I wanted to share a story that I experienced during the past summer holidays. We visited York (old, not New), and in the middle of the shopping high street sat a guy with a folding table and a mechanical typewriter. Now in this day and age, that is an unusual sight, so I had a closer look. And as my son (8 yrs old now) had never seen a typewriter, I took him over to have a look.
Turns out he was a writer/poet, who for a negotiable fee would write you a poem to take home. So I explained to him how my son did not have a clue what a typewriter was, or what it was for, so I would pay him a tenner for a poem about a typewriter. He looked a bit puzzled, asked what my son’s name was, looked at him a bit more, and then set to it, while we started a walk around the city.
Here is what he came up with, typed on brown paper and folded neatly into a likewise brown envelope:
I found this approach a very nice idea: to treat writing as a true craft as well as an art, working a handwritten draft in his notebook and then transferring the finished product into true print. And the poem with an embedded invitation to join the guild was well worth the money spent, I thought.