• Published 4th Dec 2017
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Field Notes from Equestria - Admiral Biscuit



A modern-day explorer gets his chance to visit Equestria, and writes down notes about the ponies he meets.

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Typewriter

Typewriter
Admiral Biscuit
for ROBCakeran53

Manehattan always had the feel of an older Earth city—maybe turn-of-the-century London or New York—and many of the businesses were only marked by a small sign out front. If they had display windows, they'd often showcase their wares, but even that didn't seem universally necessary for the ponies.

Or else I just hadn't figured out what they felt needed to be displayed and what didn't.

I was a few blocks from my hotel, and I came across a small store that had a shingle with a typewriter on it out front. I had no need of a typewriter or any sort of typewriter related services, and I passed by the store without a second thought and was all the way to the end of the block when I started to get curious about how a pony typewriter would even work. Since I didn't have anything else to do, I figured I might as well take a look.

Somehow, I'd been imagining it was going to look like an Apple store inside, but of course it didn't. If anything, it was closer to a mad scientist's laboratory, with bits and pieces of typewriters strewn all around. In the center of the chaos, bent over with a screwdriver in his mouth, was the proprietor. He was a heavyset stallion with an orange-sherbert colored coat and a white mane and tail, and he had a friendly if somewhat deranged mien. His name was Tachigraph, and unsurprisingly he was an expert in all things typewriter.

“Hate unicorn typewriters,” he told me. “All spells and crystals. There's nothing to fix in them. When they break, they can't be fixed unless they're re-bespelled. Now this—” he lovingly patted a bulky iron monstrosity “—is made the proper way. All levers and springs and pivots.”

I nodded politely, and I was about to take my leave when I noticed a strange contraption over on a shelf. It was a kind of hemisphere, with typewriter keys stuck in it. I thought that maybe it was some way of storing the keys, but the longer I looked at it, the more deliberate it seemed. Nothing else in the room was well-organized (at least not to my eye; to him, it probably made perfect sense), so I asked him about it.

“Ah, yes, the writing ball.” He glanced at his desk for a moment, and then looked earnestly at me. “I have a little museum—perhaps you'd like to see it? I have a complete writing ball back there.”

That sounded somewhat more interesting, so I agreed, and he led me through his cluttered workplace to an unremarkable door.

Inside it was slightly more organized, but only slightly. Things weren't piled one on top of the other, at least.

As promised, right at the entrance was a complete writing ball. If I'd been confused by the two-key typewriter, this one really took the biscuit. My grandfather had had an IBM Selectric typewriter with the writing ball, and this was basically the reverse of the idea.

Besides the odd key arrangement, the paper was curved underneath it on a complicated cradle, with little clips on the corners holding it in place.

“Go ahead and try it,” he said. “The letters are plain to see.”

And indeed they were. I wasn't that good at writing in Equestrian, although I could speak it and read it well enough, but I managed to type out a short sentence watching in amazement as the entire paper carrier moved under the typehead.

“It's not very fast,” he admitted, “but it's good for a novice who doesn't type too much and who doesn't want to memorize key combinations.”

“This,” he said, pointing to the next typewriter, “is a telegraph typewriter, and one of the first that was produced.” It looked like the one on his sign; it had two hoof-sized buttons and a long spacebar; other than that, it was arranged like an old-fashioned typewriter, with a roller that the paper went into.

“What use is only having two keys?”

“Well, the messages came in telegraph code, which is long and short beeps,” he said. “Dah and Dit. Or dots and dashes, if you prefer. This key is the dah key, and that one is the dit key. So a telegraph transcriber just types out what he hears, and then re-writes it or typesets it later.” He moved down to the next machine. “Of course, somepony decided to improve it and tie it right into the telegraph line.”

That machine would have been right at home in a steampunk convention. Rather than being built into an integrated case, the original typewriter had been modified to have an apparatus above it which could push the keys down automatically.

“Other ponies got to thinking that if you could put the letters right on the paper—like a self-inking typesetting machine—that would be convenient for everypony, and pretty soon somepony had invented the first spell-powered typewriter.”

This was an ornate box, with an exposed roller and a vial for ink, and a small brass spike on one corner. There were no buttons.

“How did that work?”

“Somepony just thinks what she wants to write, and it comes out on the paper. She focuses her energy on the antenna, and it types for her.” He snorted. “Useless. Not only were the mechanical components cheap and badly-designed, the spellwork was terrible, too. Look, I have some letters that were written with one.” He reached under the shelf and pulled out a mouthful of papers. “Lots of unicorns bring them to me because they think that their typewriter is broken when really it’s doing just what the spell intends for it to do.”

