The pen was a thoughtful Christmas gift from my son for his mother the writer. I almost never write anything using pen and paper except maybe a grocery list. It’s the thought that counts.
I keep a stack of notebooks on my desk. They are there for just that: notes. My brother went for a walk when we were in Vancouver and returned with a 5 pack of notebooks and threw one at me. It has been sitting on top of the pile.
I have a friend who likes to read stories I write about him. He kind of expects one after we get together, and tries to help come up with ideas for headlines when we see each other. We have been seeing each other only very occasionally for about 4 years. By seeing each other I mean we have lunch then have sex.
The last time I saw him, I had trouble thinking of anything of interest to write about. So when I got home, I made some notes about our visit using my nice pen and the notebook on the top of the pile. I enjoyed the feel of the pen on the paper. I liked the way it looked when I was finished.
I developed one decent story from the notes.
The notebook is no longer blank. I now enjoy this form of retro writing.