Writing, as one should...

I believe that there's something to be said about writing with something permanent. Computers have this great little thing called a delete button (I've used it about 12 times since I started this sentence) but pens and typewriters have no such thing. Once something has been laid to paper, even if you cross it out, it remains in one way or another. There's a consciousness that goes with that. A thought like that hanging over your head not only makes you more thoughtful about what you put down but also makes you less likely to delete a piece of genius you might hate in the moment but realize is superb at some point in the future.

Thus, my birthday present. A 1940's Shaeffer fountain pen. It looks like the green one above, but it is wine colored. 

So when we decided this weekend to jet to the July installment of Brimfield this year I immediately started dreaming about inkwells.  

I think I need one like this.

Or this. 

I'm pretty sure either of these will help to stop this oh-so-permanent ink from it's desire to stain everything around me except my notebook.