AT MY SHOULDER • by Ron Capshaw
Writer’s block. I never thought I would have it again. But days passed, and I would type out a sentence and edit it down to two words. It’s the pulps, I told myself. A penny a word — by now,… Continue Reading
Writer’s block. I never thought I would have it again. But days passed, and I would type out a sentence and edit it down to two words. It’s the pulps, I told myself. A penny a word — by now,… Continue Reading
Monty repaired typewriters. He knew all there was to know about repairing typewriters. And about the typewriters themselves. The back room in his north London semi was a private typewriter museum full of Underwoods, Olivettis, and Remingtons. He showed me… Continue Reading