggling writer seeking inspiration? OK, perhaps you don’t subscribe to such nonsense. But, spend enough time over the typewriter, alone, undisturbed, connecting with your inner voice, and you might tap into an undiscovered vein of creative energy. That’s where the muses live. Activate one and you’ll hang onto that typewriter until your dying days. It’ll never leave you. So what does this mean if a standard typewriter has come into your possession? It might take a bit more effort to summon a muse. They’re not used to hearing the call from a standard. But, put in the time, believe this to be true and you’ll find that voice.

William, you’ve prepped your standard typewriter for all the love it deserves. Cleaned her. Rescued her. Saw the potential. Enjoy the magical journey. And who knows, with such a mighty typewriter, you might find a mighty muse!

Well, James — we’ll do you one better — now for the first time in TR history, a guest post! (hopefully, won’t be the last!)

Why I write with a typewriter
James D’Ambrosio

I never owned a typewriter, until last year at this time when I happened upon a blogpost about typewriters, more to the point, about the Why of typewriters in our cyber age. That reading fell upon more reading which fell upon an urgency, an adrenaline rush, an I’ve-got-to-have-one not today, or tomorrow, but soon, which translated into two-weeks when my first-ever typewriter, an Alpina SK-24 arrived from the Netherlands.

Why the Alpina? I’ve no idea, really. I’ve gleaned that it’s not easy to find, not in pristine condition at any rate, and seems to be one of those less known, more obscure models-brands in the company of the commonly heralded great machines. But I’m a Libra, and if presented with too many options, and too much time to mull them over, well, the mulling ends up ruling the day. If I didn’t do something soon, and quickly, I’d be living the typewriter experience vicariously through all these blogposts.

After reading what I could, which wasn’t much in terms of volume of discussion about the Alpina, but sincere and enthusiastic praise for this machine from the likes of Robert Messenger and Will Davis, I reached for the Alpina. There just comes that moment when you’ve got to throw the punch, and this was it.

Truly, it was as good a decision as reaching for a Sam Adams, in every possible way. The Alpina SK-24, mine made in my birth year of 1961, is a mechanical marvel, and oh-so-pretty to look at with her gorgeous lines. Her keys beg your attention, with such silken smoothness as the type bars fly.

Then, as what I’ve read can happen as soon as you get that first typewriter, I found another: the Erika 5, from 1932 in a gold marble motif, with those otherworldly silver-trimmed glass keys. On first glance, it was the likes of H.G. Wells I saw, his vivid imagination typing away since this machine evokes that steampunk pull.

Then, that led to another Erika 5, in a burgundy and gold line motif, this one from 1931 with no carriage return lever, but rather, a really cool “pinching” mechanism that advances the paper, then you slide the carriage over. Talk about getting your hands right into it!

Then, that led to another Erika, an M, also in a burgundy and gold motif from 1940. Then, came a Gossen Tippa from 1950, again with the glass keys, since my continued reading made clear that you must have at least one ultra-portable to take out into the woods, hopefully without ticks.

And, at this moment, I’m considering a Torpedo 18b, especially after Daniel’s direct response to my recent query versus an Erika 10, if he had to choose one over the other. I’m thinking about a 1947 Corona Sterling, and, perhaps, a Royal Quiet Deluxe from the same period, and that will likely completely my little pile of metal things that go clickety clack in any kind of weather.

I love this machinery. Each one of these communities of metal housed within their own shape, form, and color is delight. Clearly, the machine itself has much to do with the bonding of flesh to metal. Each machine uniquely invites you to touch it, in its own language, and with it’s own mechanical scent and sound.

And, as so many writers share, particularly David McCullough, it’s the deliberate thinking, and re-thinking that has such freedom to play with a typing machine: much like a thrown pitch is nothing until the umpire calls it, so a thought is nothing until you tell the machine to type it. And, with such forceful intention, with such a smack on the page, there it becomes, your thought, now a reality from merely an idea just a moment before, physically stamped onto a real piece of paper, a thought that you’ve made with words made with ink upon metal and paper, a creation that you can hold out and say, look what I just made.

Really, how cool is that?

So, for me, picking a typing machine is a matter of resonance, that invisible vibration of likeness. You know it when it happens, regardless of any particular aspects of any particular machine over another, as if the soul of a typewriter is like a menu, and you’re ordering the bits you want in a single experience. It doesn’t work that way. It can’t.

As Robert Messenger so aptly says, your go-to machine is YOUR go-to machine, something deeply personal and rich, something indescribable to another person, really. You just know it when you put your hands on it, when you’re in its presence, when you’ve chosen to lay yourself bare before it, that machine that pulls you in like a planet to a moon.

