The tap, tap, taping, was never ending.

The old typewriter, in need of much repair, he’d found in the attic gave it a new lease on life.

I set him up in the spare room where I could shut the door and deafen the incessant noise.

He was on a mission to write his first novel. He had ideas coming thick and fast, and he had to get them down.

I didn’t get to see him apart from meal times. I missed him, but he didn’t appear to miss me. When he did come out conversation was about how his novel was going.

I did all I could to encourage him, but after a while, the conversation grew tiring. He was full of ideas, the tapping continued for a whole week, and still, there was no manuscript.

The old typewriter kept chugging away, his novel subject to its whims.

Written for: https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2018/06/16/weekend-writing-prompt-59-typewriter/