If you’re a writer you probably have some odd ritualistic tics when it comes to the way you churn pages. You might need a certain type of music, a certain type of notebook, but for many it’s a certain type of pen.
Even if you only write down the lottery numbers, you probably have a preferred pen.
I have pen lust. I cannot go to an Office Depot or a Staples without dropping forty bucks. I love office supplies.
Not being a head of state, my pens have no collectible value. I don’t pine for a Mont Blanc – one of those expensive hedge fund dude pens that can cost what I pay in rent, but I am not afraid to spend a few bucks for quality.
The sad truth is, my best pen, The Classic Parker, which was a gift, is only used to write checks. I still write a few checks because I often need the snail mail time for the funds to drop. My pen of choice is a Uni-Ball fine. It is my work pen, the pen I buy in bulk, the pen I use to write in my diary, I mean my journal. The work pen is the pen that is mightier than the sword because the work pen is the sword. The fancy pen is the living room you’re not allowed to sit in, that room off the foyer that looks like Liberace was a guest designer.
You get your work done with your work pen, the fancy pen is covered in plastic and useless just like the baroque couch that no one has sat on since Reagan was governor.