Being of the nerdly notebookish persuasion, I’ve long been in the habit of carrying around too many pens. Whether to the office, on my travels, or just when I’m out and about, an assortment of pens is almost always at hand, or at least nearby in the backpack as it’s nice to have an available assortment of point sizes, ink colors, and a spare or two of ones favorite pens.
I am somewhat ashamed to admit this, but for a number of years my trusty pen case was a cheap little plastic sandwich bag. It held an assortment of pens and other odds and ends and lived in the front compartment of the backpack. The pen baggie in the photo to the right has been in service about four years. While it’s waterproof and obviously durable (Are you paying attention, people at random sandwich bag company? Are you paying attention? A collaborative and lucrative bit of advertising might be in order here), it leaves something to be desired in terms of a pen case (ignore this part, people at random sandwich bag company). Completely lacking in aesthetics and organizational capacity, the pen baggie was little more than a minimalist approach to keeping pens together instead of strewn about in the bottom of a backpack and/or overcrowding a shirt pocket.
A couple months ago the decision was made to finally upgrade to a real pen case (sorry about this, people at random sandwich bag company) and after a rather extensive search I opted for the book-style case from Lihit Lab which is available from Jetpens. The series of photos below constitutes a review of sorts of this very workable pen case.
A few closing points: The Lihit Lab book-style pen case feels rugged, durable and is very well designed with oodles of storage for pens and all sorts of related paraphernalia including a pocket notebook which rather surprised me given the modest size of the case. One of the stand out design features is the case’s organization: there’s no digging around in a deep pocket for a pen; everything is laid out nicely in front of you with pens in the front half of the case and related supplies neatly arranged in the other. Remarkable product this is.
While out running errands this morning, I dropped by a local Barnes and Noble, with the purpose of killing time until a nearby market opened at 10am. After taking a very close look at Nook eReaders (which one can’t help but do since the Nook display is SO IN YOUR FACE AT THE FRONT DOOR that patrons are all but forced to climb over it to come inside1), I made a circuit from history to biography, then to travel and the discount books near the front before concluding the literary promenade in the journal/notebook/accessory area.
On the Moleskine display was an assortment of mini notebooks I initially mistook for those two-pack Volants which I’ve used from time to time. Upon closer examination of these notebooks, I noticed the curious presence of elastic closure thingies and hard back covers. Volants these were not.
“Ahhhhhhhh! Oooooooooh!,” I drooled.
“Can I help you?” croaked the shriveled yet helpful gnome peering up over the counter a short distance away.
Politely declining assistance, I plucked one of the notebooks from the shelf and examined it closely. Of the same style and construction as the regular pocket Moleskine (and presumably containing the same cheap-ass paper), these notebooks were appreciably smaller than their more familiar counterparts (measuring only 2 1/2″ x 4″), meaning a truly portable pocket notebook. As I fondled the mini-notebook, turning it this way and that and assessing its weight, there immediately sprang to mind 374 wonderful uses for the mini. A short while later I climbed back over the Nook display then ambled out the store, clutching tightly the bag of acquisitions: two mini-notebooks and one regular pocket Moleskine.
“What a hypocrite you are!” might exclaim a reader of my previous Moleskine post. “You wrote all those horrible and nasty things about Moleskine and two days later you’re buying more!” this reader might also say while hastily moving the cursor towards the little red X in the upper corner of the screen.
“My dear reader,” I might then reply.4 “I wrote no horrible and nasty things about Moleskine in the post you reference. Altogether my post was rather complimentary, save for the matter of paper quality which was merely an honest observation. As it seems you were not paying attention, I suggest you read that post again before progressing any further with this one. In fact I’ll place a clearly marked symbol immediately below to help you find your place when you return. Now run along and click the “home” button in the lower right corner of the image above. See it? Good. Afterwards, on the next screen click on “The Moleskine Confessions” and this time please read carefully.”
[o.0] <—-symbol, clearly marked
Now as I was saying, two of the mini pocket Moleskines came home with me today, despite those pesky reservations about paper quality. How and why a regular pocket Moleskine also accompanied me home…well I have no idea really, except for perhaps those reasons mentioned in “Confessions.”
“Well because you’re a notebook slut,” the reader of my previous Moleskine post might say.
“Oh you’re back,” I might then reply to the dear reader. “And this time you paid attention.”
But at any rate, as to the minis: I envision they will soon be employed in utilitarian functions for which paper quality may not be quite as important as journaling. Their size and portability open up possibilities innumerable, though admittedly it would be interesting (or pathetic, depending on one’s point of view) to put one into journaling service with two or three lines of tiny written script per printed line.
At some future point I may write a modest review of the Moleskine mini pocket notebook, considering both construction and various utilities (though probably not all 374 of them), once I put them through their paces. Until the minis are pressed into service, they wait quietly on the bookshelf until the elements of form, function, and idea coalesce and spark a meaningful experience.
