I thought I’d share with you some of my writing implements. People who know me well know I have this thing for fountain pens. I started buying some decent but relatively cheap ones. Then my wife bought me a retro brown Pelican fine fountain pen for our anniversary, helped by my serious pen collector friend Bob Sachs. It’s still my favorite pen, and I’ve been hooked ever since.
Recently I’ve gotten into dip pens. Rather than fill a reservoir or pop in a cartridge, you dip the nib into the ink, write a few words, maybe a sentence, and dip again.
They’re cheaper than fine fountain pens, more sensitive, but more fun to use for composing. The metal nibs are springy and you can really feel the scratch of the ink on the paper. You are one with the paper, with the flow of ideas. I find the stops and starts of dipping the pen actually help concentration – giving little breaks to gather thoughts. And what a relief to have the computer off!
I thought I’d share a photo of a couple of the dip pens I’ve been using. On the bottom is a simple wooden handle with interchangeable nibs I bought from pendemonium.com, my favorite supplier. I also bought an assortment of vintage steel nibs.
The top model is brand new. It’s a glass dip pen from J. Herbin, a maker of fine inks. I’d read about glass dip pens and was curious to try one. The groves in the nib hold more ink, so you can write a sentence or two before refilling. If the nib gets dull you can use 400 grade sandpaper to smooth it again. It’s more of a ball point, not flexible, and so the writing doesn’t have the thick/thin lines you can draw with a steel nib. But as you can see, glass pens are gorgeous.
I got this one at the writing pen store. By the time I got around to trying this, pendemonium had none in stock. I’m more than satisfied with this pen. Some may think it an idiosyncracy, an affectation, maybe even a pretension (like my preference for dark brown and dark blue archival inks), but all I can say is, it’s one of the great pleasures of writing to be so intimate with the medium in the traditional way: pen, ink, paper = manuscript.
The last couple of months have been like going to the disco when I was a twenty-nothing: working up the nerve to ask women to dance, earning a good share of rejections for every hustle. The only difference is I like writing so much more than I ever liked the relentless music, line dances, shiny polyester, and silly heels.
