When I set off for college, in the Dark Ages, I went armed with a green Hermes 3000 manual typewriter and a fountain pen. I still have both though all the other remnants of my college life were tossed out long ago. Why would I keep the pen when I haven't used it in years? I have a reason.
Many of us, writers and other crafts persons, become attached to our tools if they have served us well. An expensive fountain pen doesn't impress me because it has no meaning if it hasn't proved its worth. My Parker 45, made in the USA according to the silver cap, saw me through numerous exams, countless short stories both good and bad, and my first novel, mostly bad.
Most schools have dropped penmanship classes, where we learned the Palmer Method of penmanship for learning cursive. I can't remember how often we had these classes, but I do remember that ballpoint pens were forbidden. Each student was given a small bottle of black ink and a black wooden pen with nib. We dipped our pen in the ink and wrote on lined paper. The pens were not attractive and rarely wrote smoothly. I was glad to leave them behind. Later on in high school, I received my Parker Pen, and never thought about using anything else.
Parker Pen was founded by George Safford Parker in 1888. He began by selling pens to his students, noted how much they leaked, and wanted to create one that didn't. He patented his first fountain pen in 1889, which leaked but less than others. In 1898 he added the slip-on outer pen cap. Until then, and even today in some brands, the cap was screwed on. My pen, the Parker 45, was offered in 1960, and was the first cartridge pen. It was named after the Colt 45 pistol.
I took my pen to India with me, along with the insert for ink just in case I ran out of cartridges. I didn't, but I felt very technologically advanced when I noticed that Indians didn't use inserts or cartridges. They just poured the ink into the body of the pen and tightly screwed the two parts together. The whole thing was messy.
After college I might have purchased a new pen when it became evident how much I'd worn down the body. The heat of my fingers had softened the plastic, my fingertips pressing and reshaping the body day after day. Yes, my relaxed grip changed the tool. But I have faith in this simple device. I used it throughout graduate school.
During the final exams of my senior year in college, I fretted over one course in particular (as I had all year long) and marched in believing I was fully prepared. I'd studied, crammed, practiced questions and answers, and worked myself up into a state. I had to pass. (Actually, I did have to pass or my credits would have been messed up, perhaps affecting my graduation.) I took my place in the exam room and wrote methodically, carefully, determinedly for the entire hour. And then I was done. I could have kissed the ground in relief.
Once again in my dorm room I gave in to a feeling of elation, pushing away the usual post-exam anxiety about all of life as well as exams. I tossed my notebooks and pocketbook, and pulled out my pen. During the exam an idea had occurred to me and I wanted to record it. I pressed the pen nib onto a note pad on my desk. Nothing. I scratched out the word and got nothing but a tear in the paper.
What does anyone do when a pen doesn't work? I shook it and exhaled hot breath on it and shook it again. I put pen to paper and--nothing. There was nothing left to do but open it and pop out the cartridge and look for a blockage. I held the cartridge and squeezed--not a single drop, not even a smear stained my skin. I shook it, breathed on it, held it under a lamp. No matter what I tried, I got nothing. The problem was simple--no ink. Not one single drop of ink anywhere. This couldn't be. There had to be some residue. I just wrote for an hour with the thing. I shook the cartridge again. I blew into the front half of the body. Nothing.
I'm not superstitious. I was lucky at my exam, and even though I went so far as to thank my black Parker Pen for saving my college career (sort of), I know it was luck. And yet, I have a favorite screwdriver that I reach for whenever I have need of one. I prefer a certain pot for boiling water for tea. I will use the same ice scraper storm after storm even though my husband bought a better one. I'm sure I'm not the only one who does this.
