Ink-Stained Fingers (or Out, Damned Spot)

I got a new fountain pen yesterday. This one came only with a converter so I also got a bottle of ink and had to figure that out. The result is that my fingers still have greyish splotches of ink on them, even after a lot of handwashing.

But I think fountain pens are an essential part of my desire to train myself to have beautiful handwriting. I was taught handwriting as a young child and generally rebelled against it. I could focus very hard and make my writing pretty decent if I printed. I did this when I taught at the chalkboard. But leaving teaching left me with a bit of a scribbled hand.

So I sat down one morning at my writing desk (which was also a vanity) and decided to learn how to write neatly. I copied out the exercises of loops and sticks and wrote out each letter many times. Then, I copied out Paradise Lost to practice. And it worked.

And when I felt like I’d improved, I bought myself a monogrammed purple marbled pen from Levenger. But it was so nice, that I never let it leave home. I contented myself with gel-roller pens. So when I was ordering some new office supplies the other day, I saw an inexpensive, art-deco-style fountain pen. I threw it into the order, along with a bottle of black ink.

When it arrived, I realized there were no instructions on filling it, so I improvised. Which proved to be messy. But I filled my new pen, and re-filled my old pen, so now I have two beautiful fountain pens full of jet black ink. And the ink stains are fading well enough anyway.

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