(Author's note - my entry for  this week's challenge from The_Weekend_Write-in. )

Susan sat straight-backed in front of her typewriter. Her fingers flew over the keys while she focussed on the words appearing on the sheet of white paper. Four years of Mrs Petman's Secretarial College had left their mark. A year of having the keyboard covered by an opaque shield had given Susan the ability to touch type and since then she hadn't need to think twice.

Her typewriter was vintage and she loved it. She'd had this machine for over forty years and could remember the day she'd bought it, with her first month's wages. A Remington Riviera in trendy orange. And it still worked perfectly... most of the time, although it looked like the letter 'e' needed repairing again, she thought with a frown.

Bother. I better get that fixed before Nat sees it.

Her daughter kept nagging her to upgrade to a computer, but she didn't want to. She had a tablet for the internet, which worked just fine.

"I don't need a computer, darling. This machine suits me perfectly."

"But just think, Mum, if you had a decent keyboard, you could try your hand at a novel or something. Something longer than those short stories you're always writing."

"But I like writing short stories," she'd insisted, as evenly as she could. It wasn't as if this was the first time they'd had this conversation. "I don't want to write a novel. I heard Nora Roberts has to write at least 2000 words a day! I just couldn't do it. A couple of hundred a day is enough for me."

Susan tuned out the memory and focussed on her page again. She read what she had written.

"Margueritte leapt through the open door, her fun in hand.."

Susan glared at the page. That wasn't what she had meant to write. Dammit! Now she had a typo to fix. She sighed and reached for the bottle of Liquid Paper™.