I had another class tonight; Philosophy. I like this class because I get to take notes. I love taking notes. I think it is because I learn best that way. My head enjoys being a pitcher; I pour the refreshing information in through lectures, or reading, or whatever, and then I pour it out again into convenient glass-like journals. That way I can sit back and taste each one when I need to.
This class is something I enjoy a great deal, but I will most likely not keep my notes for long. I am not a horder, I love to throw things away. Knowing this about myself, I make sure to journal important topics in specific books that would cause me physical pain to part with. Philosophy is not one of these. So, because of this, I used a cheap composition notebook. It has lined thin paper. It was $1.63. It has a picture of Bigfoot on the front. And for some reason, it has an unquenchable desire to eat my ink when I use my fountain pen.
I cannot help but use my fountain pen. Even for this class, with this notebook. I’m hooked. I even tried using a ballpoint when I started the book, but I gave it away after three lines. No good, it felt like adultery in my hands. But still, I hate watching the glossy, unrefined white crap they laughably call notebook paper suck up my precious ink like some thirsty hippo. It angers me.
The fountain pen for me is a necessity. Like any profession, a person should care about the specific tools for their trade. I want to be a writer, therefore, I care deeply about the instruments for writing. Some might say that a writer only needs their brain and something (implying anything) to write with. This is true, but that doesn’t mean that writer wouldn’t be better off with the correct tools. A carpenter can build a shack with a hammer, nails, and wood. But I would assume he couldn’t build a mansion with the same materials.
This is why I love fountain pens. And good paper. But that’s because good paper is not greedy. It allows the ink to harden into words without spreading it and creating letters that look like someone squished a bunch of fuzzy spiders all over the page. These were two things that I have believed in for years. Good pens and good paper. Recently I have added something new to my list; cursive writing. I never knew how beautiful it could be. Or how fluid; like a river on paper in one flowing, tilted line. I love writing even more now that I have retrained my hands. And all three of these go together. The ink needs the paper, and the paper loves cursive. It is as if they were made to be an A Capella trio. Singing amidst my thoughts and words. If only I could type in cursive, I would show you what I mean.