And, that might be a few machines, indeed.

(Ed. note: Featured image not an Alpina, it’s an Antares from Italy. A sound little typewriter that slipped through my fingers before working up a proper review.)

Ernest Hemingway

If you’ve been a follower of Typewriter Review, then you’ll know that I’ve long railed against the computer as tool for composition. When you turn off the switch and turn onto the typewriter, something happens in your brain, that magic spark, a subtle shift in the way words and phrases begin to appear on the page. In fact, it might be startling at first, as if an unseen force is exerting a weird form of mind control. Don’t fret, amigo, it’s all good. It’s your natural voice emerging from the clutter, awakened from a long slumber. The thing that’s responsible for all the confusion, the dark cloud that has muddled your thoughts and stymied your true voice, yep — you guessed it, that digital demon.

Nothing new here, right?

I don’t normally pay attention to the scientificos, but there’s emerging evidence [1,2] from our team in the white lab coats that harmful rays bombard us from these wonders of productivity. I usually don’t ascribe much to double-blind placebo induced studies, since there’s loads of confounding factors that often throw dispersion on even the best intentions. But when your own experience corroborates the findings, you take notice.

If you’ve run with the Windows PC crowd, then you might remember a phenomenon called The Blue Screen of Death. This happens when you boot your machine and the operating system fails to launch. All you get is a blue screen with scary hexadecimal error codes. Muerte.

This should’ve have served as an omen. But your addicted self called The Geek Squad, who reinstalled the OS and you went along your merry way, unaware that the problem wasn’t really fixed. While The Blue Screen of Death is not as prevalent in crashing your computer, it crashes your brain. It’s now called blue light and it’s coming from your computer monitor.

Researchers now tell us blue light inhibits the production of melatonin molecules. Well regulated melatonin is crucial to sleep. No problem, right? Inject loads of caffeine and you’re good to go! Not so fast, Speed Racer. As the Hemingway quote suggests, he left a bit undone at the end of the day, that way he’d be primed for the next round.

And perhaps you’ve felt the same thing. While you’re sleeping, your muse is busy mulling, tweaking, inventing and creating new ideas in your noggin. If you’re never fully asleep, your writing will never fully wake up. You might be getting stuff down on the page, but it’s flat, generic and struggles to express itself. Your willpower suffers. You distract easily. Your writing sputters in fits and starts. And the sad thing is, you’ve been unaware that your creative juices have been sapped by this seemingly benign contraption. Before you reach for the off button, read on, there’s help!

Because, face it, you have to have it. You might even have an evil overlord who forces you to stare at the blue screen of death eight hours a day. If you’ve followed this blue light story in the news, you might’ve been told that you should eliminate screen time for an hour prior to slumber. But who can follow this advice? To keep you comfortably glued to your smartphone, you might have a nighttime mode setting that’ll reduce the harmful spectrum of light. But what about your computer monitor?

Since you’re not a worker drone, you’re the creative type, you need to regenerate your melatonin to max levels and whatever other juices are also being suppressed. And before you pop a bottle of melatonin tabs and call it good, it’s not the same as the home grown stuff your body produces. No, the only solution is to block the blue. Fortunately for us, George Ure, a regular follower of TR has found the antidote!

After struggling with his own vision problems, Ure came across software that’ll adjust the color spectrum of your screen as daylight dims. F.lux is a freebie and its website is full of useful information. [3] The other is called Iris, which offers a free “lite” version in addition to the “pro” version for ten bucks. The Iris author gave a TED talk on this topic. [4,5] Both programs work on Windows, MacOS and Linux.

I’ve been using F.lux with great results. It determines your geospatial coordinates and automatically sets a recommended color restriction schedule based on current daylight and when you normally wake up. You can tweak as you go and temporarily disable if you need to view true colors. If you’re a gamer, you can set it to auto disable on full-screen. There is a bit of a graphics and battery drain with the app on, so if your FPS lags, quit from F.lux and resume the action. But be warned: the further you go into the dark with a full-spectrum blast, the more likely you’re inhibiting the Mr. Sandman from sprinkling his magic sleepy potion.

If you insist on tapping the keyboard into the night, set your muse free, block the blue! Or if you’re brave, go for the digital detox, light some candles, drag out the typewriter and see where your writing leads you.

