Confessions of an addicted machiniac
Machiniac: one who is fascinated by the beauty of machines
and my addiction is to graphite, as it is propelled from a 0.5mm mechanical pencil
A sketch (self portrait) I did of a drawing session, sharing graphite with my youngest grandson, Cameron
As with any task, the proper tools are essential; here are a few of mine, ones that I made myself (machined on a lathe from solid pieces of aluminum bar stock).

While those pictured are my "home made" examples, my collection of mechanical pencils started with a drafting career in the late 1950's and I've been at it ever since. My collection numbers in the hundreds; many rare pencils bought on business trips to Japan and Germany, wonderful pieces of this art form that went out of production 25 years ago.
My father was an engineer and when the firm he worked for bought all new drafting tables he pulled a discarded drafting table from the company dumpster and brought it home for me, so from the age of 5 on I had my own "drawing studio:" the drafting table in a corner of the basement. Math was a game I played with my dad; he gave me his old math books and a slide rule as toys. It just never dawned on me that solving square roots and Pythagorean triangles wasn't how all second graders spent Saturday afternoons with their dad.

After a big conference at school, parents, teacher, principal, math prof from the local college, I was allowed to study math at the local college with sophomores taking trigonometry; in part because the 6th grade math teacher wouldn't allow me back in her class (I was viewed as being too disrespectful,...I suspect it was probably a fair assessment of my attitude).
By the 8th grade I was "fixing" lawnmower engines, "improving" them with a few modifications done in the machine shop where my dad was plant superintendent.
Mostly I "improved" them a little too much and they'd disintegrate at high speeds, running at least twice as fast as they were ever intended to operate; but the failures were spectacular: fire, and oil, and pieces of metal parts flying every where.
In retrospect, it's the stuff that makes scientists and engineers; and it's also a wonder I didn't kill either myself or any of my friends who came to watch my "experiments."
By the 10th grade I'd taught myself drafting and the rudiments of calculus because I actually wanted things to work, not just produce amusing displays when my inventions went a little off course.
Engineering was the path of least resistance for me; the math was fun, the science was fascinating. I went to what was then Carnegie Tech, in Pittsburgh, and worked in the steel mills.
There are three kinds of humans: men, women, and hot metal workers. Being around a blast furnace when it's "drilled in" is a show that overwhelms even the most eloquent and dramatic descriptions; there are few things in life that are actually beyond words, but a working blast furnace is one.

This is a small laboratory furnace, it only makes 20 tons of steel in a single heat, about 30 minutes. I'm standing on the stairs on the right side of the picture.
But I can have them racing 1/10th scale RC cars with 90% of the thrills and excitement and very little threat of serious injury. Real problem solving holds the same enchantment no matter what the field or size of the machinery.
In the words of Richard Feynman, "it is the pleasure of finding things out."
Perhaps the greatest pleasure that life holds.
Thanks for taking a lap around the track with me; and I'll see you on the next pit stop