You Think This Comes Along Every Day?

(This is a guest post by Jon Bemis. You can find Jon on Twitter @jtower42.)

After more than a decade of marriage it becomes more and more difficult to come up with gifts for the other person. The reasons for this are manifold. We’re lucky enough to have the financial security that we typically don’t have to use holidays as an excuse to get things we need. Replacing worn-out shoes and broken toasters are within our budget. That means we are each blessed with the opportunity to get things for each other that the other would want. The problem with that (and a nice problem it is to have) is that we already have many of the things we want. I love to cook, but over the years, I’ve acquired all the kitchen knives and pots and pans I need. My wife likes to sew, but she has a nice sewing machine already.

At this point, we’ve given up on most gift-giving holidays and instead open a nice bottle of wine, or find a babysitter and treat ourselves to an evening out. With two very busy lives and four very busy kids, the gift of TIME to be together is more precious than most “things.”

However, I am still a pen addict.

Ever since my addiction took hold, I have been trying to get my wife to enjoy pens as much as I do, sometimes with humbling results (See Pen Snobbery). I continued to hold out hope that I could find a fountain pen and ink combination that will work for my lefty life partner, and had been on the hunt for a particular pen for which I had high hopes. A Waverly nib has a slight upturn, like the tip of a ski, and I hoped this would help the pen glide through the push strokes with which so much of her penmanship has been cursed.

My search for an affordable pen with a Waverly nib had led me to one of those global trading websites, written mostly in indecipherable Japanese. (Thanks for NOTHING, Google Translate.) I was not at all confident that I was not sending my money and personal information to a hacker who could not BELIEVE his luck, but hey, sometimes that’s how it is in the fountain pen jungle.

The pen, a Pilot Custom 912, arrived just a few weeks before our 11th anniversary. I decided to break with tradition and give it to Dana on the occasion of our anniversary, a date we’d long since stopped viewing as a gift-giving opportunity. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but I did want to give her a heads up that I’d gotten her something, as I didn’t want her to feel bad that she hadn’t had the opportunity to reciprocate.

“I’m getting you something for our anniversary,” I said. “I DO NOT want you to feel obligated in the slightest to get me anything. I just happened to find something perfect that I thought you should have.”

“What on earth did you get me?” she asked.

“I’m not going to TELL you!” I cried. “But I will say this: If you decide to get me something, make sure it’s something you’d like, too.” I realized immediately how suspicious this sounded.

“What does that mean?” she asked. “Wait – did you get me a pen?”

“No,” I lied, unconvincingly.

“You got me a pen, didn’t you? I can’t believe you got me a pen. You’re such a geek,” she said, grinning.

“Look, I will neither confirm nor deny that your gift is a pen,” I said. “All I’m saying is that if you get me something, it should be something you’ll like. You know, in case I don’t.”

That got an eye-roll.

A few weeks later, our anniversary arrived. We were at our oldest daughter’s theater camp’s Parents’ Night waiting for the performance to start when Dana presented me with a small gift bag. (I, being a doofus, had forgotten her present at work where I had had it delivered. She got it the following day.)

My hand swam through the tiny ocean of tissue paper and seized upon a metal box, about the size and shape of an Altoids tin. I pulled the box out. It did not say “Altoids,” but instead “Kaweco”!

In a flash, this particular anniversary immediately vaulted into the running for best ever. My darling, amazing, BEAUTIFUL wife had gotten me a pen! Unsolicited! This was quite a moment. Even more amazing, she got me a pen despite having a reasonable suspicion that I had gotten her a pen that might very possibly end up back with me.

I opened the box to find a Kaweco Liliput.

But not just any Liliput.

A Fireblue.

If you aren’t familiar with this pen, it’s spectacular. It’s the same compact shape and size as the aluminum and brass versions of the Liliput, perfectly proportioned for a pocket or slipped in the sleeve of a Fodderstack XL. The Fireblue version, however, is made from stainless steel: a little more durable than aluminum and a little lighter than brass. A perfect material choice.

The thing that really makes this pen stand out, though, is the finish. According to Kaweco, each pen is hand-finished by the company’s CEO with a torch. The intense flame burns away residual machining oils and impurities, creating a unique mottle of gray, blue and gold on the steel. It’s a gorgeous pen.

I was thrilled. I was also puzzled.

The Fireblue is a unique and not inexpensive pen with niche appeal, and is only available from a select number of retailers. For my non-pen addict wife to stumble across it seemed unlikely, and I knew she hadn’t heard of it before.

“Where did you get this?” I asked.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“I LOVE it,” I responded.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said. “It wasn’t easy to find.”

“How DID you find it?” I asked. “And how did you choose this pen specifically?”

“It wasn’t easy, but I searched and searched for a steel pen,” she said. “There aren’t many out there.”

I blinked. “Steel?”

