Heavy metal writing

Computers are marvelous inventions. Wise men have been applying mechanics to arithmetic as far back as 1000 B.C. with the creation of the abacus, and logic has progressed nicely ever since. If one needs numbers calculated, algorithms manipulated or programs stipulated, the technology exists to accomplish it. \nBut beyond mathematics, there remains one task better left to a more specialized machine. The logic that drove Charles Babbage's Analytical Engines falls short at the same creative block that Bill Gates' Microsoft products do. When it comes to word processing, the bland regurgitation of syntax is only part of the true process. There's an art to transcribing one's thoughts to language, and a machine for writing should reflect that method. The soulful, old typewriter is the only appliance that does. \nTypewritten works are manufactured yet personal, concrete yet creative. When a writer bangs out words on a typewriter, each plunge of the finger is final; each smack of the metal is an action not to be undone. Each letter that hits the paper is fresh. Certain imperfection and inconsistency is inevitable, which gives an air of humanity to the person behind the machine. \nThe noise and grace of a typewriter also make it more dynamic than its computer counterpart. The harmonious clickety-clack of the letters offers feedback to a user that a cold and passive keyboard just doesn't provide. A keyboard quietly succumbs to the slightest indication of pressure. But a typewriter key only responds under certainty, commitment. A satisfying clack will not answer a half-hearted click. \nAnd what sound could possibly be more pleasant than the glorious rhythm of a typewriter at work? Only the glorious rhythm of an entire room of typewriters at work. I can't imagine what a fruitful journalist I would be if my workplace was a bustling newsroom where reporters were spanking out stories as quickly as they could shove them in the paper. \nRemember how the Washington Post was depicted in "All the President's Men"? Every time Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein pop in with the latest Watergate lead, typewriters are pounding away like metronomes at war. Phones ring, hands fly; headlines appear. Perhaps this flurry of excitement was just the motivation Woodward and Bernstein needed to stay hot on the scandal trail. If they had the option of stopping in the gentle calm of a Starbucks to deposit information into the heartless electronic bowels of some Apple iBook, who knows if the American public would have ever heard the news of Nixon's involvement. Without the hectic reminder of a looming deadline, maybe Woodward would have just ordered a second cappuccino and called it a day. \nIn other cases, the typewriter just makes sense. Imagine Ernest Hemingway, if you will, with his face absorbing the dull glow of a monitor as he idly closes out a file and checks his buddy list. Now picture him tucked behind an enemy line in Italy or nestled in a cove on some Spanish beach with a wine skin tucked in one arm and a typewriter stowed under the other. Which exaggeration would you prefer? \n Though I know it's fairly obvious that for most purposes the Dell method of word processing is more practical than the Smith-Corona's, it would still be a shame to see the world's last typewriters shunned to grandmothers' basements and Goodwill's shelves. Not every composition job requires the option to change letters into wingdings. And if you think of the typewriter in terms of creativity rather than business, it's not so obsolete. Typewriters will hold you only to just that -- typewriting. You want red squiggles and talking paper clips? Fine, open Windows. But if you're just trying to get some words on paper, why not do it with some panache. Why not clack away at a good old typewriter.