It was one of the leaving presents from my boss and very poignant. An IBM electric typewriter. State of the art, gentle touch and a joy to behold when I received it in the early 1980s. By the time I left, it – and I – had been superseded by the relentless marching of time when those irritating upstarts of large monitors and keyboards with attitude came into my life. Newer, younger and more exciting models ruled the workplace.
In the farewell lunch in the Social Club, the platitudes had been exchanged in the speeches and I was fortunate to receive some wonderful gifts from ex-colleagues amongst which was another typewriter. An electronic typewriter. One with a moving screen. The horrors! I had asked for this gift without realising the stupidity of my self-confidence in mastering it and was transported home with an eagerness to start work on the masterpiece.
I will draw a veil over the next two weeks; the battle between me and IT is still too raw to recognise even after all these years. But…the day my precious IBM arrived, carried from my old work station in an executive office suite to the re-organised old kitchen which was now my transformed “study”, was like welcoming back a long-lost friend.
Now what? I had left my job to start writing. My mind was as blank as the sheet of paper.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” my husband gently suggested.
So, I did.