“Of course,” she said. “Did you know the 11th anniversary is considered the steel anniversary?”

I did not know that. I did know I had married the most wonderful woman in the world.

Buyer's Remorse, Impulse Buys, and Shady Sellers: The Vagaries of Buying Fountain Pens Online

(Susan M. Pigott is a fountain pen collector, pen and paperholic, photographer, and professor. You can find more from Susan on her blog Scribalishess.)

It's a horrible feeling, buyer's remorse. You purchase something and then experience crushing, inescapable guilt. Kicking yourself, you wonder why you impulsively purchased something you knew you shouldn't have. Or, you realize, after the fact, that it was something you really didn't want or need, but it was shiny. Or, you discover you paid too much or that the seller sold you a dud. It hurts. It's embarrassing. It's expensive.

I've experienced it multiple times after purchasing fountain pens, and I never seem to learn.

The first time I had buyer's remorse was when I bought a sweet little vintage black Pelikan Ibis from a seller on Fountain Pen Network. It was my first purchase via FPN, and I didn't think sellers would be dishonest. The pen was described as "in working condition" (aren't they all?). I received the pen and filled it with Aurora Black ink (to match the pen, of course). And as soon as I sat down to write in my journal, black ink flooded everywhere. The seller claimed I must have broken the pen, because it was perfectly fine when he sent it (of course it was).

I was devastated. I spent money on a pen that was unusable, and the seller wouldn't accept a return or pay for repair. I felt taken (and I had been). I sent it to kind, gentle Rick Propas who repaired the pen for me. But the experience left a bad taste in my mouth, and even though the pen finally worked, I didn't like it anymore. It reminded me of my naïveté and the seller's bad treatment. I eventually traded the Ibis back to Rick in partial payment for a different Pelikan. Remorse? Yes, because I expected sellers to be honest. It was my first (and not last) experience with shady sellers.

I bought another vintage pen from a reputable dealer. It was a gorgeous lavender Eversharp Doric with an adjustable nib. Problem was, the thing simply would not write. The seller told me I was using the wrong ink, but the pen didn't work even when I used his recommended ink. The seller told me I was filling it wrong or holding it wrong or expecting too much of the pen. Eventually, after sending it back and forth, the seller let me return it. I think I'm probably on his "Do Not Sell Pens to This Woman" list. Remorse? Yes, because the pen was so gorgeous and I really wanted it to write. I loved that adjustable nib. But because I was able to return it, the remorse eventually disappeared but not the disappointment.

The next stupid purchase was also from FPN. I found a Montblanc 146 advertised as a 1950s celluloid MB with a 14K broad nib. The seller stated that the rings had "slight damage." In his photos, it looked like one of the thinner rings was slightly bent. "No problem," I thought. I really wanted a celluloid MB, and the price was a little lower than normal because of the rings (though it was still really expensive). Plus I expected the 1950s 14K nib to be springy, maybe even flexible. So I bought it.

When I got the pen, this is what the rings actually looked like:

Super glue? OMG! The center ring was completely loose, swinging around the cap like a hoola-hoop. I was furious. I contacted the seller who claimed (of course) that I was making much ado about nothing. But when I sent him photographs of the superglued rings and told him that the center ring was completely loose, he at least offered me a partial refund ($100).

I sent that pen to a well-known pen restorer. It was in his queue for over nine months. He returned it with the rings in better shape (cost for repair over $100), but by then the cork had dried up and the pen leaked everywhere. I sent it to yet another pen restorer who fixed the cork and re-did the ring job so the pen looked like new (cost for repair over $100). But he informed me that the nib was really from the 80s (not the 50s). Great. By then I'd spent tons of money on a pen that didn't even have an authentic 1950s nib, and the nib has no character (or flex). Remorse? Oh yes. But I've put too much money into the pen to sell it. I guess I'll have to spend more money and send it to a nibmeister. At least then I'll have a beautiful pen that writes well.

Then there was the Montblanc 90th Anniversary Rose Gold 149 I bought on a whim. Pro Tip: never buy Montblancs on a whim. This was truly an impulse buy–absolutely an emotionally-based decision. Right after the PayPal transaction went through I felt enormous remorse. "Why did you buy that pen?" I asked myself. "What were you thinking? You don't like 149s! They're too big for your hand!" "But it's got a rose gold nib," I told myself. "It's super pretty!"

Regardless, I knew I should not have bought the pen. I emailed the seller telling him I was feeling terrible remorse and asked if I could return it. He was gracious, saying that I could return it, but it would take him a little while to refund the money. He asked that I at least open the pen (but not ink it) just to see if I fell in love with it.

It arrived. I opened it. I took photographs of it. I'm sorry to say I did not fall in love. I can't really say why. It was a beautiful pen. But it didn't wow me like I expected it to. I felt wrong returning it to the kind seller– buyer's remorse just doesn't seem like a legitimate reason to return a pen. Instead, I put it back up on FPN (at a loss) for sale. Happily, someone bought it the next day. Remorse reversed, at least temporarily.

