This is a 1940s Royal typewriter. Yes, my novel takes place in the 50s, but this is the typewriter I remember my mother using from the time I was born until I left for college. Don't know where it went after that. 

I was tremendously in awe of my mother's skill at this behemoth. She typed 90 words a minute! I can't imagine it. No wonder she had such arthritis (she familiarly called it Arthur) in her hands. I know I had to pound on the thing and I had bigger stronger hands than she. 

And then there were those blasted ribbons! Ugh. They'd twist into a mess at the slightest breath on them. And remember, there were no printers or copiers to make copies of your work, one used those messy carbons. Or a delete button to correct mistakes and make edits! But mother didn't make mistakes. Nope. Not like yours truly who usually gave up and hand wrote whatever it was she thought she was going to type.

When I went off to college in 1967 I proudly carried this smaller, sleeker beast into my dorm room. Still no delete key and I'd have to use carbons for copies, but I didn't have to pound quite as much. I became grudging friends with the thing after many papers written during late night, last minute marathons.

Now my main character in my novel probably used something in between these two in her job as an Editor in a crime novel publishing house. And she would have no benefit of printers or delete keys either. Nor did she have the benefit of Wite Out which came about in 1966. 

All I can say is be grateful -- very very grateful -- my younger friends, for the advent of the computer!