The Pen

I have often said and written that putting pen to paper is one of the best ways to learn, one of the best ways to express yourself, and one of the best ways to keep track of our very complicated lives. You can see some clinical analysis at Psychiatrist.com. and Pens.com.

Paper Mate, you had me at two hearts.
Paper Mate, you had me at two hearts.

I’ve been writing in longhand my whole life, and don’t expect to stop. Not only does it seem to liberate my creativity, it is also fun, and has a lasting effect that is even more potent than printing out a typewritten page.

In high school, I carried several pens for class, either the clear Bic with the black caps, or the white “Bic Stic.” I wrote in my journal all day with those, as well as doing my school work with them, but when I got home, I always wrote with my Paper Mate “Double Heart” pen. I didn’t bring it with me to school since I would have lost it; I lost those Bics all the time.

As I wrote with it, the black inlay in and around the hearts wore off. The gold finish paled. The black section of the barrel got scratched and smoothed by my hand. When it ran out of ink, I put in a refill, and I considered running a refill dry an accomplishment, a milestone. A typical regular refill would write for about half of a Mead 120-page college-rules spiral notebook. I don’t know exactly what that word count might be, but my cursory count is about nine words per line, about 30 lines per page. 60 pages of writing might be around 16,000 words?

Can you picture young Richard (mostly without the beard), laboring tenderly to scratch out 16,000 words with this pen?
Can you picture young Richard (mostly without the beard), laboring tenderly to scratch out 16,000 words with this pen?

I bought my last refill for that pen in about 1985. Friends and relatives have me Cross brand pens a few times, but writers know that Cross pens of the era were slick and thin. They were thoughtful gifts, but not great for a lot of longhand.

My mom used mechanical pencils for her crosswords, and when she died, my wife Abby inherited them and used them for crosswords and Sudoku until she died.

Abby also needed green pens for her office (and didn’t like the ones they provided), so she bought a few boxes of green-ink Pentel EnerGel pens.

Abby's green pens worked fine for her work situation, but I seldom reach for them myself.
Abby’s green pens worked fine for her work situation, but I seldom reach for them myself.

At one point years ago at my office, they told us to go to the bank and get some of their free pens, which wrote okay, but felt cheap in the hand. Years later, an editor who was very into fine stuff (fine whiskey, fine wine, fine cigars, and fine writing instruments) bought us a bunch of Pilot G2 pens, and some black-ink Pentel EnerGel pens, which have become my de facto writing instruments.

I like the EnerGel pens with the caps because they seem to have the boldest line stroke, for times when I am writing in notebooks with rough or extra-thick paper.
I like the EnerGel pens with the caps because they seem to have the boldest line stroke, for times when I am writing in notebooks with rough or extra-thick paper.

I bought a dozen Pilot pens and gave them to my fellow Open Mic writers, along with some quarto notebooks.

All this is making me wonder how much ink I have actually spread onto the page in my decades of words. How many miles of lines in my hand? How many pounds heavier were my notebooks after I finished writing in them?

And of course, the final and more interesting question is: how long will those words last? We all seem to understand that the Internet and social media are pretty much gone the second we scroll past them, but what about my ink?

I am loving the newest batch of Pilot G2 pens I bought, which included switching from 0.7mm to 1mm tips, giving me a smoother, more readable stroke.
I am loving the newest batch of Pilot G2 pens I bought, which included switching from 0.7mm to 1mm tips, giving me a smoother, more readable stroke.