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I bought a pretty new pen today. A fancy fountain pen. My pretty fancy fountain pen makes me happy. It reminds me of the joy I get from writing.

I have no idea what it is about the skritchy-scratch of a fountain pen on paper that always makes me smile. Nor do I know why writing longhand seems to make the words flow with more ease. Whatever it is, it is working again- words are filling up the page.

It is so easy to get caught up in the crazy whirlwind of the everyday and forget to do those things which make us happy. My pretty pen makes me want to sit and write. It makes me long to fill pages and pages with fabulous adventures. And yes, I do see the irony that I sat down to type after I used my pen. But still, my pen makes me happy.

That is the magic of a great pen. You twirl it in your fingers, tap it against your chin and unleash it onto the page and unfurl whatever is on your mind. Sometimes it soothes the wild frantic beastly thoughts racing about in my mind, sometimes it jumpstarts a crazy moment where I see with crystal clarity where my story should go.

I think I got wrapped up on in those pesky “rules” that tell us how we should be writing and how we should edit. Whatever process that works for you is the process. Perhaps, I was a little taken aback by the actual process of truly writing a novel. It isn’t straightforward, and I am my harshest critic. The story that I envisioned, is not the story that I wrote. And I am struggling to merge the idea of both.

So as an editing exercise I am going back to basics. Pen and paper. An outline. And for that I am glad to have my fancy pants fountain pen to remind me that YES, I DO LOVE TO WRITE.