Yes, I’ve had fountain pens since then, but none had the same feel. They were too skinny, too top-heavy, too prone to clog up or leave blotches on the page. I tried to like them, tried to make myself care. I bought them ink in bright and exotic colors, I carried them along to work and on vacations. But the thrill just wasn’t there. After failing to replicate my first love with a slim blue one—a gift from my husband that I’m sure he paid too much for—I abandoned my quest and went for variety over fidelity, experimentation over commitment.
For a time, I flirted with ballpoint stick pens, the ones that have an eraser on top and at first glance look like pencils. Then I went for pens with caps. I liked the feel of that bit of extra weight on the top. But too soon I was seduced by felt-tips in a host of colors and then lured by fat and rubbery pens with points that clicked in and out. Lately, pencils have caught my eye—number two yellow ones with sharp points.