I’m lying here with pen in hand. Well actually, I’m lying here with my phone in hand waiting for the drip!! An empty head and heart makes an empty pen. No thought, no ink. No drip? Don’t trip!! I never shall forget being in high school. Up until then we were required to write with a number two pencil. High school required that we have an ink pen at the ready. The worse thing that could ever happen to you is you (1) not have a pen, (2) have a pen but no ink would come out. We would say, “ My pen won’t write!!” We had a simple remedy, use a lighter and heat up the tip of the pen. Heat causes the ink to flow. Where there is heat, there is ink. We learned that a hot pen in your pocket makes for a pretty big mess. Pens and pockets don’t mesh but a pen in the hand of a writer with a hot thought is magic. We had what was called non-erasable or permanent ink. This meant it was forever in history.
Before the invention of the dip pen, the metal nibbed pen, the fountain pen and eventually the ball point pen, there was the quill. I was so excited when I looked up the definition of a quill. A Quill is a writing tool made from a moulted FLIGHT FEATHER or wind feather of a large bird.
I am geeked talking about this. Did you not know that writers used a FLIGHT FEATHER?? I used capital letters to emphasize my enthusiasm. No wonder we are graced with so much amazing literature to read and escape with. We are able to soar above snow capped mountains and see the world from a bird’s eye view. Let me try my hand at this as I mentally dip my Flight Feather into the inkwell.
Once upon a time in a far away place, there lived on the outskirts of an ancient German town, a old gray man who secretly raised magic geese. There was magic inside their wings but no one knew it. One day a great wind blew against a flock of the geese while flying and dislodged one of the feathers of the eldest goose. Just like that, the wind blew and whisked the feather up and away. For miles and miles the wind carried the flight feather through the air. When the wind died down, the feather floated down upon the window sill of the home of Mr. Wishful Lee Writer.
One day as Mr. Writer peeked out of his window to get some fresh air, he noticed a beautiful white quill perched upon his sill. When he picked the quill up, it began to shake and shower beautiful sparkles. What happened next really blew him away. The quill lifted him out of the window, and before he knew it, he was flying high in the sky about the small town.
This is what it feels like to be a writer. Don’t quote me on it but this is exactly how writers become writers. The Magic Quill sounds like a nice name for this possibly true story. If one cannot write, he or she only needs to travel to that old German town where geese are raised with magic feathers.