It's not for lack of tools that's deterring him to write. He's
got enough of it. More than enough, for sure. His laptop may be
three years old but it's still better than a typewriter, though he
sometimes wish he still had one of those family heirloom, that
clunky yet sturdy, made-in-America?the land of the free but
indebted?writing machine. He loves the steady clicks of it as he
types as if validating his every word, every dictum, every idea he
churns out. Then it speaks in silence when he's done, yet is
eagerly awaiting for the next set of ideas, which he would create
in partnership with those keys.
A typewriter does not spot a typo, does not suggest synonyms,
would not do cut and paste, could not even tolerate more than a
couple of errors, yes, but it does not need to be plugged in to
that power outlet on the wall either A laptop, on the other hand,
does not mind how many errors you make. It may even be that it
actually prefers that you make those errors just to show off that
it has become more intelligent than you presently are or ever will
In the not-so-distant future, he's afraid that this
typewriter-killer would do all the thinking for him. He's got it
all mixed up whether it's a good thing? But how could that be a
darn good thing, thinking nothing when it is his all, his
everything, all that he's ever been good at?
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