1 My angst here stems not from any sort of malice harbored against eBooks.2 While I understand that product placement is an important component of business strategy, I find the obstructionist placement of the in-store Nook displays rather distasteful in addition to being a tripping hazard.
2 I own a Kindle3 which I rather enjoy though it has yet to completely replace real books.
3 Which I’ve had for a number of years.
4 If Clint Eastwood can get up and argue with a chair on national television, surely I can engage here an imaginary reader in thoughtful and instructive discourse.
From the journal entry (photo above) dated March 18, 2008 :
“…Now that the quest for the ideal notebook is over due to the discovery of Moleskine, the hunt has been reduced to finding the perfect pen…”
Thus was once my opinion of that popular little black notebook. My relationship with Moleskine had sparked to life the month prior and with the coming of spring it blossomed and grew and much joy was to be had scribbling away. Alas, happily ever after was not to be; the chill of disillusionment soon set in and the flame flickered, then grew dark. Yet, curiously, a few embers remained, smoldering just enough to allow the occasional, brief reignition- this cycle of love/hate characterizes my relationship with Moleskine.
Even after the passage of four years and ample whoring about experimentation with other notebooks lines, I am still occasionally drawn to Moleskine, despite telling myself that I’ve moved on, far better notebooks await discovery. Perhaps it’s due to Moleskine’s slick advertising (you know, the “you can be the artistic or literary heir to Picasso/Hemingway/or even Chatwin-whoever the hell he is” thing), or their ready availability compared to other notebooks -whatever the reason, the spark rekindles, I’ll purchase a Moleskine for this or that purpose and put it to use for a time, then the fire goes out and I move on…until some future fling. Try as I might to forge a meaningful and committed LTR with Moleskine, there is an element about these notebooks that is, for the lack of a better phrase, a turn-off.
Moleskine is the perfect notebook in nearly every respect. Experience has proved time and again that construction and durability are, quite frankly, first-rate. Not once have I had a moment’s trouble with the binding, the elastic band thingie, or any other physical element of Moleskine and they’ve been through some rigorous situations. From daily being carried around in my pocket or jostled about in the bottom of a backpack, to surviving two long seasons subjected to a hot and humid greenhouse, to various travels, including evading in Spain the peril of grasping Gypsies, Moleskines have always come though no worse off than the normal wear and tear one would expect. Add to their durability the wonderful fact that the notebooks lielaylie remain flat when opened PLUS the sublime appeal of their minimalist design…well what’s NOT to love about Moleskine.
Yet despite these wonderful qualities, Moleskines are lacking in perhaps the most fundamental category: paper quality. This is inevitably the deal breaker, the fatal flaw that sends me out into the streets in search of better. It’s altogether incongruous that bound within the covers of these otherwise first-rate notebooks would be such cheap paper. While it feels cheap to the touch, the real test of quality comes when putting pen to paper. The process of writing feels disagreeable, rough and even with a fine point pen and light touch the resulting shadowing is too apparent and distracting. Some of the joy of journaling is tactile and derives from that elegant and sublime interaction of a good pen on smooth, high-quality paper. Sadly, this is not the Moleskine experience. And woe unto those who attempt a fountain pen upon Moleskine paper; between the bleeding and feathering, the result can be more horrifying than the sight of the chicken who didn’t quite make it across the road.
As I was reflecting upon this post, I hauled from their quiet retirement a few pocket Moleskine journals; their duty done, their cheap-ass little pages filled. As I thumbed though the volumes I considered just how close Moleskine is to being the perfect notebook and wondered when and if the company would see fit to remedy their Achilles heel. I suppose the reality is that as long as they have their spiffy advertising (and can claim the likes of Picasso and that Chatwin guy) and enjoy their wide availability, there’s probably little incentive to improve their paper.
I suppose from time to time I too get caught up in the ideas symbolized so well by Moleskine and again embrace them with a hope that has yet to be realized.
A concern sometimes raised about micro-point pens is their tendency to skip. I’ve experienced this from time to time and it’s always frustrating to stop mid-thought to rectify the technical difficulty while the ephemeral flicker of literary inspiration, such as it is, evaporates into Ok..hmmmm…now where was I? There appears, however, to be a simple solution to reduce the frequency of, if not eliminate entirely, the skipping problem.
Have a glance at the photo in the heading of this post. Featured is a Rhodia Webnotebook (with the uber awesome dotted pages) and a Uni-ball Signo DX .28 (brown ink). The frumpy piece of paper to the lower left? A guard sheet and the solution to the skipping problem.
