#12. Pen Me In, Please
- Feb 14
- 8 min read
For the past month, I’ve been on a little journey. A cultural journey, actually. The first steps were unremarkable, but in retrospect, they’ve taken on greater significance. I didn’t know where they were heading. I didn’t even realize they were heading anywhere.
I’ll get to that shortly. For now, let’s back up ten months. I’ve just signed the contract for my book, and shortly after, the publisher set its release date for March 17, 2026. Now here we are, with less than five weeks to go. For all these months, I’ve anticipated the release with equal parts excitement and dread. It will be a big day for the book, and a HUGE DAY for me personally.
There are several firsts wrapped up in this thing:
It’s the first book I’ve written cover to cover, as opposed to being a contributor or co-editor.
It’s my first trade book—a way to reach a wide audience through a medium other than short articles.
It’s the first time I’ve been paid more than a pittance for my writing—not a huge advance, but enough to rationalize buying a new laptop.
And it’s the first time it actually matters to other people—especially my publisher—whether or not something I write flops spectacularly.
Thus, I’m working through some unique trepidations that percolate alongside the excitement.
The pace of my “little journey” accelerated when Malaprops Bookstore & Cafe, my fantastic local bookshop here in Asheville, NC, agreed to host the book release event in their store. (Feel free to RSVP via the link if you can come!) Sounds fun, right?
In my happiest dream, we fill 75 seats with friends, acquaintances, and other interested locals. I read excerpts and share behind-the-scenes anecdotes. People laugh in the right places. We have a lively discussion, I sign some freshly minted copies of the book, and everyone leaves happy.
Or…
It’s a nightmare. A trainwreck. Three-quarters of the seats are empty. My readings are interrupted by hecklers. Nobody gets my jokes, and nobody wants to discuss anything. My two or three most special people who’ve come to support me approach me after to sign their books, which they only purchased moments before out of sheer pity.
Another First
The prospect of signing a bunch of books for people should be a happy thing, right? At least for a first event. But no. Four weeks ago, I entered a new, more esoteric realm of worrying when I realized it meant actually putting pen to paper and signing people’s books for real. Worse, I know that authors commonly write inscriptions or other bon mots upon request. My problem is that I can barely write legibly anymore. My signature is an inconsistent, inelegant, illegible mess. I haven’t written in cursive style since grade school, and even my block printing has become atrocious. I don’t practice. For decades, I’ve gotten away with typing practically everything.
On top of that, I suffer from the “yips.” If you haven’t heard of this condition, it manifests for me as small, involuntary hand twitches when I do certain fine movements involving balance or precision. For surgeons, it’s career-ending. For me, I can be a little jerky when, say, I pour a liquid from one narrow-necked bottle into another. Or when I need to print my name on a form inside a rectangle that’s too damn small. I start to write, and… YIP! Before I finish the first word, I ink a random slash extending an unwitting serif far outside the boundaries of the box.
Psychologically, the yips is a form of self-reinforcing performance anxiety. Knowing I might have one virtually guarantees that I will. Practically, it’s an embarrassing pain in the ass and a major deterrent to writing by hand, unless it’s only notes to myself. I’ve taken to asking others to fill in the boxes on forms for me.
When I realized that I’d be signing books, I had two thoughts. First: I’ve got to practice my signature and handwriting!
Second: Maybe I should buy myself a nice pen for the occasion. In my mind, “nice” ought to cost a good ten dollars or so and have a little heft to it.
The Pen Subculture
And so it began. I took my first baby steps toward buying a pen with complete innocence and, in retrospect, a stunning degree of naivete. I began, of course, by looking at pens online. I’ve continued to do so every day since, venturing ever deeper into this happy world. My little cross-cultural expedition has become the perfect part-time distraction from overthinking and fretting about the upcoming book launch. No regrets.
OMG. I had no idea. Pens come in hundreds of brands and thousands of models. There are dozens of major distributors, and multiple dozens of YouTube channels devoted to everything pens. Prices range from pennies to fortunes.
The same is true for inks. And for paper, storage solutions, parts, and accessories. Pen people have seminars and conventions, heroes and politics, fads and histories. Some are in it no deeper than to dabble, and others are caught up in the thrall of pen worshiping groups that put the “cult” in “subculture.” It’s a loosely organized network of enthusiasts with members numbering at least in the hundreds of thousands in the U.S., and in the millions worldwide.
If I may get sociological for a moment, “subculture” typically refers to a group—in the loosest sense of that term—whose members share beliefs, values, symbols, and meanings. There are the powerful and the charismatic. The leaders and the followers. The crooks and the sell-outs.