1. Exposure to Room Light before Bedtime Suppresses Melatonin Onset and Shortens Melatonin Duration in Humans (https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3047226/)
2. Protecting the Melatonin Rhythm through Circadian Healthy Light Exposure (https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4284776/pdf/ijms-15-23448.pdf)
3. F.lux (https://justgetflux.com)
4. How Technology is Killing our Eyes (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HN30fO2I2aU)
5. Iris (https://iristech.co)

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Have you trolled the depths of eBay and are tired of the same old catch? Are you looking to expand your fishing grounds for more exotic game? Perhaps you’ve seen a typewriter listed from an overseas seller, but fear of the unknown held you back. Before you read further, I’m talking mainly to the American angler. Because what I’m about to reveal about hooking an overseas typewriter may be different depending on your country’s import laws.

You might be in one of those principalities where typewriters are banned for fear they may fall in the hands of a subversive element. After all, we know that writers who use typewriters secretly wish for a return to a simpler time. A less consumptive time. A time when needs trumped wants. Saying no to our binge of ever escalating upgrades and new things is an act of revolt. But I digress, The Manifesto covers this topic quite well.

There’s nothing to snagging an American typewriter. Drop in a line and you’ll get one. There’s loads of them and if you’re patient and know what to look for, you’ll get one that is up to the task. I have no qualms with the Americanos. They’re good, decent fish. I prize my 1947 Smith-Corona Sterling.

But, perhaps, you’ve been lured by the good looks of an overseas beauty. And, here I must admit, the Americans are rather plain. Fortunately, Olivetti (Lettera) and Olympia (SM3) stocked our pond with some good designs. But you’re the type of writer who wants a trophy on their desk worthy of their poetic prose. A fish that mirrors your inner beauty. Part of the fun of writing with a typewriter is finding The Special One.

But there’s a catch! The guy selling it is in Holland. A few days waiting for your domestic typewriter to arrive already chafes against your two-day prime time delivery expectations. Waiting for the trans Atlantic container ship will make glacier watching seem like fun. Moreover, you might’ve already been a victim of domestic package abuse when your typewriter arrived with a bent carriage. Who knows what’ll happen when those merchant marine thugs get hold of your precious cargo. And once it arrives, you’ve been warned there might be additional import fees, tariffs or other sundry financial add-ons. All this leads your finger away from clicking the Buy it Now button. It’s just not worth the worry! You’ll stick with the known. It’s not perfect, but perfectly safe.

Well, pilgrim, I’ve sailed into foreign waters and am happy to report that your fears are unfounded. My sampling size is only two, but these two were terrific. One was from a nice shop owner in Berlin, the other from a guy in the Netherlands. And here I must stress, as I’ve done in other posts, get your typewriters from sellers who know typewriters. They know how to pack them, how to describe them and whether they work well. These two sellers knew their wares.

I was pleasantly surprised at how quickly they arrived. Ten to fourteen days went by like a breeze. And when they appeared on my stoop, I was not presented with a tariff bill. Shipping was a bit higher than buying domestic, $50-65, but considering the distance travelled and the quality of the typewriter, easily justified in the total cost of ownership. One I’ve already reviewed, the Groma Modell N, the other is in the works, a Reinmetall of stunning beauty.

So, come on in the water’s fine! Throw out a line and snag something different. It might just be the typewriter that’ll energize your writing.

Here are the two sellers:

La Reja (Berlin, Germany)

Typewriters Heaven (Afferden, The Netherlands)

Between reality and fiction, between your fingers and the page, where your eyes gaze and wonder what word is best, lies a place we call, The Distraction Zone.

Your favorite writing app probably has a mode to clear the clutter. Microsoft Word calls it Focus mode, in Scrivener it’s Composition mode, or if you’re really hardcore, you have an app without any formatting widgets whatsoever, such as iA Writer (my personal fav).

But how do you achieve the same Nirvana on a typewriter?

What, you say, isn’t a typewriter the ultimate distraction free writing machine?

Well, pilgrim, it’s time to take distraction free to the next level!

While your writing app is capable of transforming your screen into a blank page, your typewriter has no such capability. What you see, is what you get, and depending on your typewriter, there might be all kinds of clutter between you and the page.

Take for example the Olympia SM 5. A fine machine. Mechanical perfection. However, look at all that clutter between your eyes and the page. The paper holder cuts obscenely across the page along with some roller doo-dads and a scale of annoying numbers. Add to the confusion, a plastic alignment guide with something called a perspex shield. All great features if you’re an office typist, or writing a report on copper production in the southern Andes, but not if you’re the creative type. The Writer. The kind who likes to free wheel it. No boundaries. Riff and improv. After all, that’s why you’re using the typewriter. You’re not after final draft perfection.

