When I’m in a hurry, I abandon cursive. Goodbye loops, goodbye shading, goodbye thick and thin lines that swoop and scroll into descenders, ascenders and pretenders in between. My G looks like a 6, my R can’t be bothered to close its loop like a lady.
Slow writing isn’t necessarily slow thinking. Sometimes the words repeat themselves in my head, and I merely take down the minutes of their meeting. I don’t need to rush, as they’re there when I listen to them.
Other times, though, demand speed. I chase phrases, and must write quickly or risk losing them, or having them mutate into other phrases that aren’t as palatable. Those are the times I am more desirous than attentive; when instead of accepting, I am soliciting.
Neither is better than the other. Both are good states to write in. I can tell, just by leafing through this month’s notebook, how my state of mind flip-flops from day to day. September 2, oh, that was longhand day. September 5 was block letters all the way.
My favorite fountain pens for printing have yielding, but not overly flexible nibs. These include Jenny’s gift, the Pilot 77; a Namiki (Pilot) maki-e pen from the Ukiyo-e series; the Nakaya Piccolo arai-shu; and the Tibaldi Iride.
