I've fallen in love with a typewriter.
(Let me explain.)
It all started last week when, during a craving for creative inspiration, my wife and I popped into a local thrift shop in Pasadena looking for some vintage decor.
We found an old pipe, an antique piano roll, some aged candle tapers, and - you guess it - a typewriter.
(Specifically, a Royal Quiet De Luxe from 1947.)
I'd always loved the romantic idea of tapping away on a typewriter, but honestly when I bought it I had no idea if it'd even work.
So imagine my shock when I brought it home to discover that this 70+ year-old relic sitting on my coffee table was fully functional!
But here's where things get interesting...
Over the next few days, I found myself drawn to it - first writing a sentence or two for fun, then a paragraph, and finally full pages.
What made using this outdated device so FUN?
First:
Writing was way more enjoyable on a physical instrument than it was on a digital computer.
The rhythmic "click-clack" of the keys, the mindful "ding" as I reached the end of each line, the satisfying smack of the platen roller...
Writing was no longer a task - it was a full-on EXPERIENCE.
Second:
Working non-digitally forced me to slow down and exercise intention.
There's no "undo" button on a typewriter. If you make a mistake, the mistake stays. You can't copy-paste, drag-and-drop, select all, or mass delete.
I thought I'd never be able to create with limitations like that.
But I quickly discovered that those limitations can quickly become an advantage.
Knowing that anything I typed was permanent forced me to think about what I wanted to say before writing it - leading to a more thoughtful finished product.
(I wrote this episode on the typewriter, so I guess you can be the judge of that.)
And third:
Physical writing - or any art in physical form - results in inevitable, beautiful imperfection.
From the uneven ink on the page to typos from sticky keys or slipping fingers, copy from a typewriter is flawed. But knowing that the "finished product" will always be imperfect frees the writer from the constant tweaking and revising that often comes with working digitally.
So why am I sharing this with you?
With the rise of A.I., de-noising plugins, hyper-realistic orchestral VSTs, and 4k iPhone cameras, we've entered a digital world of breakneck speed and pristine quality.
But we've also lost something:
The ability to slow down, silence the noise, and celebrate imperfection.
And these are the very conditions which can bring forth the most inspired art from the garden of your mind.
So...
Instead of trying to squeeze art out of yourself this week, I encourage you to cultivate space for art to REVEAL itself to you.
- βοΈ Make something with a pencil and paper
- π² Spend an hour in silence outdoors
- πΈ Pick up a musical instrument that's sitting in your house untouched
- π©βπ³ Cook a new recipe
- πͺ Rearrange furniture
Take your time.
Let go of the need to rush through creativity, compete with machines, or make a masterpiece.
Enjoy the process, and good work will follow.
π Ready for more?
When you're ready, here's 4 ways I can help:
- π₯ My YouTube. Watch 350+ videos including music tutorials, career tips, and more.
- ποΈ The Newsletter Archive. Read articles from previous weeks of this newsletter.
- π¬ Composing Career Bootcamp. Join my 6-week cohort-based course to learn how to land paid composing work from anywhere in the world. (100+ students, 5 stars)
- π Work Directly with Me. I'm offering private mentorship to select composers interested in working with me on a deeper level. If you're interested, click the link and let's chat.
That's all for now!
Leave a reply to share your thoughts, questions, or just to say hi.
(I love hearing from my readers. π)
Otherwise, happy music-making and I'll see you next Tuesday!
- Zach
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