Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Verdict: Blueline A9 - NOT Fountain Pen Friendly

Mini-review: I just finished off a Clairfontaine notebook I'd been using as a journal (in pencil, for those keeping score at home), and started in on a Blueline A9 I've had around awhile. In case anyone was wondering, the Blueline A9 notebook is very far from fountain pen friendly. Much feathering and bleeding.

For the record, that's the *back* of a page...mucho bleed-through! Yikes...

Considering the 30% recycled paper, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but it's still disappointing: there's so much to like about this notebook otherwise. It's basically composition book sized (my favorite) with a nice hard cover and details I like a lot: stickers for labeling for archival purposes, and spaces on the pages for the date and page number. But...bleh.

I'll stick it out, but can only use one side of the page unless I use pencil or ballpoint.

Thus far the best bet for an inexpensive, fountain pen friendly journal still seems to be my el cheapo Made in Brazil Wal-Mart composition books...those work with almost anything. And they're about a quarter apiece at back to school time. I wish I'd bought a lot more back in the good old days when they didn't have floppy covers, but I guess you can't have everything.

Friday, November 16, 2012


I'm not doing NaNo this year, for a variety of reasons.  But this is the first time in a very, very long time I've not taken part, and I miss it.  I feel...itchy, somehow. It's like...some beautifully apt simile I would come up with if I wasn't completely lacking in words of any kind.  I want to write *something*.  I'd write at least a short story if I could.  But my words are all gone.

I miss most the physical act: scribbling away with a pen or pencil or banging on the typewriter and seeing and feeling the pages fill up.  But I got nothing.  I can't even seem to manage poems lately.  I have one single line rattling around in the hollow void of my noggin, but it doesn't tie to anything at all, AND it's about a sunset, which is terribly hackneyed as poetic subjects go.

I've tried free-writing, just writing anything and everything that pops into my head or writing about writing, and even that petered out.

And now I'm writing about writing about writing.  I make me cry.

At least there's turkey in my near future!  And I don't seem to be having the same issues with music.  So there's that.