A simple sheet of paper between hand and notebook page seems to reduce greatly the incidence of skipping when writing with fine and micro-fine point gel pens. As one writes, a fine residue of oils, and perspiration at times, from the hand and wrist can be left on the page, thereby creating a surface that’s seemingly problematic for micro points and can lead to skipping. A barrier placed between hand and writing surface keeps the latter in the pristine condition required for micro points. Of course the concept of a guard sheet is not new; I recall reading a few years ago of its utility in the calligraphic arts. The point here is that it’s just as important a tool when using fine and micro point pens.
If you’re a micro point pen user and skipping is a concern, give the guard sheet thing a try. And as an interesting experiment: after a few days or a week of use, try writing on the guard sheet with a micro point. You’ll likely encounter more skipping than a 12th grade home room teacher during the final week of high school.
* Number 4 you ask? This is a new blog so where are Numbers 1, 2, and 3? Well…George Lucas began his epic Star Wars saga in media res with Episode IV and we all know how that turned out. It is hoped that by beginning the Writing Tip series with Number 4, Fine Points will likewise meet with an astounding success of perhaps a handful of page views and maybe a “like” before the author’s dilettante nature drags him elsewhere.
In terms of pens, the nearest I’ve come to The Grail was the discovery a few years ago of the Uni-ball Signo Bit with a .18 point which has been billed as the world’s thinnest pen capable of writing words on a grain of rice. Jetpens has a photo of this feat and it’s rather impressive. While I have yet to attempt the “writing on my food thing,” I can attest to the capabilities of this pen on paper: absolutely amazing. After putting the first experimental Signo Bit .18s though their paces -including being impressed into travel journal service while rattling around Central America under less than ideal conditions- I immediately bought several more and a box of them soon thereafter.
The Uni-ball Signo Bit .18 is, if anything, a specialty pen and may not be well-suited for everyone, especially those who tend towards a large or heavy-handed writing style. My penmanship has been assessed as somewhere between tiny, microscopic, and “WTF,” depending upon the charitable inclination of the particular observer, so the .18s feel very natural, especially when paired with good quality paper. While the .18s can at times feel a little scratchy, such is also the case with other micro-point gel pens, especially if one is writing fast, or too large, or perhaps using Moleskine cheap paper. There is a certain technique, an art if you will, for achieving a novel and pleasurable writing experience from the Signo Bit .18s. Of the specifics I’ll perhaps write to exhaustion in a later post; the purpose of the moment is the pen itself and there’s much to say, both good and..well….not bad, as there’s really nothing bad about this pen. Maybe “meh” for those qualities which aren’t good, but not necessarily bad either.
The Good: The Uni-ball Signo Bit .18s are well designed. They are both lightweight and well-balanced, with or without the cap. My preference is to write with the cap snapped onto the end of the pen as it seems to provide a slightly more balanced feel. As one would expect, the standout feature of the .18s is their capacity to write SMALL. In this respect it excels, outperforming all other micro- point pens I’ve tried, even the Sakura Pigma Micron 005 (.20mm), which has long been one of my favorites.
The Meh: The biggest drawback to the Signo Bit is its fragility. By no means is this a deal-breaker, nor exclusive to the Signo Bit line; one simply need exercise caution to avoid dropping it. If it lands point down, either capped or uncapped, the game is over. Experience has also shown that a pen landing on its side can have a detrimental effect, with some ink delivery mechanism thingie inside going all wonky, rendering the pen useless. Ink supply can be somewhat short-lived, particularly if one does a lot of writing, but such is true with a number of gel ink pen models.
And since we’re talking meh, a cautionary note: be ever so careful about lending this pen to friends, colleagues, or anyone in need, for this charitable gesture may doom your pen. While inadvertent theft is sometimes a concern as with any pen, the real danger arises from those who write as though they’re carving their name into a block of wood. The 18s are among the delicate lotus flowers of pen world and don’t hold up well to this sort of abuse. I’ve learned the hard way; more than once the final act of one of my pens has been someone else’s signature. For the well-being my .18s, I’ve since found it best to say “no” (or a polite “hell no”) when asked whether I have a pen, even if the person in need sees it clipped in my shirt pocket. Unfortunate yes, but the resulting awkward moment will pass and the .18 will live to write another day.
The Bad: OK I lied. There is one bad aspect of the .18s and it’s significant: the recent discontinuation of blue ink. When I heard of this tragedy several months ago I immediately fell into a swoon, from which I’ve yet to fully recover. Alas, only three remain in my strategic reserve. 😦
So at any rate, the Signo Bit .18 is a wonderful pen and the nearest to perfect I’ve come across to date. While I use it daily, it’s not a general use pen, being reserved primarily for journal writing or situations where small writing may be preferred (such as jotting notes in the margin of a book); however, I can easily envision other, perhaps more creative uses, such as writing ridiculously small notes for colleagues.
Colleague: “A note that you wanted to see me? What note? I didn’t get a note.”
Me: “Look. It’s right there on your desk.”
Colleague: “What? That’s not a note. It looks like….I dunno….like a grain of rice.”