“I just sit at my typewriter and curse a bit.”
“For four days straights, I sit at my typewriter in my bedroom. Twenty of my typed pages, full of slashes and red-circled edits, become thirty-one in thick Strathmore white.”
“My imagination was running amok again. Twice in one night. This never happens when I’m sitting in front of a typewriter.”
“Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.”
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
“How can I believe in God when just last week I got my tongue caught in the roller of an electric typewriter?”