Typewriters - the then and now.

Today’s generation can’t comprehend the aggravation of having to use manual typewriters and eraser fluid. Those were the time when writing was a labour of love, literally. Imagine pounding out screenplays and novels with two fingers, emptying bottles of eraser fluid. No cut and paste, no insert, no spell-check, no page numbering, no perfectly turned out product from a laser printer. In the pre-computer days writing was about love of writing and perseverance, about producing something that looked like a manuscript dug up after half a century in the ground and handing it to a typist in the hope she, yes she, could read it and produce something an editor wouldn’t chuck in the garbage. If we still had to do that, there’d be a damned site fewer manuscripts and screenplays written, and the ones that were would come from the heart, written in heart’s blood. Writers today have no idea what it was like before computers and word processors. It was a constant battle; stabbing at a mechanical keyboard, eternally reaching for the whiteout as you stumbled around with two fingers, cursing and wishing you’d had the sense to go to typing school, but remembering that if Hemingway could do why not you. People wrote because they really wanted to and were prepared to put up with the inconveniences. And because there were none of the conveniences we take for granted in word processing, if you changed you mind or wanted to revise a chapter or a page it meant typing the whole damned thing again, or scribbling endless little hieroglyphics in the margins, pasting fragments till the manuscript looked like one of the Dead Sea Scrolls. I tell you, the writing life back in those days was for the dedicated few. Publishers actually had what were called slush piles and had readers whose job it was to sift through all those unsolicited manuscripts from hopefuls like you and me just in case the next Steinbeck or Hemmingway was lurking in the dust. Publishers actually encouraged authors: today if you don’t have an agent and send an unsolicited MS, it’ll end up in the shredder. There’s a saying which probably contains a lot of truth. “Everyone has a book in them, and in 99% of cases that’s exactly where it should stay.” As I said, I blame the computer. Today, anyone can slap together a few of hundred pages and call it a book, and the sad part is it’ll be beautifully presented thanks to those word processors. Look at bookstore shelves: there are hundreds and hundreds of books that will never make a penny, and many are so badly written it’s frightening. But what’s more frightening is why any publisher would want to risk their reputation by turning them out. Life’s a mystery. Writing is part of life. I just wish sometimes the computer had never been invented and then only those writers who had the passion to write and maybe had something worth reading would make it past the shredder.