(Of a Pen Fiend, that is)


I have a confession to make. My love for pens and paper goes far beyond anything likely to trouble most people. I am not merely a pen aficionado.

A pen aficionado is someone who examines a writing instrument in a cool, appreciative, James Bond manner, holding said pen up to the light, squinting: Hmmm--a Parker Duofold Junior, at 30 paces, from the north side of the vineyard.

Me, I go far beyond that--rushing around the darkened castle, Bride-of-Frankenstein hair flying, eyes ringed with too-pen-fiend black, wailing: "I must find the perfect pen!"

(Lightning-flash. Crack of thunder).For the rest of the essay, go here!

Pictures, too.

I've also had nightmares filled with old windmills and people carrying torches when thinking about my pens being stolen or damaged.

Juan

I've had dreams of beating back the swarming hordes after my pens and notebooks. Victorious, of course, before awakening to things intact.

You are simply not a child of the Enlightenment. Frederick the Great might have galloped into battle, as steady as thunder, with a perfectly undamaged quill in his pocket, which he would use to sign the death warrant of the enemy general after the battle. But that's not for you - you are a romantic. You need mist and waves and illumination by night, which is fine by me. Cry out to the agony of living and brandish your nib to the muse!

Best,
Summer

One more: in my garden gnomes global annhilation masterplan, I've pictured myself with my ninja outfit (ninja pens included: Lamy 2000, Lamy Safari charcoal...), and after stubbing several dozens of those garden gnomes I had to commit seppuku with one of my omas because one of them managed to get one of my 51s.

Damn the gnomes!