Invitations and Some Very Nice Pens (Oh Yes, and a Book or Two)

Having been someone who’s loved to write since she first started tracing letters onto paper at age five, I’ve always had somewhat of a pen fetish. Deliver any bad news you have to deliver (“your house is being repossessed,” “I’m leaving you for a nineteen-year-old exotic dancer,” “the company is reorganizing your job out of existence…”) accompanied by a fine new pen just dying to be rolled across blank pages, and I’ll probably smile, give you a hug, and go in search of said pages.

When I write stories (and sometimes even blog entries), I almost always write the first draft in pen (or pencil). I’m not exactly sure why: I can just as easily compose with a keyboard. I suppose, though, I find composing without one more soothing. And I do love the convenience of it. I can write anywhere without having to worry about plugs, power cords, batteries, sun glare, etc. It stands to reason, then, that if this is my preferred method of creative writing, I need nice pens, right?

I married a man whose pen fetish is as bad as mine. Worse, really. I worry if I spend too much money on a pen, always aware of my absent-mindedness and the fact that I could very easily lose it. Bob, on the other hand, has no such worries, and he collects fine pens the way some people collect fine jewelry (or rather, I give them to him on present-giving occasions, which makes such occasions nice and easy for me). I’m often sent into a state of panic when I see him casually slip one of these into a shirt pocket and walk out into the big, wide world where I am sure it wants to leap, never to return (mine aren’t allowed to leave the house, except on very special occasions, and then only in boxes in tightly secured bags).

A week ago Saturday, we had a real dilemma. I got an invitation to go to a tea in Manhattan hosted by Persephone Books. Bob got an invitation for a special pen expo at The Fountain Pen Hospital, also in Manhattan on the same day. We hemmed and hawed, considered going to both, but since there were other things we also wanted to do while in the city, finally decided being tempted to buy more books was a bad idea, since we're going to be moving soon (at least we hope. A post on that is waiting to be written, and it's bigger than the telecommuting ones that are still lined up, so it will probably beat its way to the front of the line soon). Pens are much easier to transport than books. Besides, the Persephone Tea cost money, and the pen expo was free.

Big mistake to think we’d be saving money. You can’t take two pen fanatics, put them in a store full of mouth-wateringly beautiful and heart-attack-worthy expensive pens and expect to get off cheap. I’m proud to say I did not succumb to the $3000 glass and sterling silver pen that made me understand why some people feel the need to push others to their deaths on their way to the top of the corporate ladder where they can rake in my yearly salary in a mere month.

I did, however, decide I needed to complement the Faber-Castell pencil my former boss gave me as a Christmas gift a few years back with a similar roller ball and ball point. I mean, doesn’t everyone need a complete set? And then there was the Mark Twain signature fountain pen. Everything was 25% off. When else would I ever find these pens at these prices? We got Bob a beautiful Caran d'ache pencil (this purchase was not the least bit influenced by the delicious Swiss chocolates the Caran d'ache woman was giving away). I love Caran d'ache. I used to get those metal boxes of colored pencils (the ones with the Swiss Alps painted on the top) when I was a child, and I wouldn’t have any other. So, we bought four writing instruments and didn’t even come anywhere close to spending even a quarter of the cost of that silver and glass pen. What a bargain!

We left Fountain Pen Hospital, and I decided we needed some nice, new, blank books on which to test our new purchases. I wracked my brains (I mean, we were in the middle of Manhattan, where it’s just so difficult to find anything you want) and couldn’t think of any place better to buy these than the Strand Bookstore. After all, it was so conveniently located a mere forty blocks up on Broadway. While there, I decided I might as well check to see if a few books on my TBR list were available. The Strand, although a fabulous place to browse, with its “18 miles of new and used books” is typically disappointing if you arrive with specific titles in mind. Wouldn’t you know it? This was the day, of all days, I hit pay dirt when I checked the shelves for Rose Macaulay (some of you may have figured out that I’ve become quite obsessed with her lately). Last time I was there, they had nothing of hers. This time, they had five books, The Towers of Trebizond being the only one I’d read. I chose two. I toyed with T. of T., because I love it so (it was lent to me, and I don't own it), but then I decided against it. You know, that would have been conspicuous consumption. Bob, not to be outdone by me, found two books of his own: a short story collection by Wallace Stegner and another by Raymond Carver. And, then of course, there were the blank books.

All right, so we decided to save money by going to the free pen event. We decided we shouldn’t add to our book collection when we expect to be moving sometime in the next half year or so. We spent a fortune on pens, and we came home with four books. There’s something wrong with this picture.