I've owned at least two typewriters over the years. They were passed down to me from other family members; I think one I discovered in my grandmother's basement and begged her to let me take it home with me. She obliged and I used the thing, banging out random nonsense, until I ran out of tape. There's something about the large, clunky, medieval device that appeals to the aspiring writers among us; they make you feel more connected to your work. When a story is done and has been pulled off the roller, you can still feel it in your fingers.

Because I have a mother that loves to collect antiques -- and drag her children with her to the nearest barn sale -- I've seen hundreds of typewriters. (The Smith-Corona Galaxie DeLuxe, made famous among members of my generation by Cameron Crowe's Almost Famous, will always be a favorite.) It never occurred to me that I might not be able to find one whenever the desire hit. Sure, there are thousands collecting dust on thrift store shelves from here to Texarkana, but that will eventually change. Now that Godrej and Boyce, the last company left in the world still manufacturing the devices, has closed its doors, when typewriters make their way to landfills, there won't be any new ones to replace them.