The Red Royal Does Have Stories
Weeks have gone by and no progress has been made in finding the previous owner. I do not know when the estate sale on Long Island was. The typewriter was listed on my late grandmother's birthday, August 16. Considering the typewriter was incredibly dirty, it had been sitting around. Long Island has an interesting literary history, though, and my mind has opened itself up to ridiculous possibilities.
My Red Royal is the former typewriter of Catch-22 author, Joseph Heller. My Red Royal is the lost typewriter of Francis Ford Coppola. He doesn't want it back.
My Red Royal is the typewriter of a hipster who wanted to be Bob Dylan.
But my imagination is nowhere near the truth. Is the truth stranger or more bland?
In order to get an idea of what energy this typewriter holds, I held a little psychic session. Am I psychic? Maybe. Am I a witch? Maybe. I do believe our energies get passed around. Is it magic or is it science? Does it matter?
I fitted the typewriter with a brand new ribbon. Black. The ink rubbed off on my fingers and I had a sudden urge to finger paint my legs. So I did. I inserted a fresh sheet of paper and tuned into the energies of the machine. I typed. I typed some more. I typed fast. I typed slow. I hit multiple keys and jammed them, but the process was the same. It was stream of consciousness. It was scrying.
Was I really in tune with the Ghosts of Writers Past or did I find a part of my soul who writes science fiction/noir/erotica-horror...
You're right. It's probably me.
All typos belong to the typewriter.