Journaling takes you somewhere—
often to an unplanned, unexpected
chance meeting
of words and thoughts,
carving out stories to feast upon.
Sharing a glimpse from my free-write session a few days ago
Here is the edited version:
My fountain pen is not working properly. Granted, days—no, weeks—no, months of negligence preceded this rebellious nature of my fountain pen.
When I finally picked it up, the ink flow was rather choppy.
I can’t say the pen is rebelling. The ink is flowing, and the nib remains smooth and perfect, just as it always has been—despite my negligence.
But the ink flow is not quite right. Not very smooth.
Then again, as I persist, I notice a difference. With each stroke, the ink flows a little better.
My fountain pen is working properly now. It wasn’t rebelling—it was simply a natural reaction. When left unused, and untouched for too long, the pen appeared to have lost its ability to function properly.
Yet, as I continued writing with my beloved pen, it began to feel better. The dried ink slowly cleared away, making room for a smoother flow.
This, my friends, is how life—or anything in life—works in general.
Dear fountain pen, I will not let such long periods pass without writing with you again. You are to be caressed gently, your nib must kiss the smooth paper, leaving behind everlasting traces of that long, passionate kiss. And I must witness this union every day.
Void Thoughts 
One of the things I cherish the most in my day, is the time I spend writing my morning pages. That is the one place where there is no filter, no rules, just a jumble of thoughts flowing out onto the page.
When I don’t write for a while, like your fountain pen, my thoughts too don’t flow as easily and it takes some time to spill out my thoughts with ease.
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My love of fountain pens has never subsided! I haven’t picked up mine in far too long, but it remains one of my most prized possessions. On a side note, your handwriting is gorgeous!
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I loved the way you connected the ink in your pen to the thoughts in our head. It’s so true. The more we write, the easier it becomes. Also, I love that you use pen and paper even now and that too a fountain pen. Last year I was gifted a fountain pen and it felt so odd holding it in my hand. It really is about practice.
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First of all, I want to talk about your beautiful handwriting in your journal. This is ‘writing’ in the real sense. When I think of how I journal, I scribble. A lot of my letters do not come out discreetly. They tend to come out messy as the tangled thoughts in my mind.
Your tryst with the ink pen has given food for thought for us. Thanks for sharing your free write here. How the ink pen worked can be applied to so many aspects of our lives – be it writing after a long time, stepping out of the house after being coupled up at home for years, testing out our social skills and so many more.
I think I must get a fountain pen too. Maybe.
Filling it with ink and using it, during the school days, used to stain the hands and clothes. Life became a lot easier when the school allowed the students to switch to pilot pens. I think the grown-up me will be able to handle the fountain pen better now.
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My earlier reply about embracing the mess was meant to be to you.
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Ah! The joys of writing with a pen on paper! I love ink pens too although I prefer the gel pens as they are pretty no-fuss and no spillage and hence more easy to carry with me wherever I go. I love how the free write shaped up and gave expression to your thoughts…a post can come from anywhere, that’s what I love best about the free writing form.
Keep writing and do not let the pen or the writing wait for too long, unused and unexpressed, in that order! 🙂
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Wow, do you still use a fountain pen? It brings such fond memories of childhood. These days, I mostly use ball pen. But I am one of those writers who still prefer pen and paper over keyboard.
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I am making a deliberate effort to “scribble” in my journal. My usual habit is to rip the imperfect pages out so that I am left with discarded half-books, lovely bindings, and no journals. My daughter once asked me why I stopped writing in the one that I kept for a few months when she was a baby. I got busy? I hated my handwriting? No excuse seems rational, now. And so I’m trying again and trying to embrace the flaws. To scribble on the pages on purpose and to discipline myself to keep them all intact. It’s hard. Seeing “pretty” journals doesn’t really help, nor do the slew of gorgeous scrapbooks and bullet journals on Instagram. Embrace the mess. No one reading it after you’re gone will give a rat’s whiskers about “perfection.”
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Everything is perfect and filtered in Instagram. I have learned to ignore them. I have started embracing my flaws and that has made me peaceful.
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