There is something about writing with a fountain pen that feels a little different.
It isn’t simply putting words on a page. There is the small preparation of the uncapping, the touch of the nib to paper, the first little movement of ink. Then the pen seems to take over, gliding along almost without effort.
I think there is a common soul to using ink.
It doesn’t matter whether the pen is an old favorite, an expensive fountain pen or some of those wonderfully tiny pens that are made to disappear into a pocket or my bag. Once ink meets paper, they all belong to the same little world of writing.
It can post and feel like a larger pen. Very functional.
Botanical Gardens & Honeycomb by Esterbrook
Lately, I’ve been especially taken with mini pens for writing on the go and just having in my jean pocket for around the house. There is something charming about a small pen that doesn’t demand much space or attention. It can live in a pocket, a journal, a purse (bag), or tucked beside whatever else I’m carrying.
And when I find that moment and place to write – I have a pen.
A few words become possible.
A thought gets captured before it disappears.
A little observation makes its way onto the page.
That’s one of the things I love about a fountain pen. Using one encourages me to slow down just enough to notice that I’m writing. The ink isn’t just a delivery system for words; it becomes part of the experience. Different inks have different personalities. Some are serious, some playful, some moody, and some beautifully imperfect.
Even the smallest pen can carry that feeling.
Maybe that’s why I don’t think of my pens simply as writing instruments. They are companions. I know that sounds silly, but it is true. Some stay at my desk. Some live in my journals. And a few small ones are meant to wander with me. And no one borrows them (I’m a bit protective) – again call me silly.
My Passport sized pocket journal and Hongdian M2 that is always in my bag.
The point isn’t having the perfect pen. It’s having a pen and some ink when the moment arrives.
Because somewhere between the nib, the ink, the paper, and the hand-holding of the pen, there is a little bit of magic.
And perhaps that is the real common soul of ink; every pen no matter how grand or small, offers to accompany us into the moment. It waits patiently in it’s designated spot, ready to help us notice, remember, and make something lasting out of an ordinary day.
The pen may be small, but the companionship is not. Ink carries the same quiet magic from hand to paper connecting one thought to the next and one writer to the long, human tradition of leaving a mark – even in a daily diary.
So I’ll keep my little pens close, wherever I go. When the right moment arrives, we’ll meet it together – with a page, a few drops of ink, and the simple wonder of making something real.
From The Rabbit Hole…
Old Hands Pens
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