The Obsession Grows Up...
Sep. 25th, 2005 05:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
klsiegel320There were special pens, along the way, as well as the more ordinary workhorses. There was a gorgeous rosewood pen that my father gave me one Christmas or birthday, I don't remember now which. I made the mistake of making that my customary use pen at my last job (with Wit-less-co), and it disappeared from my desk (the one in the "aquarium" with no door, let alone a lock; everyone could and did wander through, use the desk, use supplies, use - and then apparently appropriate - pens).
And then I discovered real fountain pens, which is to say, those that are much better crafted than the leaky ones you buy for $3.49 at CVS.
My first real fountain pen was a blue Waterman Phileas, which I absolutely loved, and which became my customary working pen until it also disappeared, this time in the Edison office of my current employer. I think it was clipped to a notebook I was carrying and fell without my noticing, or got left behind in a meeting - we're really not sure, but it was never found.
This was the pen that stopped a meeting in its tracks, my first day at work at DMR. I calmly walked into the meeting, where I'd been asked to act as scribe, sat down, flipped open a Circa notebook and uncapped the Phileas to date and title the page.
And my manager - a thoroughly unorthodox, handsome and amusing person, to be sure - stopped the conversation in the room in its tracks by noticing the pen, and saying authoritatively, "Now that's a real writer!" And asked to see the pen, looked it over - rather the way a musician might ask to be allowed to handle someone else's violin, and with rather the same reverence - and then handed it gently back. It's one of the more enjoyable first impressions I can recall making.
It was followed by a gorgeous red Aurora Ipsilon, which I still have; that's a fine point, because one of the thing I discovered about the Waterman Phileas was that a Waterman fine point isn't fine enough for my handwriting, especially on particular surfaces where the ink spreads. The Ipsilon is a nice little pen, and for a while I loaded it with red cartridges and used it for editing, until I realized that it only approximately fit the cartridges I was using, and leaked like mad. Aurora only makes blue, black, and blue-black cartridges, unfortunately, and I'd intended this pen to be my "editing" fountain pen. Instead it doubles as a journaling pen, since the fine point is better suited to the paper in my journal.
Then there was a green plastic-barreled Cross fine point, on sale, and a beautiful bronze-finish Sheaffer Prelude fine point that I customarily loaded with King's Gold or brown ink. These were further acquisitions on the path to the perfect journaling fountain pen.
These two traveled in a pen case from Levenger, along with some of Levenger's signature 3 x 5 notecards, in one of the side pockets of the leather backpack that was my purse in the summer of 1999. One night on the way home from the office of that summer's client, there was a lot of pushing and shoving behind me, and when I got downtown to the PATH station at World Trade, the side pocket and the bottom outside pocket were unzipped, and the pen case was gone. I can only assume that since the pen case was about the size and shape of a small wallet, that was what the pickpocket thought he was getting. Surpise!
I've always been a little sad to think they were probably thrown out in disgust when the thief realized what he hadn't gotten (namely, my wallet or my checkbook). On the other hand, they protected far more sensitive things - like that very checkbook that was riding right next to them in that same pocket - from being stolen.
Let's see, what else? Well, eventually I replaced the stolen Prelude with a cream matte finish with gold trim version of the same pen, and bought the matching ballpoint and mechanical pencil. For some bizarre reason, I also bought the black and chrome Prelude ballpoint and pencil. That particular Prelude I believe I bought with an extra-fine point, and found it so scratchy I ordered a fine point nib to replace it. I've managed to drop and break both pencils, both (I think) at different Schola rehearsals. (I now carry a plain old retractable mechanical for rehearsals; it's lighter, and cheaper, and I don't care quite as much when it takes a five-foot fall from its customary place stuck through my clipped long hair.)
I tried a Levenger True Writer - gorgeous pen, absolutely gorgeous tortoiseshell barrel...but the "fine" nib was broader than the Waterman fine, and way too broad for my hand. So that beauty went back.
I've tried a cool and unusual Pelikan, with a plunger filling mechanism and a transparent barrel. It's called a "demonstrator" because of that; originally these were made for salespeople to demonstrate the mechanism, but in these days of fascination with the inner workings of things, they're now made for sale. You can only fill this pen; no cartridges. And I love it but despite the very easy mechanism I'm not very skilled at filling it. If I ever get sufficient practice, this will be my primary editing pen.
Then there's the Waterman Charleston. I bought this one while I was on the road a couple years ago, because I was starving for a fountain pen to write with and most of mine were sitting home. A lovely pen, also blue, with an extra-fine point. Writes beautifully, but the balance is different from my good old Phileas. I tell you - no pen, ever, has matched that Phileas for feel.
So finally this summer, I broke down and bought another one. After all, the Phileas is really a rather inexpensive fountain pen - but Waterman makes good pens, it's that same gorgeous and soothing blue, and it writes like a dream.
A very writerly sort of history, I guess...I love ballpoints for their workmanlike ordinariness, I love colored gel pens (now there's an entry all its own, for sure) for their wild and weird colors, I love quality ballpoints for their air of authority - but there's nothing like sitting down to write a note or a letter or a story with my trusty blue Phileas fountain pen. Go figure.
And then I discovered real fountain pens, which is to say, those that are much better crafted than the leaky ones you buy for $3.49 at CVS.
