I know, I know, I still haven't finished writing about Christmas. I'm sure most of you don't care. But I will finish anyway, at some point. This morning, though, I've been learning to write.

While he was moving my stuff, my brother felt completely free to comment on most of my things, one of which was a gorgeous sterling pen and ink set I bought as a Christmas present to myself when we were in Paris last year.

pen and ink

He asked when I'd last used it - if, in fact, I'd ever used it. Well, I had used it, but he may have had a point that it hadn't been for a while. So, this morning I decided to open it up and relearn proper writing. Several hours of online instruction and practice later (doesn't time fly when you're having fun?) I have mastered the art of getting ink all over my fingers - and, worryingly, it's not coming out with soap - and also writing better. The below is one of my practice pieces, the beginning of a poem by Courtney Kuchta.

If I could have just one wish

So there we go James, I do use my pen. Sometimes.

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