I took one from the center, figuring that it probably had the least amount of drool on it, and started reading.

Dear Spark, I most enjoyed your visitflanks last coat like blueberry muffind weekend I should what was that noise to get back no not back your house your sister no why we could a picnic would be nice wait what are stupid Luna-curssed typewriter just st

“Turns out nopony is all that focused when they type,” Tachigraph told me. “The improved models have normal buttons to push for words that you want to write down, and it's not much faster than a normal typewriter.”

He moved on to another normal-looking pony typewriter. “This one was a big innovation. It's called the Perotype, and it uses rolling keys.” He expertly slipped a piece of paper into it and demonstrated it for me.

The movement was mesmerizing. Both of the large hoof-sized keys tilted forward and back and to both sides, and were pushed down to type the letter. “You have to set the left one first, then the right,” he explained. “It was the first compact typewriter that had all the important letters, so that you could write something in plain Equestrian.”

Next to it was a similar-looking typewriter. “This one is called the Chirographer, and it uses sliding keys instead of rolling keys, but otherwise it uses the same principle of operation. The left key sets the register, and then the right one types the letter.”

“Which is better?”

Tachigraph shrugged. “The Perotype is a little bit faster—the rolling movement of the keys is more natural. But it's mechanically more complicated, and if you type carelessly, you can jam it more easily.”

“With both of these, you'd have to memorize the key combinations,” I observed. True, the letters were printed on the keys, but it was an unholy mess, since each position struck multiple letters depending on where the other key was placed.

“And that's why the Typographer was invented,” he said, leading me along to another machine. Rather than have two keys, it only had one. Then, at the front of the machine was a dial with letters printed on it. “You turn the dial to the letter you want to type, and then strike the key.”

It reminded me of the label maker that my grandfather had which embossed text on a sticky plastic ribbon. I'd used it a few times as a kid to label my possessions, but it was really slow.

“It isn't a quick machine,” he said, “but it's simple and easy to understand. No professional would use it, but for somepony who needs to only occasionally type something, it's cheap, and it's really reliable, too.”

I couldn't argue with that; instead of the complicated arrangement of springs and levers that I'd seen on the other typewriters, this only had one.

“It's also nice for traveling ponies, because it's considerably lighter and more compact than all the other models. I know a few journalists who use them, and some of them are really quick with it. I've had to replace the index wheel on Quick Lede's machine several times—she wears out the mechanical indents.”

We'd reached the back of his little museum, and there was only one more typewriter to examine. This one actually looked much like a human typewriter, although it had far more keys. A quick scan revealed that lowercase letters and capital letters each had their own key.

“The Cutter,” he said. “It was originally designed as a stencil-cutter, and then somepony got the idea to shrink down the mechanism and use it as a typewriter. It's practical for unicorns, because they can strike the keys with their fields, and just like the Typographer it can easily be used by anypony without training, but it's really bulky.

“Some print shops use them, because the font can be changed.” He pulled out a drawer on the bottom of the typewriter that looked for all the world like a cash drawer. Inside were neatly arranged collections of keycaps, some of which were quite ornate.

“How many different kinds of typewriter are there?”

He frowned. “You know, I honestly have no idea. These are the most common that I've seen, at least in terms of concept. Minotaur typewriters are a lot like the Cutter, although without as many keys—they usually have a shifting carriage and use two letters per key. Lots of Earth ponies have invented new arrangements, or improvements to existing models. I've fixed treadle powered machines before, and—“

“Treadle powered?” I shouldn't have interrupted him, but I really wanted to know what that was.

“To make it easier to hit the keys. There's a lot of mechanical parts to move, you know.” He folded the cover up on the Cutter to let me examine the arrangement of springs and levers that made it work. “It's a little more complex to power it, but it lets it strike the letters more firmly, and is easier on the hooves. Unicorns especially like them, because it's hard to push firmly with their magic.”

“Interesting.” I'd never really thought about that aspect of magic. It seemed so effortless for the unicorns to lift and carry things, but I suppose that there must have been some effort involved, or else everything in Equestria could be powered forever by a couple of unicorns turning a giant flywheel or something like that.

We probably could have kept talking for quite some time, except that we both heard the jingling of the bell above his door, and both of us simultaneously remembered that he was running a business rather than a museum.

“Just a moment,” he called out in the direction of the doorway, then turned back to me. “It's been real interesting talking to you, Joe. You're the first human who's had any interest in my little collection.”

“Thank you,” I said, sticking out a hand. “I never realized that there was such an interesting variety of typewriters.”

He chuckled. “Feel free to come back any time.”

Author's Note:

Chapter Notes!