Contrast that with the Americano. The Smith-Corona Sterling. First, it’s black. Not only does it contrast nicely with the white page, but it fades into the background. A shadow. But still handsome and striking. What you’ll notice next is what’s not there. To hold the paper against the platen: two paper “fingers” off to the side, discretely out of view. That’s it! Nothing more between you and your words. Moreover, the top cover offers an expansive view of the page, rather than a constricted one like the Olympia. Lastly, the Smith-Corona has the famous Floating Shift, where only the type basket goes up and down when shifting characters. Unlike the Olympia where the entire carriage bobs up and down, along with your eyes. (This was finally fixed on the SM 9, but all the other annoying distractions remain.)

Perhaps this is taking distraction free to a ridiculous level of refinement. And perhaps it’s easy to look beyond these typewriter doo-dads. But perhaps, these are the just the things that are getting in your way. Take a look at your own typewriter. Or if you have many, the one you use often. Is your field of view cluttered, or is it like the Smith-Corona Sterling, simple and unadorned?

Whatever your answer, as I’m often reminded, the best typewriter is the one you’re using!

Peace.

Now you could go all in and get her a cover, after all, that dish rag you’ve been covering her with should be an embarrassment! But perhaps you’re too embarrassed to admit to your relationship with the typewriter. We writers tend to be a humble lot and avoid anything that seems flashy or extravagant. But relax, if it’s okay to get a mousepad for your mouse, then it’s totally acceptable to get a pad for your typewriter. In fact, if you would’ve purchased your typewriter back in the day at Typewriter Emporium and the salesman was doing their job, you most likely would’ve gone home with a pad, an extra ribbon, a box of paper and some carbons.

Many of the machines might’ve also included a cover from the manufacturer, designed to fit your machine perfectly. Every so often I get a used typewriter that will have one included.

Now that you’ve been convinced that it’s okay to consider a typewriter pad, here’s a round-up of some I found.

Rug Runner

If you’re the type who has a typewriter sitting on every flat surface and you hop from machine to machine typing missives, then you need something that won’t break the piggy bank. For that, getting a rug runner is probably your best bet. It’s made of felt with a rubber backing. You’ll get more than one pad from one of these depending on the size. The bad? They tend to curl at the edges and can get a bit frayed. But they do an excellent job muting even the loudest machine.

Available from, Rug Pad Corner.

My Typewriter

But maybe you’re not the DIY type and only have that one, special machine in need of dampening. (But if she really was that special, then you’ve probably outfitted her with a new platen and new rubber feet. Why even need a pad?) Answer: even Olympia Typewriter Company recommended a pad for their typewriters to lessen the impact of typing vibrations on the mechanicals. That’s right, pilgrim, a pad actually serves THREE purposes! You might avoid costly trips to the repair shop by using a pad. What did I say about the salesman doing their job? Smile.

For a rugged pad with a nice crinkle cut edge, this one from My Typewriter looks great on the well-appointed desk. However, the felt tends to slip on a slick desk. I really wanted to recommend this pad, but unless you have a rough surface or can adhere some kind of rubber backing, then stick with something that sticks. However, if you have a rougher desk, like the one above, the felt grabs just fine.

$28 + shipping. Available from My Typewriter.

Mahogany Rhino

While this one is not real thick and doesn’t add much sound dampening, it grips the desk nicely. The ridges catch the feet so your typewriter doesn’t scoot around. This is an issue with many typewriters, the rubber feet have hardened.

$24.99 Available from Mahogany Rhino (an Etsy shop)

Wool Ironing Mat

If you’re a pad purist, you’ll know they’re not totally square. They’re more of a rectangle, to better match the footprint of a typewriter. A bit wider (13.5″) not as deep (11.5″). But if you don’t mind a square pad, a wool ironing mat (13″x13″) works fantastic. Has lots of sound and vibration dampening, plus they’re under twenty bucks. But since it doesn’t have a grippy bottom, it might slide on your desk, depending on the surface. Mine held just fine with a heavier typewriter. A quick fix for this is get one of those cheap door mats (see below) and cut it to fit underneath! Scooting solved.

$16.99 (+free shipping w/ Amazon Prime) Available from Amazon.

Door Mat

But suppose you’re the frugal type, then you might choose this $5 option from Target. It’s a door mat with a felt-like top and a rubber bottom. It’ll keep your typewriter from straying, but don’t expect any sound or vibration dampening. On the plus side, you’ll be able to cut two or three pads from a meager investment. And it doesn’t curl on the edges! Sweet deal! While you’re there, pick up a new dish rag cover and you’re good to go! No judgements. Namaste.