Then there was the blue cotton resin Omas 360 I bought because: BLUE PEN! I am such a sucker for blue pens. There really wasn't anything wrong with the pen, but the nib was too firm for my tastes and the triangular grip did not suit my hand. That one went back up for sale immediately.

As did the Aurora 88 with "slight discoloration" on the grip. Thanks, seller from Italy.

And the Sailor Pro Gear with a 21K hard-fine nib that was just too hard-fine for me but it sure was a pretty turquoise.

Remorse? Yes, yes. But when I can sell pens I shouldn't have bought in the first place, I feel a little redemption.

Most recently I bought a Montblanc Heritage 1912 from a seller we'll say is from Czechoslovakia (I realize that country no longer exists. But his country is rather . . . distinctive, and I guess I should protect his identity). I ignored tons of warning signs. He didn't have many seller ratings. He didn't have the box or papers for the pen even though he claimed it was brand new. He only posted one photograph of the pen. I should have heeded these signs, but when you fall for a pen, just like when you fall in love, you tend to be blind.

I did, at least, ask several questions before buying the pen. I asked if the pen had scratches, specifically scratches from the cap being screwed on (I'd read that some owners of the Heritage complained about this problem). "Oh no! No scratches at all!" he said. I asked if the pen was used or brand new. "It is new! Never used!" "But you don't have the papers?" I asked, a wee bit skeptical. "No, no. I don't keep those things. I just don't have the room. My wife owns this same pen! She loves it. It is made for a female hand. You will be so happy in love with this pen!"

I fell for it. I mean, it wasn't just that he said I'd love it. I was entranced by the cool mechanism of the Heritage 1912–the nib extending with a twist of the knob like a safety pen of old. The knob pulling out and turning into a piston. It was so James Bond. Besides, reviews of the Heritage said the nib was wonderful, almost flexy, and I loved the retro look.

Days and days passed while it traveled from Czechoslovakia. When it arrived, it was packaged in an Eau de Cologne box! That worried me. A Montblanc pen packaged in a cheap perfume box?

I extracted the pen from the bubble wrap, and the first thing I saw was a chip visible to the naked eye near the piston. I got out my macro lens and discovered scratches everywhere, including scratches on the barrel from the cap. Sigh. Duped again.

I PMed the seller and told him how disappointed I was. He claimed I was making a fuss over nothing. "Those are just micro-scratches," he said. I sent him photographs and said, "No. These are real scratches. Deep scratches. Not micro-scratches. This pen has been used!" I told him I wanted to return the pen. "No, no!" he said. "I don't have the funds. I sold another pen and it got lost on the way to China! And now I have to refund that buyer with the money from your Heritage, and it wasn't my fault! I have no money, and I'm about to leave for a three-week vacation!" Yeah . . . right.

I told him I wanted my refund anyway. He said to take it up with PayPal, which I did. Eventually, he agreed to a partial refund, though he tried to wheedle me down even on that. "I have a friend who can put $150 in your PayPal right now, but I can't do more than that." When I said I'd had enough and was returning the pen, he suddenly (and suspiciously) found more money for the partial refund. Remorse? Yes, but the partial refund softened the blow.

I really do love my MB Heritage. It writes beautifully and is one of the coolest pens I own. But somewhere in Czechoslovakia is a sweet-talking, vacationing seller who packages expensive scratched pens in Eau de Cologne boxes. Beware.

I no longer tell my husband these stories, because he just shakes his head and says, "Wife, haven't you learned your lesson?" No. Clearly I never learn my lesson. When a pen starts singing me its Siren song, I simply cannot resist its call. That's the nature of this thing we call fountain pen addiction.

There are worse addictions, right?

Graf von Faber Castell Walden Woods Fountain Pen Review

(Susan M. Pigott is a fountain pen collector, pen and paperholic, photographer, and professor. You can find more from Susan on her blog Scribalishess.)

I don't typically order super expensive, limited edition pens that come in boxes that are fancier than the pens they house. But Chatterly Luxuries had a good price on the Walden Woods pen, and because I'm working on an MA in English in Creative Writing (I totally need another "practical" degree), this pen appealed to me. I love the fact that the barrel has Thoreau's handwriting etched on it. I appreciate that the ash wood used for the pen is reclaimed from naturally-fallen trees at Walden Pond. I am pleased that my purchase of this pen means a new tree will be planted at Walden Pond by the American Forests organization. All these factors combined with the great price led me to purchase the pen. I bought it for $395 (retail $750), which is still quite expensive.

I waited to open this pen until I turned in my grades for Summer II. It was my reward for surviving the term (and it was a doozy). The packaging was impeccable. A thick, outer cardboard box protected the beautiful wooden box within. The lid of the wooden box is unadorned except for a small logo and the Graf von Faber Castell name.

