Cinnamon and Stargazers

Typed on Gomez, an Olympia SM-3

Back in the Saddle

Typed on "Gomez," the Olympia SM3

Comfortable, now in COLOR

Just as an update on Monday's bleakness, my dog's been diagnosed with heart problems of a kind not uncommon in larger breeds, but still shocking given her young age. She's on a load of medicines, and the advice from the vets have all boiled down to "just keep her comfortable and we'll see." This blog was never meant to be a forum for me to air my personal goings-on, and I don't want to turn it into a pity-me-and-my-poor-ailing-pet sort of thing. That doesn't make me very comfortable, honestly.

I hope you won't think me callous if I indulge in my typical retro-paper-photo-lust, then. Believe me, there's a large part of my mind and heart tied up with the big fuzzy lump asleep at my feet.

-----

And now on to business, namely, fostering intra-typecaster jealousy. If you're anything like me, Strikethru's recent series on her Print Camp 2009 trip has you checking round-trip fares to Oregon. Egads, all this and Blue Moon too? When do we leave?

It was just this weekend that I pulled out some old, yellowed mimeographed worksheets from my elementary school days to show to my daughter. I swear I can remember seeing those hand-cranked machines in use at some point, but perhaps this is just a wishful, false memory. Of course, I have no need to make multiple copies of anything I've typed, or at least not to do it with ink and rollers and a pile of papers prone to jam. But you can't deny the elegance, and the purple ink... whew, nostalgia.

And so my mind wandered, as it is prone to do, back to the post about the Cuban author who wrote her novel by blind-typing, with carbon paper, and to discussion thread from the portable typewriters group from a writer wondering how to re-ink ribbons for use a manual machine after civilization's collapse. My suggestion at the time was "home-made carbon paper" and now with the experience of our novelist, this is a very likely prospect. So likely, in fact, that I thought I'd like to try it, though I don't know if I can easily find carbon paper, or want a whole pack of the messy stuff. I started thinking about carbon-less forms -- that might make interesing typecast paper -- and then like a bolt, it all came together.



These are two quickie samples from my home-made paper. Ingredients? A Rose Art "Violet" crayon, a piece of paper, a 3x5 card, and Gomez, my Olympia SM-3.

1. Cover side of paper in crayon. Really lay it on thick.
2. Place colored side of paper and blank paper together.
3. Wind through typewriter such that you are typing on the back of the colored page.
4. Type, perhaps using the underutilized "Stencil" setting (white dot on your ribbon color selector.)

I did this twice: once with a plain "raw" page, which is the top half of the typecast. The results were good, and very mimeo-ish, though the wax bits flaked off and stuck to the index card I used as a blank. You can see them above the first line, and the line of asterisks. Also, the closed letters tended to punch through all the way, filling in the loops on the "e" in a few words.

Being a neat freak, I then took the color sheet and baked it on a very low temperature in my toaster oven until the wax melted into the paper a bit, then typed the second half of the 'cast (from the asterisks down.) The type is darker, and cleaner, and the stray wax bits were bonded more to the page. Keeping in mind the low burning point of paraffin wax, I'd recommend this method if you DIY, but don't burn down your house, or blame me when you do. (Also, place the paper on tinfoil on a baking sheet of some kind, just in case.)

OK, crafty 'casters. Let's see what you can do with this. I fully expect to see bands of color, strips and swirls and such. And this needs a Clever Name. "Colorcasting" was the best I could do, but I'm sure one of you has a clever variant on "lost wax technique" or "Crayola paper" or the like.

It all comes out in the wash

One week of work, and only one extra trip to the store for another skein, and the typing pad project is nearly done. I've just pulled it out of the wash, sodden brown murky mess that it is, and am well-pleased with the results. Unfolded, the piece was about five and a half feet long, with the random gaps and goofs that say "this was a project done in a hurry." It all comes out in the wash though: the row that I randomly reversed stitches, the rough edges, the strange gappy oversized overall yuck of the raw piece is now square, damp, and smooth. I could probably shrink it a bit more, but I'm considering tossing it into the dryer to get it from the completely-dripping stage to the merely-damp stage. Pictures of the completed work to come once it's dry enough to play with Gomez, but you can get a glimpse of the "before" piece and its accoutrements perched on a TV tray this morning, before its date with the Kenmore. I was skeptical at first that the finished product would be as good as it is. Just goes to show what a little attention, friction, and a good soak can do for your first draft.

Update: after drying 12 hours later:

The Thinkening

It's a Miracle(-Tab)

• Moses in profile
  

Low-tech in a high-tech life

• Tony Buzan's mind map site

How do you integrate fine old machines into your working life, or do you?

Hope for the future

Postscript: I assumed that my son would want Gomez after gifting his machine, but I assumed wrong. He instead wants the Remington pseudo-silent typer, because "it's black, and I like black, and it looks cool." I cannot argue with that kind of logic, so I'm doing a homebrew restoration on the Rem's rollers now.