$5. Available at Target stores (USA).

Final Word

That loud smacking sound of the type slug striking the platen might be due to a worn ring and not just a hard platen. Look at the ring for cuts or indentations — a sure sign of too much wear. While it may appear the type slug strikes the platen first, it’s the typebar that strikes the ring first and the momentum carries the type slug with enough force to make a good imprint. If the ring is worn, the type slug will strike the platen with too much force. And if your platen is hard, it’ll sound louder. That notch in the circle below is what strikes the ring and causes those cuts. And those cuts in the ring, a sign of a beloved machine. A new platen will help dampen those sounds.

When it comes to fomenting dissent in a technology dominated society, there’s no better bomb thrower than Richard Polt. Not only does he inspire the masses with the Manifesto, but he’s a lettered academic teaching philosophy at Xavier University. Perhaps his dissenting roots took form while he was an underclassman at the University of California, Berkeley — a well-known rabble-rousing hot zone. But make no mistake, this is not an underground movement cloaked in secrecy. If you’re reading this, then perhaps you’ve already signed onto the typewriter insurgency. I certainly have. And under Polt’s leadership, the movement is in excellent hands. His magnum opus, The Typewriter Revolution, brims with knowledge hard won over many years of collecting, using, fixing and blogging about typewriters. Not only does he teach us about these wonderful writing machines, but he weaves in numerous personal stories and narratives. Like a good thesis defense, he presents ample evidence of how typewriters are being used by writers of all stripes, from street poets to zine publishers. It’s inspiring to know that you are not alone. The typewriter is a vital part of many lives.

To reinforce this point, Polt’s first chapter, The Insurgency, highlights how people use typewriters to connect with others in profound ways. Writing is communicating and Polt’s central thesis is that typewriters offer a vibrant form of communication not found in technology.  And the typewriter is just one aspect of an ever growing movement away from the virtual and towards the tangible. The movement from getting things done fast and often, to pausing, reflecting and connecting with people, ideas and things in a more thoughtful and present manner.

If you had any doubt as to the power of the typewriter to transform the conversation, then reading stories from The Insurgency might sway you to the movement. Moreover, these are not stories from the fringe. One can expect typewriters to be popular on the trendy coasts and in leafy college communities, but in working-class Lincoln, Nebraska, Polt tells us typewriters have become a Valentine Day tradition called Love on the Run. A local press sets up the typing stations and invites people to write love letters which are then hand-delivered by volunteers known as “valenteers.” It’s in these many stories that one can find inspiration for bucking the tech trend, if for just a moment, to try something new that has its roots in the past.

If the book stopped here, that would be reason enough to get it. But read on, pilgrim, Polt uncovers much new territory. The best way to navigate The Typewriter Revolution is by topic. To aid in your journey, the book comes with a built-in bookmark, a black and red ribbon that smartly mirrors a typewriter ribbon. It’s a brilliant touch that is also functional.

If you already own a typewriter, Polt has an excellent section on maintenance. He covers almost any ailment and offers a straightforward fix. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty. He has a well-lit, dedicated repair station with a Lazy Susan for all around access to the machine that sits on sheet of white paper in case a part goes missing. And in case you’re wondering what tools, ointments and lotions you’ll need to keep your machine in top operating condition, he provides a handy shopping list that’ll have you running between the auto parts store and the craft market. Even if you don’t have the wherewithal to fix a major problem, Polt offers sound advice on simple adjustments that even a hack writer can perform. One such fix is applying brake fluid to soften a hard platen. Who woulda thunk?

If there’s one danger lurking on the horizon, it’s the absence of new typewriters rolling off the assembly line. What if the revolution explodes and there’s not enough second-hand typewriters for all the inspired writers? Polt concludes with a review of the Phoenix typewriter, where crowdfunding and maker space innovation come together to produce the “perfect” typewriter. But ultimately, Polt argues, the greatest innovation is a social one, a change in how we approach our writing, one that is deeper and centered on mindfulness, free from distractions.

Do we need a typewriter to achieve this? Maybe not. Perhaps the distraction free mode on your writing app is enough to keep you on-track or perhaps you have the discipline to churn the words out every day without fail. But just as nature is being proven to positively affect our central nervous system, maybe the act of imprinting words on paper with a mechanical device can positively affect our central writing system.

Whatever your view, The Typewriter Revolution is a work of love and dedication and will no doubt be referenced for years to come. And unlike a computer manual, the Typewriter Revolution will never be obsolete.

Get it today. ’nuff said. Namaste.