We surround ourselves with things, objects, to create our known universe, one that is predictable and reliable and demands little of our mental energy, leaving us to focus on whatever we consider more important. What is important differs for everyone. But for me, within this universe I create strange worlds where everything is new and unknown to me, where I seek out the eerie and creepy and unpredictable, and usually a place where I wouldn't go in real life. That is where I expend my mental energy. And I'm able to do this all because of little tools like an old pen, a rusty screwdriver, a pot boiled dry more times than I can count, and numerous other items of clutter.
https://www.facebook.com/susan.oleksiw.author/
http://www.susanoleksiw.com
https://www.susansblogbits.blogspot.com
https://www.pinterest.com/susanoleksiw/
Susan Oleksiw @susanoleksiw
https://www.amazon.com/Susan-Oleksiw/e/B001JS3P7C
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/SusanOleksiw
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/susan+oleksiw?_requestid=1017995
I have one daughter-in-law who criticizes my tendency to be a clutterer. Yet the things I keep each have a special story attached to them. I am not a material girl, but like your special pen, some things matter and help our creativity.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing that, Jacquie. I knew I wasn't the only one who hung on to those special things for a reason. We never know what parts of our lives will open the door to creative work.
ReplyDeleteSusan, what a great post and so true.
ReplyDeleteI loved my old Shaffer Fountain pen. I miss it. I have a couple of Parker ones with cartridges but now of them will write and half the cartridges are empty because they are so old. I've gotten so much better at writing on my AlphaSmart (I guess you could say that is another thing I refuse to give up) for a first draft and writing and editing on a computer, but every once in a while I think of fountain pens.
The other thing I was attached to was my iced tea pitcher. I had it for years and made perfect iced tea with mint, lemon, and sugar. But one day Hubby broke it. I know it was an accident but, let me tell you, I can't make a decent iced tea anymore. The recipe just doesn't work in another pitcher. So sad how we get attached to things.
Pat, thanks for sharing the story about the tea pitcher. These old things long used really do matter to us.
DeleteSusan, you have inspired me to write about my adventures with "white-out." Always a pleasure to read your blog.
ReplyDeleteI look forward to your essay. I remember white-out very well. Glad you like the blog.
DeleteMy husband bought me a fountain pen to use autographing my first published book. That was in 1969. I still have the pen, it's very important to me, as is yours to you.
ReplyDeleteThat's a lovely gift, and congrats on your first book and all those that came after. I may start taking my pen along with me, for good luck.
DeleteI'm sorry you lost your tea pitcher. Thanks for sharing the story.I haven't wanted to get another fountain pen, so I make do.
ReplyDeleteLoved your post about your fountain pen! A friend (we're old dancing buddies) recently gave me a gorgeous Shaffer fountain pen and a supply of Majestic Purple Ink to go in it (because my heroine in recent books is named Daisy Majesty). I'll treasure it forever. One of these days, I may even figure out how to refill it!
ReplyDeletePurple ink! What could be better? I hope you take it with you to signings--it's sure to be a hit. Thanks for sharing that, Alice.
DeleteT. H. White said modern people have lost the ability to value things that provide comfortable companionship. I think most creative people are an exception and do honor things which serve us well. Enjoyed the story of your pen.
ReplyDeleteI like the quote from T.H. White. There are a couple of ways to interpret that--as a sign of the lack of craftsmanship or a lack of understanding how the world can be experienced in an object, for example. It makes one think, and that is, of course, what creative people do. Thanks for adding that.
DeleteIt has nothing to do with writing, Susan, but your story reminded me of an old keepsake of mine. For many years, I've been tossing my loose change at the end of the day into a Luzianne coffee can. The same can for something like fifty years. There are rust spots on the inside and the printing on the outside has faded some, but it still does its job. When the coins reach the top rim, I roll them and deposit the money in the bank. My wife has suggested many times that I replace it with something newer and more appropriate, but I refuse. That old can and I have been through too many years together. It'd be like giving up an old friend.
ReplyDeleteI know exactly what you mean, Earl. There's no logic to it--the object carries meaning and history, and it still works. My dog recently chewed up a decorated clip board I'd had since I was a girl. I had to throw it away but I still think about it. Hope you can keep your coffee can. Thanks for sharing the story (and good saving advice).
Delete