Little joys

I'm back to drafting the PhD novel at a respectable rate, with the reasonable hope that it will be finished in time for its autumn deadline and Henry won't have to give me that look again. It's getting to the really satisfying all-the-bits-come-together point that sometimes results in entire days being unintentionally devoted to writing. Which means that I've used up a lot of ink. So about a month ago I went online to try and replace my ink, since the only place I've found ink I like in person is in Oxford, and I really needed to lay in some new converters as I have a bad habit of cracking mine. Besides accidentally expanding my pen collection, I also found out that it is possible to buy syringes of the right size to refill cartridges.

If you want to know how I did it before, the answer is 'messily' - given the viscosity of ink, a single drop is too big to fit through the hole in a standard cartridge. 

From there, it was only a matter of time before I realised that this would let me really have fun with mixing my own ink colours. Purists may pitch as many fits as they want, the results are seriously good enough to eat, and nothing I can get pre-mixed. The table is a mess, and all of my handkerchiefs are stained, but it is a wonderfully satisfying little side-hobby. And the manuscript has turned into a rainbow.

To answer the question of why I swap colours so much - swapping pens every page or so keeps my hand from cramping, since they're all slightly different sizes and grips. They all flow differently as well, and some days only certain ones feel right. Is it weird? Probably. Does it let me write for several hours at a stretch without a break? Definitely. Do I have a fountain pen problem? Ask Dave.