Well-Read Life™

Today’s Carbon Paper: It’s Probably in Your Pocket or Bag Right Now

In my old paper files, pre-1983, I have some artifacts not seen much since: genuine carbon copies. For those younger than 40, that little abbreviation of cc, ever-present in email options, may only be a computer field for copying someone. But for those of us who used typewriters, we remember actual carbon copies: those often smudged and shadowy paper copies of our originals.

In the mid-1980s, when the personal computer arrived on the scene, it became as easy to print two copies as one. The once-ubiquitous carbon paper—that tissue-thin, inky paper you’d insert between two sheets of paper—began its slide into obscurity.

Not that I care. I miss the old carbon paper about as much as I miss leaded gas and powdered milk.

But today there’s a new carbon paper—of sorts. It’s called your smartphone.

Sharing a letter through a snapshot

Today most correspondence takes place virtually, through email, electronic greeting cards, Facebook and its kin. But still there are times when many of us want to connect on a more physical level, putting pen to paper and paper in  hands. Happily, digital technology can now help us gain more from our heritage technologies of paper and ink, and savor them in new ways. Lately I’ve gotten into the habit of taking a picture on my iPhone of my handwritten notes before I seal them in an envelope. I arrange a little still life, with the addressed envelope, the note itself, my pen, and whatever else nearby catches my eye. I create a montage of the moment, a snapshot of my letter just before it begins its physical journey to its destiny.

Later, if I hear from the recipient that he or she enjoyed the card, I can call up my photo from my pocket and revisit with accuracy what I wrote, and zoom in to see whether I signed off with “Yours” or “Your fan” or “Love.”At other times, the letter deserves to be shared with a mutual friend so that three of us can enjoy a moment.

The digital carbon copies on my smartphone allow me this rewarding ritual in my life and set in motion a positive feedback loop that has resulted in my hand-writing more notes, and with more enthusiasm.

Here are some examples:

   

In a switch, I’ve also taken photos of cards I’ve received to share with others. For example, we received a sweet little thank-you for a donation that my father made in person to a small library in Florida. I sent the photo to my father just moments after I opened the letter in my office. My father enjoyed it moments later.

Here’s the card:

A picture that’s worth its words

Last year, in response to my blog on the satisfaction of forcing your mind to recall trivia rather than Googling, I received a most unusual gift.

I had used the example of not being able to remember the name of a particular actor. In a show of remarkable generosity, one of the readers of that blog, the autograph dealer Ron Weeks, sent me a photograph of the actor, Alec Guinness, along with his signature—both beautifully matted in blue and ready for framing. I decided to send Ron our book on Thoreau in return.

Before I sent Ron the book and my note, I took this photo on my phone:

In this one photo are both gifts and both letters—far beyond the carbon-paper capabilities of yore.

Creating an artful photo is layering art upon art, and can become a rewarding ritual in itself.

Have I inspired you to take carbon-copy photos of your handwritten notes? If so, please post your photo to our Facebook page and the rewards might multiply.

And if you’re inspired to send an actual handwritten card to me, I’ll write back. But before I drop my return letter in the post office box, I’ll shoot a photo of our correspondence.

I look forward to reading, and viewing, your notes very soon.

Steve Leveen

Levenger

420 S. Congress Avenue

Delray Beach, FL 33445

Tell me what you hold dear

Special message to all who commented on this blog through May 19 (thank you!). We have selected six winners of our Holding Dear contest (see the announcement on our Facebook page). But we were so moved by these many entries, we wanted to find a way to thank each one of you. So I would like to extend to all who sent in their story this special offer. If you would like to purchase a copy of Holding Dear, take $10 off the purchase price, May 21 through May 27. (This applies to new purchases only.) Just enter code HDBLOG at checkout. Click here to go to the Holding Dear page. With my thanks, best wishes, and admiration. —Steve

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When I show friends our L-Tech fountain pen and stylus, I like to tell them that they’re holding three centuries of technology in their hand—the 19^th century fountain pen nib, the 20^th century machine-age brass barrel, and the 21^st century silicone stylus tip. Then I like to watch the smile that comes over their faces, as they think about what an old—and new—object they’re holding.

One object, three centuries

This three-century object manifests for me just how lucky we are to be able to tap into such a broad spectrum of technology. I love the feel of the fountain pen as it glides on my paper with the lubrication of liquid ink. In a quiet room, you can hear it, as well as feel it. (Charles Frazier, in his book Cold Mountain, described that sound as the scritch of the pen.) The ink glistens for a few seconds before it permeates the paper with its deep, dark blue.

Then I’ll cap the pen, flip it upside down, and use the stylus to draw on my favorite writing program, 51 Paper. I have a notebook therein where I practice writing, in Spanish, the expressions I read in English. It’s a modern and quite pleasing chalk slate. Bliss!

Now that we can enjoy fountains pens, ballpoints, and digital styli, why would we want to give any of them up?

In the era of virtual, still physical

It’s not just a matter of sentimentality; it speaks to our productivity. For connectivity, breaking news, and immediate communication, you can’t beat digital. But for communication with yourself, nothing beats the quiet pleasures of pen on paper—especially a pen perfectly suited to your hand and writing style, and paper, like an untouched field of fresh snow.

The digital—the virtual—will take us ever farther and higher into the cloud. It’s exciting to speculate on how we will work and create in ways we can’t yet imagine. Yet we are physical beings still, living in a physical world.

Consider the solidity of a strong wooden desk under your arms. It holds your computer ever so steady. Or the touch of a leather case that warmly and securely embraces your smartphone. It is carrying on the long tradition of using leather to give our fragile human bodies purchase on life—shoes, saddles, reins, quivers to hold our arrows.

Now that the heritage technologies we used to construct our civilization—like printed books, notebooks, and ink pens—are technically obsolete, we are free to truly understand their benefits and choose to use them when we desire.

A $100 gift card for the best stories of what you still hold dear

For my new book, Holding Dear: The Value of the Real, I was able to ask some of our customers about the physical object that inspires their thinking and creating. We’ve reproduced some wonderful—and surprising—stories by David McCullough, David Allen, Patti Smith, Ann Patchett and others. I especially liked our technologist friends Paul Saffo and Kevin Kelly weighing in on the analog objects of their affection.

But a book, in its paper iteration, has a finite number of pages, and we need to continue the conversation.

So I’m asking you to share a story with me. Tell me, dear reader, about a favorite box, or a certain painting, or a prized volume of poetry inscribed by a loved one that just wouldn’t be the same as a digital book, no more than a photo of people hugging substitutes for a real hug. Or whatever your object may be.

What thing, when you touch it, touches you back?

For the best stories (in our terribly subjective judgment) that we receive between now and May 19, a $100 Levenger gift card awaits. It’s good for acquiring other objects you hold dear.

Post your story as a Comment to this blog

Just click on the Comments link below with your story. (If you’re reading this as an email, click here and you'll connect to Comments).

We’ll notify the winners by email and announce them on our Facebook page. (Fyi—we may want to share your story in our social media or other Levenger communications channels.)

Gift card or not, each of you will be rewarded as you think back about what physical object you’re grateful for in our increasingly virtual world.

With thanks and gratitude to you, I am

Ever yours,

Steve