I enjoy the physical act of writing. I always have. I am obsessed with paper, pens and other writing implements. Strangely, I also hate making the first mark on a new journal. I can’t really explain why. I suppose I feel like I’m ruining the page … like I’m taking something pure and making it dirty. I have many empty journals. They are beautiful and clean … untouched, unspoiled. They are so full of potential. I fill composition books with my useless blathering and thoughts. I write page after page into this blog; I won’t even mention how many pages of type I fill and then delete after they’re written…

…but these beautiful books remain empty and clean.

I am always in search of the perfect pen with which to write in these journals, as if having the perfect pen will suddenly make it alright to spoil them. Each journal must have it’s own pen because the paper in every journal is different. Some papers are rough and unrefined so they need a more lovely pen. Other papers are smooth and crisp so they can have a rougher pen.

So, I search for the perfect match.

I think we all are searching for some sort of perfect match.

Posted by Utopia at May 15, 2006 12:05 PM

Comments

Post a comment