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3.26.2024: On Fountain Pens

Those of you who know me personally know that I have a deep fondness for fountain pens, and indeed all varieties of antiquated stationary and writing implements. Typewriters not the least among that group. But I am writing about fountaint pens.

My collection of fountain pens is not particularly large and (due to my propensity for losing my pens) is not particularly expensive. My current favorite is my jinhao shark pen. It is a lovely whimsical little creature and it cost approximately $3. Since I have paid much more money for worse pens, I am quite pleased with this addition to my collection. I enjoy hand writing things. I keep physical notebooks where I journal and doodle and more or less commit to paper whatever strikes my mind, and I use my fountain pens for inking and lettering the comics I make. I quite enjoy this process, and find it to be much easier than working on my drawing tablet for whatever reason.

I am writing this on a keyboard, and I do most of my serious writing on my computer. But as much as I enjoy the convenience of computers I really do believe that writing on paper, with pen, fires different neurons in the brain than typing does. And I think that writing with a pen that you love, that writes smoothly and is pleasant to use, has a positive impact on the experience of writing. It is important to love your tools, and to take care of them. If you do, they will return the favor.

I suppose my main point here is that it is important to engage as much of yourself as possible in the task of writing in order to get the most out of the activity. And part of engaging the soul is loving the tools you use to write. I wrote my first short story on an olivetti journalist typewriter. I miss that machine dearly, as it was lost to wear and time and half a dozen moves. It was a light machine, for a typewriter, and ran smoothly until it broke. I was encouraged by my love for the machine to love writing more. I struggle to feel that level of affection for my laptop. But it is easy to summon for a fountain pen, and so I continue writing with them.

3.8.2024: Rambling about Analytics

I have started a new job recently for a digital marketing company. I don't have a lot of experience with the specific tools and software that they're using so I've decided to set up google analytics on this website, just for the index and the blog page. I don't have a great need for gathering the data of the people who look at my site here, since it isn't even the main platform for my art-I keep that over on my weebly site. But since I control this code more closely, I figure it will be more educational to set analytics up here than on weebly.

I have mixed feelings about the reliance on data like this in the marketing industry. I understand why Google analytics is such a ubiquitous tool and I understand the motivation behind the obsession with clicks-companies are all competing for an ever smaller disposable income pool and ever shorter attention spans. the less there is to get out of those resources, the more desperately they will struggle to hold onto their share. But even so. I feel it is not necessarily ethical to gather this sort of data. I do not think we were meant to know everytime someone thinks about a product.

That's all for today. I will try to post on this site more regularly, and also figure out a better way to format this blog page than just stacking each post on top of the next.

1.31.2024: Thoughts on the Hearth

When I was around 10 years old, I took on the responsibility of maintaining the fire through the winter. I would bring in firewood from the backyard, kindling from the barrel, and scavenge old newspapers and grocery flyers from the recycling to begin my preparation. I would arrange these materials in the way I had been taught by my father, creating a structure that would allow the flames from the newspaper to ignite the kindling and the wood from below. It is very satisfying to successfully light a fire. There is a clear point at which you have succeeded in your task. Many things are not like that.

Throughout the summer and fall, I was also preparing for the winter, when I would be maintaining the fire. I spent my time gathering wood and kindling, shoveling the old ash out of the fireplace. My father would guide my hands to the correct placement on his long handled ax. Even with my body being small and weak, I was able to help him with this task, of chopping the logs he brought home into quarters for firewood. The ax does most of the work for you, if you swing it right.

I have the sense now, looking back from my apartment in the city with no fireplace, and nowhere to cut and store wood even if I had a fireplace, that the act of tending to the preparations and the maintenance of the fire is a sacred ritual. To tame fire, that wild, destructive thing, and keep it inside the center of the home to bring warmth and light to your family is a sacred undertaking. It is no wonder that Hestia, goddess of the hearth, had her seat on Olympus with the gods of the sea and the sky. The hearth is truly the most sacred part of the home.