Paper and Pen

Since sending holiday cards is on my to do list, I thought I'd write about my lifelong love of pen and paper.

The minute I held a pen, I never wanted to let it go. Just the exercise of writing fascinated me. It didn't matter what I wrote. My name over and over again, a letter (even to a school friend who lived two blocks away), a list of the films of Hitchcock or Spielberg (to keep myself awake in a boring class), a recipe. I started writing in a journal at age ten, not only because I was overly analytical, but because I wanted to spend time with that paper and pen.

Collecting new pens and pencils as well as stationery became a hobby for me. To this day, I can't write with what I call a boring pen. A black or blue Bic? No thanks. I won't even bother to pick up one of those. My stationery drawer isn't as full as it used to be since email became THE way to communicate. But I still try to write a few notes to my friends across the country. It's already become a lost art form. My sister-in-law gave me notecards in the shape of high heel shoes once. And my dad gave me Super Friends notecards one Christmas. I was beside myself.

I've always given the keyboard equal time, as the head typist for my high school newspaper (all those years at the piano gave me speedy fingers), as the writer of many a college term paper, and now as a blogger. But I still prefer sitting down at my desk with a spiral notebook or Aquaman notecard and putting pen to paper.