It’s all there in the pen world.
What’s drawing me in—no pun intended—is the combination of art and engineering. Sometimes both can be found in the cheap and practical, such as the Zento Flow gel pen arrayed under the title at the top of this post.
But the very first pen to catch my eye was the Zento Signature, pictured below in its silvery version. I won’t get into the features, except to say that I find it aesthetically pleasing and brilliantly designed. Based on reviews, it writes excellently as well. It’s a steal at under $30—a price point at which it has long been unavailable. Before I was aware of its existence, demand for the Zento Signature soared, and now it costs $75 or more, if you can find it at all. It became a must-have pen for collectors and everyday users alike.
FOMO much? You betcha. Rampant Fear Of Missing Out, compounded into a wave of demand that the pen supplier either couldn’t meet or chose not to, nearly tripled the price. Shortages fueled word-of-mouth (and internet) virality. Shadow markets further drove demand, and the majority of those who might have enjoyed a great pen at a reasonable price got squeezed out of the market.
Despite being drawn to the Zento Signature, I researched alternatives and ultimately bought the more utilitarian Flow model mentioned earlier. It’s around $15 and uses exactly the same ink cartridges as the Signature, which is why I decided to try it. My verdict: it is an excellent writing experience! But no way could the Signature writing experience, with the same cartridge, beat the Flow experience by fivefold. No, people adore the signature for other reasons, and I get it now. If the Signature pen ever does return to the $25-$30 range, I may get one. Unlike the Flow click pen, Siggy has a nifty magnetic cap engineered to a fine tolerance. It makes a satisfying “click” when it closes. I’d like that.
For many people—usually myself included—a BIC ballpoint is a totally adequate pen, and you can find them in bulk for under 16 cents each. They’re undeniably near-perfect little writing machines. If BIC’s your jam, it wouldn’t make sense to buy pens for three dollars, much less for thirty, three hundred, or three thousand. It’s the same perspective I hold toward rare automobiles, fancy watches, and designer clothes. Value is in the eye of the beholder, and these eyes aren’t beholden to such expensive purchases. Less than two months ago, I might have said the same about pens—until I had a reason to dip my toe into that ocean, and learn a bit about the artistry, science, and engineering integral to their design and manufacture.
I now have four additional rollerball or gel pens. (I’m not a fan of the ballpoint.) None of them is in the “luxury” category, but each is uniquely beautiful and functional. One is the Lamy Swift, whose clip recedes into the body of the pen when you click the clicker. My lovely partner, Jeri, had Barry inscribed on the clip, and gifted it to me after I mentioned in passing how much I liked it.
As a special surprise, she also picked out this Scriveiner Classic Gold rollerball pen and had it inscribed with the title of my book. Not only is this golden beauty a joy to behold (I’m referring to the pen right now, not Jeri), but it also feels wonderful to write with it. I will use it to produce the first signed copy of the book and present it to Jeri.
Over the last few weeks, my interests expanded into the parallel universe of fountain pens—or real pens, as I think true hobbyists and collectors might say. I hadn’t written with a fountain pen since I was a child. Back then, you dipped your nib into an ink bottle, scribbled some blotchy words on paper, and repeated the process until finished. Now it’s all about ink cartridges, pumps, and refillable “converters.” These are different ways to establish an internal reservoir and eliminate the constant dipping.
So a few weeks ago, I bought my first two fountain pens. They are Jinhao 82s at $8 apiece, a clear one with a fine nib, and a blue one in a medium. They don’t look like serious pens, but they write very well and work with either ink cartridges or the refillable converter pumps that come with them. (I also now own a bottle of Parker Quink ink in blue/black.) I can see why some people collect them in all their variants and colors. They’re like candy.
The cheap thrill of the Jinhao’s got me looking at more reviews of more substantial fountain pens. When I saw the Ellington Copper Ember Pocket Pen was on sale for 35% off, I ordered one for $28. It’s been worth every penny. And a shout-out to Ellington’s customer service: I emailed them about the pen cap causing light scratches on the barrel (you can just see them in the pic), probably due to a flaw in the cap’s internal machining. I managed to sand out the flaw in the cap to prevent further damage, but they went ahead and sent me a brand-new pen for free and told me to keep the scratched one! The new one is sleek and black with gold trim.
Great post! It just goes to show that a person can get into just about anything. I've rarely thought about the pen in my hand. Once I found the Vision Elite Uni Ball, I stopped thinking about it. Available at a Staples near you. But I might try something a little more adventurous now. Thanks for the fun facts and info.