It was five in the afternoon and he danced around the house from one typewriter to the next. The ideas would not stop. Each time his fingers touched the steel keys new ideas picked up where they left off and his imagination spun to keep up with his rhythmic typing. One idea, one scene, one character, one rising and another falling. Then switch. His leather shoes knocking at the hard wood floor to the next machine. The sound of metal pounding paper filled the air again. It was constant background noise from every angle of the house. Even if it broke and he stepped back to think for just a moment, the sound still lingered in the air. A smile came to his lips
“Yeah thats good” he gave a laugh while still working his magic upon the keys. The end of the page approached and he ripped the paper from the jaws of the beast, laid it on another stack of pages filled with ink and rolled another piece of paper into the machines clutches. As soon as it was realigned the letters started to appear on the page.
While he typed, in his head the whole thing played out.
-
“James, it’s over for you and your goody two shoe-d girl” the man in the shadows said.
James knew that he could not out gun the man. Why? Because he know knew who he was.
“I never thought it would be you that would double cross me” he put out his hand to shield Charlotte “Gilbert Demson”
Gilbert stepped forward and let the light hit him. He stood with a smug smile wearing the same white and black suit that he had on at the party. He didn’t even bother to get changed before trying to kill him.
-
“How are you going to get out of this one James” the man gave a wicked smile and typed the answer. Dear Charlotte. Ace shooter. Preparing a gun behind James back. James explains that he knew Gilbert’s secret of funneling money to the construction company taking over the neighborhoods. In a moment of surprise. Thats when she takes the shot. One chance. Dead bang. Right between the eyes.
He wraps up the story mid page. Tears it away and sets it on the stack. One done, many more to go. His foot steps are moving again to the next adventure. The readers, his imagination, they cannot be satisfied. The clinking of the keys start up again. His face lights up in a smile.
-
When I was in Japan I started listening to radio dramas on audible. One that I stumbled upon was The Shadow. Which was about Lamont Cranston “wealthy young man about town”. He had an alter ego. He learned a trick to make himself invisible and he would stop evil as the shadow.
I recently discovered that the writer of the shadow, Walter B. Gibson, was insanely productive. He would write all the time and I saw that he had typewriters in each of his rooms, each with a story that he was working on. Not sure if that is true, but his output regardless was incredible. Here is a small snippet that I found of him talking about his writing. Also he was a magician.