I have always been particular about my writing instruments.
As a child my pencils had to be sharp. I was the kid who took multiple trips to the pencil sharpener, not just to smell the smell of the freshly sharpened pencil, which I did love, but because I could not tolerate writing with a pencil with a dull tip. Some would call this quirky. I choose to think of it as having standards. This also marked the beginning of my, er, obsession with writing instruments.
At some point in the educational process we graduated from pencils to pens. This was a happy day for me. While many of my classmates were content to write with blue, medium point, run of the mill pens, I had to have a Bic accountant fine point. In black. Again, standards.
Later I dabbled in fountain pens. And wore my ink-stained fingers like a badge of honor.
High school graduation marked another milestone. I got a Cross pen and pencil set. My first true writing instruments. There was no turning back.
Waterman. Mont Blanc. Different styles for different types of writing.
For a while back in the late 80s and early 90s when Mont Blanc pens were “only $80” I gave a few as gifts to special friends. A birthday present from my husband early in our marriage was a Mont Blanc mechanical pencil. Clearly I had standards in choosing a life mate, as well.
It has been a while since I added to my collection of writing instruments. I value them as vintage. I bought them new and have put all of the writing miles on them myself. They are classic.
The instrument with which you put words to paper, that facilitates the translation of thought to handwriting, is an extension of who you are. Choose wisely.
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