Well-chuffed

I just recently began writing again -- hence, my stilted style and mixed metaphors.

I had a brilliant storyline hit me this weekend, so I grabbed a pen and a notebook and...well, my hand hurts now as a result. (Not bad for someone who hasn't written in years but used to write nearly 24/7 when she was younger. My mom never understood why I had to carry a notebook with me. I never understood why I shouldn't.)

Anyway, the pen I grabbed proved to be a "holy grail" of sorts for me. It was magical. It was wonderful. It felt good in my hand and the ink flowed with a smoothness I hadn't felt in years. For me, writing is all about the pen and paper, really. If the two go well together, then the words spill out of my brain onto the paper with the greatest of ease. (My roomie from college would understand!) My daughter had a birthday party to attend, and I spent the hour-and-a-half waiting for her just pouring out my ideas.

Then it happened....

The pen ran out of ink! I was crushed. I was mid-thought. I had to get the rest down before it jumped back into the shadows of my brain. I looked around my various drawers and pen-cups to find another one. I found plenty of pens and pencils, but none that compared with this one. I finally settled on a "Holiday Inn - Italy" one that had a fairly smooth flow...though after writing for about 10 minutes my hand began to hurt...and my brain began to hurt...and I closed my notebook and ceased feeling creative. Silly, really.

* * *

My hubby came home for lunch today, much the same as he does most days. He greeted me at the door, we kissed, and then he became my hero....(not that he isn't already that). He presented me with another pen exactly like the one that helped spur my creative thoughts this weekend. I kissed him again. Then he held up four more! Can you say, "Well-chuffed?"