“Occasionally I write directly in my small laptop, sheepishly glancing over to the shelf where my typewriter with its antiquated ribbon sits next to an obsolete Brother word processor. A nagging allegiance prevents me from scrapping either of them. Then there are scores of notebooks, their contents calling – confession, revelation, endless variations of the same paragraph – and piles of napkins scrawled with incomprehensible rants. Dried-out ink bottles, encrusted nibs, cartridges for pens long gone, mechanical pencils emptied of lead. Writer’s debris.”
© 2015 Patti Smith, M-Train.
