An America writer
in the 1800’s was unable to read his own script, his hand always slipped. He couldn’t hire a man to copy his words as laborers during that time were rare. He didn’t think it fair that he’d starve because he couldn’t copy words. Creative thoughts blossomed in his head, pleasing him and because he wasn’t dead, happiness filled his brain
He meditated, plotted and then pictured how to press a key on a ribbon coated with ink to print a letter like Gutenberg’s printing press. Using letters made of metal he exchanged was his idea. The writer dropped his wife’s hair ribbon into ink and discovered by pressing a letter onto the side without ink, a copy appeared on the paper covering his desk so the ink wouldn’t stain.
With his wife’s ink stained ribbon, he printed out his name. Expecting fame and everybody would know his name, he quit the writing game. Becoming wealthy when he sold his patented device to Remington by taking royalties instead of cash . Remington improved upon his design, using men who made his guns.
They held sway and invented a way to make them better by manufacturing plenty every day without getting distracted or dismayed for not taking time to play. Not even on the seventh day when Remington said it was okay. The writer felt better, when he became a hero to others who scrawled ineligible words when using a pen, and couldn’t hold a or write a book about the darkest light,
until they learned to look up when tapping the keys with ease, because it made sense to print out words instead of using pen and ink. Then Remington bought a book and he gave his wife that look that she mistook and thought he was pleased to see the first author to submit a typewritten manuscript was more famous than Remington or any other man. Mark Twain wasn’t vain. He enjoyed and made use, without an excuse, of the device Remington made.