The beauty, joy, and frustration of fountain pens

I like writing with fountain pens. Back when I sold cars (which I hated) I started carrying/using my grandfather’s Parker 51. This was not an affectation, just something I liked for the elegance. I then started collecting Montblanc Pens, but it was for the reason of trying to convey my status (i.e. that I was important). In graduate school I reflected on this and became rather embarrassed that I had viewed material possessions as a way to communicate my importance and promptly sold them; after all I was a poor graduate student. About 10 years ago I picked up that old Parker 51 and started using it again. Since then I have taken to purchasing pens now and again.

The above image is my collection of Pelikan 800 series pens. I have since lost the O3B (Oblique triple broad), but continue to use the rest. I rarely use them in public due to my fear of being viewed as a poser, or even worse as an affectation.

Writing is not dying. If anything it would appear that there is increased attention to the art of writing.

Consider email. How often do you read/comprehend an email that is longer than one sentence? I find that most people just read the first line or so and respond to that idea, leaving the rest either partially or entirely ignored. Maybe that is just me. However, when I actually write a letter I (sometimes) get a response and this correspondence makes it clear that the person replying actually read what I wrote.

Will people start writing more letters? Probably not. However, the next time you think of someone important to you, it might be worth your time to actually write something on a physical artifact. People will notice. They will realize that this seemingly anachronistic act signifies that they are important to you. Or maybe not.

About Nicholas Wyant

Information does not want to be free. Fake News does not exist. Friends on Facebook are not really friends. I can ruin any party/social setting in mere seconds.
This entry was posted in Culture, Technology, Writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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