My first real fountain pen was a blue Waterman Phileas, which I absolutely loved, and which became my customary working pen until it also disappeared, this time in the Edison office of my current employer. I think it was clipped to a notebook I was carrying and fell without my noticing, or got left behind in a meeting - we're really not sure, but it was never found.
This was the pen that stopped a meeting in its tracks, my first day at work at DMR. I calmly walked into the meeting, where I'd been asked to act as scribe, sat down, flipped open a Circa notebook and uncapped the Phileas to date and title the page.
And my manager - a thoroughly unorthodox, handsome and amusing person, to be sure - stopped the conversation in the room in its tracks by noticing the pen, and saying authoritatively, "Now that's a real writer!" And asked to see the pen, looked it over - rather the way a musician might ask to be allowed to handle someone else's violin, and with rather the same reverence - and then handed it gently back. It's one of the more enjoyable first impressions I can recall making.
It was followed by a gorgeous red Aurora Ipsilon, which I still have; that's a fine point, because one of the thing I discovered about the Waterman Phileas was that a Waterman fine point isn't fine enough for my handwriting, especially on particular surfaces where the ink spreads. The Ipsilon is a nice little pen, and for a while I loaded it with red cartridges and used it for editing, until I realized that it only approximately fit the cartridges I was using, and leaked like mad. Aurora only makes blue, black, and blue-black cartridges, unfortunately, and I'd intended this pen to be my "editing" fountain pen. Instead it doubles as a journaling pen, since the fine point is better suited to the paper in my journal.
Then there was a green plastic-barreled Cross fine point, on sale, and a beautiful bronze-finish Sheaffer Prelude fine point that I customarily loaded with King's Gold or brown ink. These were further acquisitions on the path to the perfect journaling fountain pen.
These two traveled in a pen case from Levenger, along with some of Levenger's signature 3 x 5 notecards, in one of the side pockets of the leather backpack that was my purse in the summer of 1999. One night on the way home from the office of that summer's client, there was a lot of pushing and shoving behind me, and when I got downtown to the PATH station at World Trade, the side pocket and the bottom outside pocket were unzipped, and the pen case was gone. I can only assume that since the pen case was about the size and shape of a small wallet, that was what the pickpocket thought he was getting. Surpise!
I've always been a little sad to think they were probably thrown out in disgust when the thief realized what he hadn't gotten (namely, my wallet or my checkbook). On the other hand, they protected far more sensitive things - like that very checkbook that was riding right next to them in that same pocket - from being stolen.
Let's see, what else? Well, eventually I replaced the stolen Prelude with a cream matte finish with gold trim version of the same pen, and bought the matching ballpoint and mechanical pencil. For some bizarre reason, I also bought the black and chrome Prelude ballpoint and pencil. That particular Prelude I believe I bought with an extra-fine point, and found it so scratchy I ordered a fine point nib to replace it. I've managed to drop and break both pencils, both (I think) at different Schola rehearsals. (I now carry a plain old retractable mechanical for rehearsals; it's lighter, and cheaper, and I don't care quite as much when it takes a five-foot fall from its customary place stuck through my clipped long hair.)
I tried a Levenger True Writer - gorgeous pen, absolutely gorgeous tortoiseshell barrel...but the "fine" nib was broader than the Waterman fine, and way too broad for my hand. So that beauty went back.
I've tried a cool and unusual Pelikan, with a plunger filling mechanism and a transparent barrel. It's called a "demonstrator" because of that; originally these were made for salespeople to demonstrate the mechanism, but in these days of fascination with the inner workings of things, they're now made for sale. You can only fill this pen; no cartridges. And I love it but despite the very easy mechanism I'm not very skilled at filling it. If I ever get sufficient practice, this will be my primary editing pen.
Then there's the Waterman Charleston. I bought this one while I was on the road a couple years ago, because I was starving for a fountain pen to write with and most of mine were sitting home. A lovely pen, also blue, with an extra-fine point. Writes beautifully, but the balance is different from my good old Phileas. I tell you - no pen, ever, has matched that Phileas for feel.
So finally this summer, I broke down and bought another one. After all, the Phileas is really a rather inexpensive fountain pen - but Waterman makes good pens, it's that same gorgeous and soothing blue, and it writes like a dream.
A very writerly sort of history, I guess...I love ballpoints for their workmanlike ordinariness, I love colored gel pens (now there's an entry all its own, for sure) for their wild and weird colors, I love quality ballpoints for their air of authority - but there's nothing like sitting down to write a note or a letter or a story with my trusty blue Phileas fountain pen. Go figure.
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Fountain pens
Date: 2005-10-04 08:18 pm (UTC)I bought a cheap fountain pen once and regretted it. I rarely throw out a pen, but that thing was so leaky that it went in the trash.
I knew you had lost the original Phileas -- I didn't recall hearing about the Prelude being stolen. That stinks. And I'd forgotten about the rosewood pen. :-(
Re: Fountain pens
Date: 2005-10-05 06:35 pm (UTC)As to the cheapies, well...that's why I only buy real pens now...too many ink stains.
And yeah, theft stinks. It still niggles at me, a bit. Except that I also know how incredibly lucky I was that the thief went for that pocket, and picked that item. It could have been so much worse...
Re: Fountain pens
Date: 2005-10-05 08:29 pm (UTC)Re: Fountain pens
Date: 2005-10-06 02:00 pm (UTC)