Smith Corona Typewriter
“This is not a toy!”
It’s a true statement of warning. A typewriter is not a toy, it is a brutal device that hits and bites and twists innocent paper into something nothing of the sort.
Toys are something joyous; they are not something that locks you into a churning struggle with the language that you thought you had befriended. Toys are for a casual day; they are for time spent outside in the sunshine, while a typewriter is something for dark back rooms and dark long nights. It is something that you end up chained to with no hope of escape that isn’t found in prose and poetry.
Who would want to submit their children to that? Who wants to open the door to their child’s room and see them crouched over a creaking monster of a machine, drinking cheap scotch and cold coffee, surrounded by pages crumpled and assaulted by this monster of a device. Who would want to see the bookshelves of their child deserted of cheery picture books to be replaced with the faded and yellowing tomes of alcoholics?
This is not a toy; this is a future addiction to pounding keys. This is a future knife wound to the soul in the hope for more pages. If you want your children to be write, tell them to do it on their computers, where they can have a constant escape, and don’t need to stare eye to eye with the violent death of their words on the page, an eternal stare down with suffering.
Parents, do not buy your children typewriters, do not let them become writers, and always remind them, even if they grow up to be doctors or garbage men, that typewriters are not toys