what would hemingway do?

The Pottery Barn catalog came yesterday.  Usually I flip through the catalog and toss it, but not today. 

Someone at PB has read my mind.  As I've written about before here on the blog, I'm a sucker for typewriters.  I love everything about old typewriters — the ding one makes when the carriage returns, the sound of hitting keys, and smack of the letter striking the page.  I love the way typewriters look, the anti-tech of the machine.  I love that my favorite old authors were discriminating typists and that my man Hemingway would only write on a Royal. 

I have to think he would approve of my next purchase.

Those are six beautiful canvases, aren't they?  

Writers are a weird breed, as I've said on occasion.  We have little superstitions, write only with certain pens, are fond of particular notebooks, specific times of day to write, but that's not all.  Weird things about writing creep into everyday life.  Like these canvases.  I haven't made up my mind as to where to hang them.  Common sense says the scrap office, but these are so special they may hang in the living room on the wall I still haven't figured out what to do with after four years in this house.  I'm fairly certain they will be hanging on that wall soon. 

I'm working on a post for later tonight, but right now I'm going to check Ebay for that elusive  Olivetti Valentine.