Showing posts with label writing roots. Show all posts

Ah, those were the days....

Posted by The Haeven Crew in back in the day, memories, typewriter, writing roots

When I was 13 years old, I decided to start writing the "Great American Sci-Fi Novel". Back then, there was no way that I could just sidle up to my PC and start clicking away. So, for lack of a better idea, I grabbed my mother's little Royal typewriter and started banging away.

Unfortunately, my little Royal didn't look like this little Royal from PoeticHome's Etsy Shop. If I get my hands on an extra $390 plus shipping, I'm going to make this baby mine.

There is something visceral and tangible about typing on a typewriter. Yes, the creative process can go as fast as I think on a PC (typing 100 wpm will do that), but when you use a typewriter, you can almost feel the words coming through your fingers. I'm actually thinking about a way to incorporate the typewriter back into my regular business practices (like for business correspondence, etc.).

What brought all of this nostalgia about? I've been checking out the 2nd season of Mad Men on AMC. It takes place in the early 1960's, and, although I wasn't born until 1967, I remember being a secretary (because that's what they called them) back in the day.

Until I can get the 300 bones for the pretty pink, I'll probably have to do with this pretty blue baby.

Powder Blue Smith Corona Coronet Electric 10

from akfaroco

Later all!

PS: The giveaway? No one has answered the question correctly, so it's continuing until the end of the month.

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The War of The Keshkin

There was a time, generations in the past, when there were fourteen children born of Divine parentage, whose souls were torn by a civil war that had nothing to do with civil and everything to do with war. A Father battled a Stepfather, leaving a Mother helplessly crushed between them and unable to halt the tide of enmity.

The threat to their combined children was great, for each was Gifted, given Divinity in a small measure from the two men. For every ten drops of blood these children bore, four were Immortal. And as Divinity clashed with Itself, the Gift within each child began to twist them from inside.

So, they cried for help, loud enough to rattle the foundations of the lands in which they lived. And the only one to hear them was the one who gave them life.

Each child was placed in their own safe haven, protected for the barrage without, able to strengthen their Gift within.

She gave them Sanctuary.

Had she failed to do so, this story would never have taken place. The Sundering would have been complete.

The Keshkin Circle

Showing posts with label writing roots. Show all posts

Ah, those were the days....

Powder Blue Smith Corona Coronet Electric 10

The War of The Keshkin

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