They are the implements of our creativity, the wellspring of
our words. I’m ever so slightly picky about pens: I far prefer blue ink.
Ballpoint is fine, I’m not a fountain pen snob. Purple is even better than blue
if I can get it, but it feels like an extra special occasion and sometimes the
words jam up for fear of wasting it. I do like a nice grip to hang onto, but of
course that’s not a must.
I suppose I’m less picky than I often think. Any tool will
do in a pinch—I’m using black ink now, and it isn’t really slowing me down any.
I write large, filling the lines almost completely from
bottom to top even with my lowercase letters. When I get properly inspired, I
ignore the lines altogether and write even larger, in crazy malformed scribbles
that others would likely have a hard time reading. Just as well they don’t have
to: such pages are my pre-work, initial ideas and basic structures before
actually launching into the writing of a scene for a novel.
And in this way, the blank page of pixels does not stymy my
efforts.
1 comment:
A couple of years ago my brothers gave me a huge box full of identical black ink pens (I'm sorry, my dear, but black ink is simply the superior medium ;) for my birthday. I'm still using them, and it's fabulous! I don't like fancy pens except for very special occasions, since I'm always afraid I'll lose them. But my big box of black pens are just perfect - I throw them in my book bag or coat pocket or stab one through my hair, and I'm ready to go!
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