Objective: typewriter.

Courtesy ETSY.com

Brevity is torture for every writer. Ubiquitous internet access makes it so that I cannot say what I want without the haunting suspicion that better information exists elsewhere. My blog entries are not miracles, of that I am sure. But to distill a single line of confident text always is.

With a typewriter, I am convinced that all the letter soldiers would go marching down a straight line to meaning. The driving keys from left to right would send up a delicious chatter, scaling the alphabet of my thoughts. I would stay up all night to use this typewriter, yes I would. I would happily abandon the backspace bar for an eternity of feeding papers one by one through a mill of ink.  
I was recently asked what one material possession I would take if my house was burning down. I really couldn't think of anything I would need that badly. But if I had a typewriter, not even a fiery inferno could make me part with it.

Like Ralphie on The Christmas Story believed that an "Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle" would transform him into a vigilante hero, my red typewriter would be the chronicle of endless revelation maybe and a love letter or two.

I'm getting ahead of myself. It's time for some research.