A Year in Pens

What better way to start the New Year?  To know where we are going, we must of course know where we have been, and how we got there.  I went through an alarming amount of pens this year – constantly searching for ‘The One.’  The one that would represent exactly what it is I’m trying to capture, what it is I’m trying to do.  The one with both the perfect feel and ultimate output.  Here’s what I found.

The Generalities:
I prefer at least a medium ink.  Anything else is just not substantial enough.  I am tired of apologizing, hiding my words – I don’t need my ink to do it for me.  I like the bold, thick, unapologetic lines joining the white unsoiled page, sparking life in its discernible wetness on the primordial page.

Felt pens suck.  They seem they would fit the bill, all dark and glide-y, but they are insubstantial.  You can’t get any leverage with them.  If you try to write anything but fluff with them, they yield like a bitch and give way, give up.  I’ve ended up pounding felt pens to their death because they couldn’t give me what I want – smashing their little fuzzy tips over and over again into the page ….. yeah.  I don’t do felt anymore.  

Calligraphy pens.  I am a sucker for these.  I always convince myself that they would just be SO cool to write with.  Changing the cartridges, or the once you actually dip in ink – how awesome and romantic and writer-ly can you get?!  I get seduced every time and end up with bleeding pages and about six legible words.  Enough time passes, I forget how completely impractical they are, and there I am again – lusting in the aisle, fantasies of Virginia Woolf in my head.  Don’t go there.  Just don’t.

Ball Point pens suck in general.  Tom Robbins says they run away from home, but I think they’re really lost on purpose.  Our subconscious writer brain ‘accidentally’ leaving them where they’ll be picked up by some other poor unsuspecting fool, conveniently forgotten while we look the other way.  Penicide.  That sounded better in my head than how it looks on the page …. Hmmm.

The Specifics:
Paper Mate Ink Joy.  This one does glide ok, as advertised, but it doesn’t have any bite.  It seems to skim the surface of the word, not bite down into it, its essence, breaking it down into phonemes, scratching it down and apart, then scratching it back together again to create a meaningful perfect word.

Bic Atlantis.  This one is just confusing.  I find myself working ridiculously hard for very little impact.  I inevitably stop and wonder what the hell I’m doing, why I’m struggling so hard to please a pen, to make it work.  It is weird that way, devious.   I usually end up placing these under a blanket, or the bed to hide their insidious power, too scared to throw them away.  Like I used to do with creepy dolls when I was young.  I hated dolls and they scared me but I knew they would come back and get me if I destroyed them, so I just hid them.  Out of sight, evil things lose their power.

R-2 Inc. Rollerball.  I don’t think this is really the name-brand version – it’s a Dollar Store staple.  It is really not a bad daily use pen.  It starts out very nicely – thick, deep ink, digging into the page nicely.  It loses steam fairly quickly though; sometimes during a writing session, it will just begin to fade.  You think it’s done and over with, relegated to the drawer of half-dead pens in the catch-all drawer only good for writing notes and grocery lists.  But then, if you try it again the next morning, it appears to be back and ready for action again.  Inconsistent and therefore frustrating.  But at two for a buck, and the short blast of oomph in the beginning – not bad.

Uni-ball Signo Micro 207.  I’m usually a fan of Uni-ball.  They have consistently reliable and hefty pens that can be counted on.  This one doesn’t make the grade for me though.  I am not a micro anything fan.  Seriously, why?  It scratches annoyingly across the page.  Irritating like a gross and ugly mouse (the cute ones are of course forgiven anything) scratching its over-enlarged balls right in front of you.  Yes, really – that annoying, that gross. 

Bottle Pen.  An environmental pen, from Vontone.  The packaging reads like bargain furniture assembly instructions.  It is technically English, but the combination of words just doesn’t quite work.  The pen is as advertised made from Pet Bottle.  I don’t know what that is.  It’s made in China.  Via Canada, via Virginia.  I don’t know how “eco” that really is.  It’s a Ball Point pen, transparent, nondescript.  It is audible on the page – I swear, when it writes it’s like a low growl, like it doesn’t want to be forced back into service.  And it gives a pretty crappy outcome.  Pale, insubstantial.  Pass.

Matrix INC.  “INC” is a registered trademark.  Seriously.  Of “Peachtree Playthings.”  What the hell.  This one has great advertising on its packaging:  ‘… optimum pairing of a high quality tip and soft smooth ink … bold vivid lines … long lasting ink supply … more for your money.’  Every word is capitalized.  Another meaningless ball point.  Ineffectual, light as air.  No substantial word could ever be written with one of these pens.

UltraFine Promarx.  “Make your mark.”  Great.  Most pens I’ve found in this research are simply repackaging.  The advertising is often hilarious.  Again, I don’t like anything “ultrafine” – I prefer ultra-thick and substantial.  The tip is felt-like and leaves an acceptable mark on the page, dark enough.  The process of writing with it though is very unsatisfying.  There is no flow, no joy in the process.  Okay for grocery lists or to-do lists, but I won’t be writing anything of note (hah!) with these.

Pentel Wow! Gel.  Seriously?  I’ve never really paid close attention to the names of pens.  Who in the world gets paid for these gems?  Usually I’m a sucker for Gel – it just sounds like it would be what I want; fluid, thick, with a sensuous glide action.  I am usually disappointed.  Including, wow, even this one.  It just sucks.  The casing is embedded with little sparkly bits (wow!) and the grip is triangular.  It’s a confused mess and doesn’t write worth a damn.  It can’t even grip the paper, you have to force its nose down into the page to get any response at all.  I feel disturbingly violent, forceful with this pen.  No thanks.

Next up, the penultimate actually (hah!!  SO sorry, but I literally could not resist – may I burn in pen pun hell forever but this is just one of those words that simply does NOT sound like what it is.  So deceptive, so devious, just begging to be misused, the slut, in utter defiance of Mr. Webster).  Another little staple.  Mostly harmless I believe my hero Douglas Adams would say.  The Pilot Precise VS Rolling Ball.  I find myself trying time and again to resist these.  They are pedantic.  I long for more flourish in my pen, something more dramatic.  But the truth is this is a quite acceptable little pen.  Very reliable, solid, consistent.  The line stays deep and thick, doesn’t fade out until it really is dead, so no trickery like the devious R2s mentioned above.  When it dies, you can mourn it properly and move on.  They are boring and I don’t like they are the pen that my mother uses, but – a top choice in honesty, again for the day to day use only though.

But the ultimate pen (as opposed to Mr. Penultimate above) is leaps and lines above the rest:  the Uniball Gel Impact 1.0.  It takes the fits and starts of the other Gels listed, finally gets off its Uniball rump of disappointments previously offered, and comes in at number one with this absolute ultimate writing machine.  It is thick, it makes no apologies, and it is permanent, just daring you to try to take it back once it’s written down.  It will mark you forever (well, maybe for the day.  Well, maybe until you wash your hands, but damn it, it makes you work!), unapologetic, displaying to the world that you have written, and written well.  You bear the mark.  And it is not a throwaway.  It takes its permanence seriously.  Replacement cartridges must be purchased and refilled – the pen lives forever.  What better instrument to send that vibe of permanence into the words you write with it?  It colludes with you, and in times of doubt or block, it simply won’t let your hand rest.  You’ll look down somewhat surprised to see your hand caressing it, doodling with it.  It is a deceptively simple looking pen, not particularly comfortable.  But it packs a wallop.  It is so desirable I find myself ridiculously ‘saving’ it.  Putting it on a shelf as it were, not allowing myself to use it for my daily writing.

I think I just found my New Year’s resolution.