In my tent, I reside

I've wanted to be a writer in residence for ages. Next weekend I finally get my chance, though not in the circumstances I imagined.

What I had in mind, I think, was an august yet innovative institution – maybe a university or an arts organisation, a theatre. I would have a comfy office, a grand title, a small but welcome stipend. I would "say a few words" when called upon, and graciously accept whatever plaudits came my way. I might potter about in slippers and be a little eccentric.*

Instead, I will be in a field, sleeping in a tent. My great wish is that it doesn't rain. Actually, rain is inevitable; I just hope it won't rain too hard or too persistently.

I will be at the Lounge on the Farm music festival in Kent, just outside Canterbury (July 6-8). I'm a member of the LoungeStories team. There will be five of us working shifts. My task is to wander around the festival site, talking to people, eavesdropping on occasion, taking in the experience and then using it all as inspiration for fiction – stories, poems or maybe just an interesting line or an arresting image.

We'll be publishing and even performing our work on the spot, for festival-goers to read and enjoy. They might even recognise themselves in writing they inspired.

To get the words out, we'll be using a wide range of social media – Facebook, Instagram, Audioboo, Tumblr and others. There'll be old media in the mix too, I hope, even if it's just the odd haiku on a Post-It note.

The idea is to experiment – with how we find inspiration, what we write and how we make it available. I have no big plan for how I'll use my time, just a willingness – perhaps a determination, even – to make a bit of an arse of myself.

It should be fun. I will report back.

* On reflection, this sounds like the kind of writer I might be in 40 years' time, but not just yet

The weather will be like this, won't it?

Why I love my typewriter

I am writing the first draft of this blog post on my new typewriter. It is a Brother AX-100. Later, when I write the second draft on my very lovely MacBook Pro, I will add a photo of my typewriter, and perhaps some links to some information about it, and where I bought it. But not now. Now I am just focusing on writing down some words.

And that, of course, is the reason why I love my typewriter. It does what it does, and nothing else. It has no means of distracting me. There are a few functions that I might tinker with one day. I can write in single-spaced lines or double. I can change the "pitch" from 10 to 12, whatever that means (I've tried it and can't see any difference). There are a few other controls to do with tabs, I think, and margins. They hold little interest.

I've wanted a typewriter for such a long time. I don't know why I've not bought one sooner. Partly, I think, it's because it seems such a step backwards. I love technology. My iPhone, iPad and MacBook give me great pleasure. They are the kind of devices that I dreamed of owning as a child. When I ask Siri questions, I am Captain Kirk.

Like many writers, I hate Microsoft Word with a passion. Every new version of it seems worse than the one before. My laptop, with all its gigabytes and megahertz, takes as long to open a simple document as my Mac Classic did 15 years ago. And when I work in Word, it crashes just as often. I use Scrivener as much as I can. It is simple and aimed at writers. But it still invites me to fiddle with fonts, window arrangements and such like. And anyway, it's not just the simplicity of a distraction-free writing environment that I crave.

A typed manuscript is a beautiful thing. Words bashed out mechanically onto a scrolling sheet of paper, the criss-crossing of edits, additions, deletions – ideally in different colours. I find the result of typing aesthetically pleasing. And when I am done, when I reach the end of the page, I have made something physical, an object that did not existing in the world previously. I have not simply rearranged bytes of data. I like that.

I like to write with pen and paper for the same reason. I will continue to do so. The typewriter is not meant to replace another writing technology, it is just another tool weapon in my armoury.

Oh, and I just love the noise it makes: whirr, clack, clack. By contrast, the near-silent hum of my MacBook's whispering fans, the click and shuffle of its hard drive, I find infuriating. No, the noise of the typewriter is a good noise. I can sit here now, at my desk, with the window open, a brisk breeze bending the sycamore trees and barging its way through the tilting fields of rape seed and feel connected to it all in a way that I wasn't previously.

Ah, I've reached the end of the page.

What a beauty