This past weekend was a barrage of holiday parties and best friends. Now that I’m re-entering the atmosphere, I’m realizing that I may have made a deal with the devil.
At one point, we were all talking about our christmas lists in a typical four a.m. conversation over a coke mirror. I half-jokingly mentioned that I wanted a red 1961 IBM Selectric typewriter. I described this thing like it was a classic Mustang.
They all kind of looked at me funny. Why would I want something like that? I explained that my grandfather had one, and him letting me type on it was one of my fondest memories. Plus, it’s just a cool ass piece of hardware that would look great on my desk at home.
One of my really close friends who knows about my blog pressed me a little further. He wanted to know if I would actually use it. I told him of course I would.
He asked me if I could write a book on a typewriter. I said, well, probably not a whole book, but it’s one of the tools I would lean on heavily because it’s so tactile and analog and linear.
Then he said, so if the typewriter showed up under your tree, you would write a book?
Without even thinking, I said hell yes.
This is the kind of guy with the check book to actually get me a gift like that and the and brass balls hold my feet to the fire. I have no idea if he’ll actually do it, but if he does, he’s gonna make me stick to my word.
Now I’m kind of nervous.