On Writing

The Tools: Fountain Pen and Journal

I think some writers try to capture people with big words, words that are just on the fringes of what most people know. I am not sure exactly what type of writer I am as my style seems to change with my mood. I don’t know if this is natural as I don’t really talk to other writers about writing, but maybe I should.

If I had to say, I guess I fall into the naturalist category of writer. I am not professionally trained. I have no degrees or credentials in writing, but I do like to study what makes writing into something more than a series of words strung together.

I must admit that I often write because I like how my fountain pen feels when it is moving on the page. I love to see the words take shape from a thin stream of ink being distributed from the silver nib of the pen. I love to hear the scratching sound the pen makes as it moves across the paper. I like the feel of a journal and the satisfaction that comes from filling it page by page.

I often have no intentions when I write. It’s like going out the door for an evening walk to the lake. You head out the door to stretch your legs and see what there is to be seen. Maybe there are some ducks at the lake or you might see the eagle that sometimes flies over around sunset. There is always a good chance to see herons, but if all of these happen or none happen, it doesn’t really matter. You know your going to end up exactly where you started and you know you have never regretted going for a walk but there are plenty of times you have regretted sitting inside on the couch.

That’s how I write. I have never regretted sitting down to write but there are plenty of times I have laid my head on the pillow and regretted not picking up a pen that day. For me, writing is about taking the time to see if I have anything to say. It’s often as big a surprise to me as to what comes out the end of the pen as it is to anyone that reads the words I have cobbled together. Sometimes I read what I have written and I ask myself if I really wrote it. I don’t remember thinking those things, especially in that way, but there it is, in my own handwriting.

Maybe that’s another reason I like to write by hand with a fountain pen. When I see it in my own handwriting, I know it must have come from me, or at least through me.

Elizabeth Gilbert believes stories are floating out there looking for someone to commit to pulling them out of the ether and turning them into something physical. This makes sense to me, but I often wonder why certain words and stories choose me and this pen and this journal. I guess I try not to think about it too much. I am sure they have their reasons, and far be it from me to meddle in the affairs of stories. All I can do is sit here with my pen and journal and see what comes out next. And that is the excitement of it all.

Then again, some people would probably rather sit inside on the couch, but not me.