Gawd, I remember my family’s first typewriter. I think it had a big influence on my wishing to be a writer. This was so beautiful and I loved how you start with Hanks and move to a thought of your own.
“Tom Hanks referred to writing by typing as his ‘heart’s meditation.’ I think what he means is that it’s a practice—not unlike knitting or gardening—that focuses the mind while letting it wander.”
Thank you so much, James — I now want to learn more about your own typewriter story. One of these small (no, rather great) formative experiences in one’s life.
Typewriters have always held a mystique for me—I've never seen one in use in real life, only in film.
> I didn’t see back then how typing taught me something else: it wasn’t just a skill to master. It was an exercise in mental endurance, supported by my own body. Showing up, letter after letter. Typing and writing were skills to be earned. And in earning them, I found a quiet purpose. My rhythm of fingers on keys was more than just a sound but he steady heartbeat of persistence, of turning effort into something solid. A bridge to purpose and a connection to the world beyond me—one I was quietly building on my own.
This was pretty phenomenal. I learned to type by...typing. Nobody taught me anything about finger placement or etc.! As a result, my typing is suboptimal (I rarely use my ring fingers and never my pinkies, and I feel my dexterity has suffered for it) but more relevantly, it is arhythmic. Typing, for me, straddles this odd boundary between "I don't have to think about it" and "I am not yet easily fluent in it."
To me, it's quite phenomenal that you just...learned it...compared to my sweat and tears and hours of time ;) And "I've never seen one in use in real life" tells me all I need to know about my age, and your age haha
There was a “business keyboarding” class in high school but it was like…teaching you how to link MS Word documents together. Like, skills that would obviously not be useful for much longer! But you also apparently learned how to type, which my brother, who took the class, says is one of the few useful things he got from his high school education.
I think of “typing rehab” classes and I’m like…sounds like a lot of work. Don’t wanna do it lol
As a child, I would walk through antique stores in search of typewriters. It’s one of my dreams to own a working typewriter one day! Thanks for sharing this. ☺️
This is gorgeous Brigitte. Completely captivating. You've successfully stirred my own memories of the first typewriters I owned and loved and courted to produce something beautiful from the rhythms of black ink. Somewhere in a warehouse or old school room there is a bank of typewriters spontaneously clacking away in joy of your praise. If I were a typewriter, I'd feel completely seen and loved right now.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and engage with this essay, Larry (and sorry for the belated response due to international travel, a lost suitcase et al 😅).
"It was a quiet, foggy Sunday in the late 1970s, and he had taken me to the brown wood-paneled offices of his growing German sauna manufacturing business. Dust hung in the fluorescent light, settling on deserted desks, waiting for hands to stir it back into motion." Love the imagery. I was right there with you the whole time!
Gawd, I remember my family’s first typewriter. I think it had a big influence on my wishing to be a writer. This was so beautiful and I loved how you start with Hanks and move to a thought of your own.
“Tom Hanks referred to writing by typing as his ‘heart’s meditation.’ I think what he means is that it’s a practice—not unlike knitting or gardening—that focuses the mind while letting it wander.”
Loving reading your work Brigitte.
Thank you so much, James — I now want to learn more about your own typewriter story. One of these small (no, rather great) formative experiences in one’s life.
Typewriters have always held a mystique for me—I've never seen one in use in real life, only in film.
> I didn’t see back then how typing taught me something else: it wasn’t just a skill to master. It was an exercise in mental endurance, supported by my own body. Showing up, letter after letter. Typing and writing were skills to be earned. And in earning them, I found a quiet purpose. My rhythm of fingers on keys was more than just a sound but he steady heartbeat of persistence, of turning effort into something solid. A bridge to purpose and a connection to the world beyond me—one I was quietly building on my own.
This was pretty phenomenal. I learned to type by...typing. Nobody taught me anything about finger placement or etc.! As a result, my typing is suboptimal (I rarely use my ring fingers and never my pinkies, and I feel my dexterity has suffered for it) but more relevantly, it is arhythmic. Typing, for me, straddles this odd boundary between "I don't have to think about it" and "I am not yet easily fluent in it."
To me, it's quite phenomenal that you just...learned it...compared to my sweat and tears and hours of time ;) And "I've never seen one in use in real life" tells me all I need to know about my age, and your age haha
There was a “business keyboarding” class in high school but it was like…teaching you how to link MS Word documents together. Like, skills that would obviously not be useful for much longer! But you also apparently learned how to type, which my brother, who took the class, says is one of the few useful things he got from his high school education.
I think of “typing rehab” classes and I’m like…sounds like a lot of work. Don’t wanna do it lol
As a child, I would walk through antique stores in search of typewriters. It’s one of my dreams to own a working typewriter one day! Thanks for sharing this. ☺️
Thank you so much for sharing this memory, Emma — and I’m sure you’ll find the perfect one someday!
Thank you for sharing such a beautiful post! 💗
This is gorgeous Brigitte. Completely captivating. You've successfully stirred my own memories of the first typewriters I owned and loved and courted to produce something beautiful from the rhythms of black ink. Somewhere in a warehouse or old school room there is a bank of typewriters spontaneously clacking away in joy of your praise. If I were a typewriter, I'd feel completely seen and loved right now.
Thank you so much Rick, and I shared the sentiments with my typewriter too 🙃
…what a love story!!…that tactile clickity clack feels like sometimes the only reason i write…what an art to
physically communicate in words…we must be from outer space…
outer space is calling 🧑🚀…thank you so much CansaFis!
Very provocative and engaging essay! Some of my favorite examples of stellar language use, among many, include:
"...chasing thoughts, like catching fleeting butterflies"
"...fingers poised like obedient soldiers waiting for their orders."
"My rhythm of fingers on keys was more than just a sound but he steady heartbeat of persistence, of turning effort into something solid."
As a writer, images and notions such as these are very inspirational.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and engage with this essay, Larry (and sorry for the belated response due to international travel, a lost suitcase et al 😅).
"It was a quiet, foggy Sunday in the late 1970s, and he had taken me to the brown wood-paneled offices of his growing German sauna manufacturing business. Dust hung in the fluorescent light, settling on deserted desks, waiting for hands to stir it back into motion." Love the imagery. I was right there with you the whole time!
Thank you so much for walking down this memory lane with me, Rachel :)