Driving While Distracted

Sitting at a stoplight.

Guy, next car over, texting.

However did we survive

when

we weren't connected

24/7

?

EPISODE 86: In Which, I Give Up

Three years ago I bought a Noodler's Ahab fountain pen with a flex nib called Ivory Darkness. It was cheap.

It was pretty.

It was cool.

It turned out to be a huge pain in the ass.

I have pages and pages that look like this -- where I'm trying to get the pen started or restarted.

Pages and pages in my journal where I write -- Ahab is behaving today. But, alas, even more like this -- I can't get this &^%$! pen to work right.

Of course, there is help on the internet.

I followed instructions and videos. Adjusted the nib, adjusted the feed. Tried it without the little feeder tube and with. Wet ink. Dry ink. Prayers to the Ink Goddess.

Crossed my inky fingers and hoped to write.

No joy in Inkville.

I saw a post on the Fountain Pen Network suggesting Ahab troubles might be cured by abandoning the flex nib. Turn it into a regular fountain pen.

Aha!

I have thrown this pen away and rescued it from the trash twice. I couldn't bear to give it up.

It was pretty.

It felt nice in hand.

I bought a new nib and a new feed. Heat sealed it via video instructions and ... voila ... until the cartridge converter threads gave up the ghost, and so did I.

I'd been "adjusting" this pen for three years.

Three.

And although it had qualities I liked, eventually, pain-in-the-ass trumped pretty.

Especially when I have pens that are dreams with which to write. Sailor, KawecoSport, Waterman, even the cheap Lamy is a no-trouble implement.

So, the Ahab gets one more page in my journal.

You Might Be In Montana ...

Driving to town yesterday, I saw a Golden Eagle fishing off an ice floe.

Followed by these two thoughts.

1. I love where I live.

2. Baby, it's cold outside.

New for Christmas this year.

At toy stores now.

Fraidy Cat

I scared myself.

Sitting in front of our fireplace, writing a scene in the new script.

A night scene, where the monster, in all his gooshy, drooling, icky menace circles the hero unaware of the threat.

A log in the fireplace popped and I threw my notebook and pen on the floor and nearly had a heart attack.

Immersed, I was. In the writing. Yay. And BOO!