The box opens smoothly and silently–I mean look at that hinge mechanism! And this is just the box!

A cream-colored, molded insert houses the pen and information about it. A well-designed booklet gives a brief history of Henry David Thoreau's two-year experiment at Walden Pond which became the basis for his book, Walden, or A Life in the Woods. The Walden Woods Project, which formed in 1990 to protect Walden Pond from development, is also discussed, as well as the partnership with the American Forests organization. A card with warranty information is enclosed and there's a small cloth for cleaning. The insert that houses the pen and information comes out, so with a pen tray cut to size, the wooden box can be repurposed for pen storage.

The Walden Woods pen is a limited edition of 2006 pens, each individually numbered. Mine is number 1268.

Unlike Graf von Faber Castell's yearly limited edition pens, which can be quite ornate (and cost thousands of dollars), the Walden Pen is understated. It has a beautiful platinum-plated cap with a spring-loaded clip that is easy to operate.

The finial is concave and unadorned other than grooves etched around the edge.

The Faber Castell logo appears just above the top of the clip.

"Graf von Faber Castell Germany" is imprinted around the bottom of the cap, and just above that, in tiny letters, is a credit for the quote used on the pen.

The grip is made of the same platinum-plated metal, and so is the bottom of the barrel which is convex and sports the grooves around its base.

The ash-wood barrel feels smooth to the hand. It's hard to tell whether Thoreau's quote is actually etched into the wood or just painted on (the descriptions I've read use the word "etched," but the words don't look or feel like they are carved into the wood). The quote is written in black and stands out nicely against the light color of the wood.

The quote chosen for the pen is beautiful:

"So we saunter toward the Holy land; till one day the sun shall shine more brightly than ever he has done, shall perhance shine into our minds and hearts, and light up our whole lives with a great awakening light, so warm and serene and golden as on a bank-side in Autumn."

~Henry David Thoreau, Walking

The nib is a two-toned, 18K gold medium. It started up immediately after I inked the pen, and I've had no problems with skipping, hard starts, or scratchiness. I inked it with Iroshizuku Ina-Ho because I thought the golden color of that ink matched the ash wood nicely. The nib is smooth, but firm without any springiness.

Because the grip is metal, it becomes slippery under my sweaty fingers. It is small in diameter (I don't have a caliper, but it's less than 10mm at the thinnest point), and my hand cramps up while writing. I may eventually have the nib ground to an oblique italic so that I can rotate the pen into a more comfortable position. Plus, the medium nib lacks personality in my opinion.

The pen is a cartridge/converter filler, but no cartridges were supplied, an oversight for such an expensive pen. I use the converter anyway, but I think cartridges should have been included for those who don't use the converter. The converter works smoothly and draws up ink without any difficulty.

At 135mm (5.31 inches) capped, 130mm (5.11 inches) uncapped, this is a medium length pen, just a little longer than a Pelikan M600 capped. The pen is fairly heavy due to the metal construction. I could not find a specific weight in any of the literature or online. In spite of this, it feels balanced in the hand unposted. Posted it is 173mm (6.8 inches) in length and is unwieldy. The cap is simply too heavy and throws the balance off.

I am interested to see how the wooden barrel reacts with the natural oils in my hand. I don't know if the ash will darken over time, or if the wood has been coated to prevent that. My main concern about the light ash wood is what will happen if I accidentally get ink on it. Will the ink wipe off or will it stain the barrel? I am unwilling to test this, even for the sake of a Pen Addict review, sorry.

This is my first Graf von Faber Castell pen. I like many things about it, and it is definitely unique. But, it's not the most comfortable pen I've written with. My hand grew fatigued fairly quickly due to the small grip combined with the weight of the pen.

Nevertheless, I can't wait to take this pen to my English classes. I hope Thoreau's spirit channels itself through the pen to make my poetry better. I can always hope, but so far no poems have magically emerged from my Walden pen.

Pros

• Simple design with understated elegance
• Fans of Henry David Thoreau would probably love this pen
• The Walden Pond ash wood and Thoreau's writing on the barrel make this pen unique
• The nib is beautiful and well-made (though I don't like the medium point and will probably send it to a nibmeister)
• For every purchase of this pen a tree will be planted at Walden Pond
• The beautiful wooden box that houses the pen can be used as a pen box with the addition of a tray (but, honestly, I'd rather just have a simple cardboard box and a lower price)

Cons

• Expensive, even on sale
• Fairly heavy pen
• The grip is metal and narrow in diameter which may make it difficult for some people to write comfortably
• Cartridge/Converter filler, which can be a plus or minus depending on your perspective, but no cartridges are supplied with the pen which seems an odd oversight
• The pen is no longer being manufactured, and remaining units are limited