This pen in my hand

There's something about grasping this pen, holding it in my hand, 

that calms my mind, something about waking each morning 

and opening the box that holds my pens 

and selecting one and removing the cap 

and wrapping my fingers around the barrel 

that softens my heart, lets me feel connected to the world, 

as if the pen is a secure ring that I can hold onto 

while spinning on the merry-go-ground of life, 

or like the string of a kite that lets me imagine myself 

soaring into the sky, floating in the clouds. 

It's like I'm holding my mother's hand again, 

feeling safe, protected, as she leads me into the world, 

even though she's been gone for more than forty years. 

It's like a memory machine that lets me hear my grandfather's voice again 

as he sits at our kitchen table on Sunday mornings

sipping his coffee and retelling stories about growing up 

in a Polish shtetl and coming to America 

and making a life for himself. 

It's like holding a magic wand that silences the negative voices in my head, 

and all I need to do is wave it over the blank pages of this journal 

and words will appear, like these words, which came out of the blue, 

out of thin air, out of nowhere, part of the mystery of the way writing works, 

and this pen in my hand is the key to entering into this mystery, 

to opening the door to my imagination, 

to feeling connected to the secret universe hidden inside my heart. 

What do you do when you run out of words?

What do you do

when you run 

out of words 

and all your ideas 

have dried up?

I keep writing anyway, 

afraid to stop on the

chance I may find more

words hidden where

I can't see them.

I don't want to lose 

any time, don't want to 

miss a single word, 

keep hoping I'll find 

some meaning 

in it all.

In life, I mean, and 

maybe in writing, too, 

some idea that gives 

it all a shape that

I can understand.

The way ink dries

The way ink smudges

before it dries

the way letters form 

on the page

the way a simple line

can convey meaning

the way words

sound like your voice

the way your hand

holds the pen

the way a poem

takes shape

the way we fill

the silence

the way each letter,

each line, is part

of the mystery.

—

Time and Patience

Writing takes time 

and patience. You wait 

for words, hoping they'll come 

from wherever they come and 

fill the page with whatever 

is hidden in your heart.

Some days they find their way 

to the page; some days the page 

remains blank. You can't know 

ahead of time what you'll find or 

what might appear.

Some days it's like playing 

hide-and-seek: I see you. 

No you don't. Catch me if you can! 

And what you wish you'd written 

remains just beyond your reach, 

still wordless, waiting for another time 

to reveal itself to you.

And so you keep writing, waiting,

hoping whatever is hidden in

your heart will fill the page 

with words.

Getting Unstuck

This is the morning you hit a wall. 

You don't know the answer. You don't even know the question to ask. And you stop. You come to a halt. With no way to go forward. 

So what do you do?

Give up? Figure out another way to keep going? Where do you find the answer? How do you keep going when you don't know where you're going, or what comes next, or how to go forward?

What do you do if you're unable to move? Feeling stuck?

How do you get unstuck?

You can't stare at the page forever. 

So, maybe, if words and ideas don't come, you put the pen away. 

Close the journal. Tell yourself it's not yet time. The words will come, just not today.

Read instead. Open a book. Lose yourself in someone else's story or poem. Fill yourself with words.

Or watch a movie. Dive into story. Let the images wash over you like a cool, refreshing stream.

Or go outside for a walk. 

Think away from your desk. Or stop thinking. 

Let life unfold minute by minute, and savor the process of unfolding. 

See what's around you, make discoveries as you walk. Or sit by a lake and dream.

Watch clouds floating by. Notice sunlight falling on leaves. Listen to the wind. 

Wait for words to come, to reveal the answer to the question you couldn't solve a moment ago.

And suddenly a door will open, and there it is waiting for you.

And you are unstuck, Your hand is moving across the page again.

Writing.

What will you write?

What will you write about
in the days ahead?

The future is unknown
blank pages waiting
to be filled.

You can't know ahead of
time what words will come
or if they'll come at all.

You can't know if you'll
be able to break through
the wall of silence

or if you'll be trapped
unable to speak,
your voice not even
a whisper.

You can't know what
you don't yet know.

You only know what's
in your hand now--
the pen you're holding
the paper beneath your hand
the shadow of the pen
moving across the page.

Whatever words appear
from whatever source
they flow out of,
however they emerge,
will reveal what you
know and what
you don't know.

The future will unfurl
from the present, just
as the present unfurls
from the past.

You will only know
what you'll write about,
looking back, after
you have written.

The Magic of Writing with a Fountain Pen

“My two fingers on a typewriter have never connected with my brain. My hand on a pen does. A fountain pen, of course.” — Graham Greene

It may seem foolish, even a bit self-indulgent, to write about fountain pens when so many pressing issues threaten our world. 

But a fountain pen has not only helped me put aside my worries about the world for the brief time that I take each morning to write with one, it has also rekindled my pleasure in the process of writing by hand. 

The immediacy of writing with a fountain pen surprised me the moment the nib first touched the page and the ink seeped out of the pen, seeming to bleed onto the paper.

