How A Typewriter Helped Me Find My Voice

September 3, 2014 12:34 PM

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Writing, for me, was always more of a necessity than a hobby. I wrote to empty out all that cluttered up the insides of me. I wrote to make sense of the noise in my head, the constant humming of thoughts and ideas, words and phrases and observations and aches. My love of the written word came out of that necessity, born from the need that never seemed to dull or fully fade away. It is a strange thing, as writing is such an inherently private endeavor done mostly inside the writer's own mind, to have it exist in such a public sphere. It is strange and new and often exciting that all these words I wrote for myself, and myself alone, take on new lives as they are read by others, interpreted, and assigned new meanings.

A few years back, I was in an antique store in my hometown of Helena, Montana and I came upon an extremely old, worn out typewriter. A Remington Rand Seventeen model that still had the original ink ribbon, and even stranger, the ink hadn't completely dried up. I stuck a ripped title page from an old...

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