It felt like the pen was alive, a newly discovered part of my hand connecting me in some mysterious and supernatural way to my heart, and as I wrote, my hand moving across the page, it felt like the ink was coming straight from my veins.

Until a few months ago, I hadn’t used a fountain pen since high school. 

Remember how messy those fountain pens were to use back then? Often, I’d end up with more ink on my hands than on the page.

I’d write and the pen would leak and the ink would leave stains on my fingers and smudges on the pages and messy ink spots on my palms. 

For years afterward I preferred writing with ballpoint pens. I would buy cheap pens that I could throw away easily after they ran out of ink or dried up or broke in my backpack. Best of all, they didn’t drain my wallet of the little cash that was in it. 

But a few months ago my cousin wrote wanting to know if I’d ever thought about using a fountain pen. He had found one that he liked, a Pilot Metropolitan, which was supposed to be a good introductory pen at a reasonable price (under $15 at Amazon), and the thought of writing with a fountain pen intrigued me. 

I decided that I’d try one, just to find out if fountain pens were the same as I remembered or if they’d changed much since my high school days, and, after quickly searching Google, I discovered just how many fountain pens there are to choose from these days. 

There are pens made in Japan, pens made in Germany, and pens made in the United States and elsewhere. There are pens with cartridges and pens with converters, and there are so many choices for ink, more colors than in a rainbow, it seems. There are so many colors and pens, in fact, that it’s hard to keep track of them all. 

So, I started reading reviews, and I found a pen in my price range ($10) made by Pilot called Kakuno (which means “to write” in Japanese), and I ordered one, along with some extra cartridges.

After it arrived, I opened the packaging—surprised to find that the instructions were printed in Japanese—and, after figuring out how to insert the cartridge, I started writing. And … wow! 

It’s a pen, but it’s so much more than a pen!

I mean, looking at it, you’d think it’s just another writing instrument. The Kakuno shell is made of plastic, but it’s a perfect size that fits nicely in the palm of my hand, and holding it takes very little effort because it’s so light that when it’s in my hand and I'm writing, I hardly feel it unless I grip it too tightly. 

The moment I begin to write, it’s like magic: the ink flows onto the page, the blank page reaches up to embrace the pen, my hand moves effortlessly across the paper. It’s a moment of becoming, a moment of (please, excuse my enthusiasm) unexpected oneness with the universe, a zen-like immersion in the present.

It can take a while to feel comfortable using a fountain pen. But after experimenting a little with different angles and using it in different journals, I can say that writing with a fountain pen feels as natural (and effortless) as breathing. 

Why not add a little variety to your writing practice and try a fountain pen? It doesn’t have to be an expensive one. (You can find the Kakuno online for as little as $10 if you don’t mind  the color….and a plastic shell.) 

You might be surprised at how your writing—and your feelings about your writing—will change when you begin using one.

If you’re still undecided about whether to use a fountain pen, or just curious and want to read more about them and the people who find them attractive, here are a few links that you might enjoy: 

https://www.penheaven.co.uk/blog/top-5-reasons-to-use-fountain-pen/

https://blog.gouletpens.com/2018/09/6-writers-on-why-they-use-fountain-pens

https://luxipens.com/18-famous-authors-and-their-fountain-pens/

https://www.countrylife.co.uk/luxury/style/unparalleled-joy-writing-fountain-pen-five-beautiful-examples-175439

https://www.theodysseyonline.com/the-joy-of-fountain-pens

https://medium.com/@lancelotkirby/on-the-pleasures-of-writing-with-a-fountain-pen-3d95e8495550

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/12/26/style/fountain-pens.html

Keep the Pen Moving

Keep the pen moving.

It’s a skill that you need to learn.

When you’re first beginning, it’s hard to keep the pen moving.

You search for the right word, grope for the appropriate image, hunt for the proper tone.

You hesitate, worrying about what a reader might think of your work. 

You fear making a mistake. 

You sit staring at the paper and wait for the story to write itself, but, of course, it won’t write itself.

You may have no idea of where your story is going or what you want to say.

So you think you have nothing to write, no path to follow.

But here’s what you need to remember: each time you set out to write, you carve a new path.

Only the path won’t appear if you are critical or judgmental.

The first thing you need to do is to let go of notions of "good" and "bad."

You need to be willing to write down whatever comes out of your mind and accept it and let go.

  

Without judgment.

Keep the pen moving.

Let words come.

Let words emerge, whatever words they might be, however silly or foolish or ridiculous or mysterious the words may sound.

Over time you'll learn this and then you'll forget it and you'll need to keep re-learning it.

Keep the pen moving.

No pauses.

No stopping to think.

Just keep writing.

Even if all you write is keep writing or don’t stop or this sounds like the ranting of a lunatic, keep writing

What emerges once you let go of your critical censor will surprise you.

You will reach beneath the surface of language and will find a place where words emerge and images and scenes play on the screen of your imagination.

If you keep the pen moving, you will find the words you need.

But only if you learn how to suspend your critical eye and cease judging the words that flow from your pen.

Keep the pen moving.