Handwritten Part 1

"Write each vocabulary word three times". The instructions were simple, but these six words were responsible for hours of unspeakable horror. Of course, all of the words were to be written in cursive, in pencil, and on the cheapest newspaper print that a public school could afford. I hated cursive.

I hated cursive because I had terrible handwriting. My loops were overly large and my letters were inconsistent in every sense of the word. I started using print as soon as my teachers allowed, and my shameful signature is all that remains from the days of scribbling vocabulary words over and over.

This is the best signature that I can muster.

My terrible handwriting has always been a sore spot, but I've been able to avoid it, largely due to the digital world in which we live. I've taken all of my work notes in Evernote for the first three years of my job and hardly ever put pen the paper. Even when I wrote for the, now defunct, AppStorm blog network, all of my work lived and died in the digital world.

I discovered The Pen Addict podcast a little over a year ago, during the launch of Relay.FM, a podcast network. I love tech podcasts and was browsing the catalog for new shows when I discovered a podcast solely devoted to pens and stationary. Who in their right mind would create or, even worse, listen to an audio podcast about pens and paper? Nearly 170 episodes later I've listen to every single episode at least twice. Although I owned zero fountain pens and mostly took notes via an iPad, I was enamored with the passion with which Brad Dowdy and Myke Hurley talked about their geeky hobby (perhaps lifestyle is a better word). As a teacher I've grown to appreciate the willingness to explore and the unapologetic obsession that comes along with discovering something that you love, and Myke and Brad are certainly in love with pens and paper. I began to think that there was something to this analog lifestyle.

There are many excellent blogs devoted to pens and stationary, many of which have at least one article touting the benefits of handwritten note taking. The more I looked into it, the more it seemed to boil down to the fact that handwritten note taking is a much more complex task for the brain. It forces the writer to analyze and summarize content, instead of just regurgitating it out through the fingers and into a keyboard.

Aside from the memory benefits, many blogs also mention that fountain pens can help with poor handwriting. Before you cringe at that last statement, I should underline the use of "can help with" not "will eliminate". It takes time to adjust to a fountain pen, especially when coming from a world of Bic sticks. This can result in slower, more intentional writing, instead of scribbling as fast as the words come to mind. Fountain pens also seem to require less pressure, and writing with a light touch produces a more fluid outcome.

The case was made and I was convinced that I should start taking handwritten notes. Rewarding myself with cool new toys always helps with forming habits, so I decided to purchase a fountain pen. It's not as easy as it sounds, considering the thousands of options available. My requirements were simple, and this helped to narrow the choices. I wanted something that was less than $30, easy to maintain, and on the skinny side. I turned to my beloved Pen Addict podcast to help me make the choice. The Pilot Metropolitan and Lamy Safari rose to the top as I listened to the podcast and browsed other pen blogs. I fell in love with the Safari's unique look, compared to the more traditional Metropolitan. I found this page and the list Top 5 Fountain Pens Under $50 and finally decided on a Safari. If little German school children could handle this pen, then so could I. I ordered a black fine-nib version. This was going to be my workhorse pen, so I didn't want something that was too flashy.

Lamy Safari Fountain Pen capped. The clip is extremely strong and resilient.

Lamy Safari Fountain Pen posted. I love the triangular grip!

My bundle of joy arrived in a little slim box, and I was off to the races, or so I thought. I snapped in the ink cartridge and was prepared to begin writing my manifesto.

Nothing…

I waited a minute, scribbled, and still nothing. I turned to the internet for help. Tapping the pen didn't work, nor did letting it sit for an hour. I finally stumbled upon a video that showed how to squeeze a cartridge to get things flowing.

Victory!

Notice the ink slick where the nib meets the barrel? 

I scribbled around for a bit, capped the pen, then put it in my work bag. I was actually excited to go to work! The first meeting of the day brought major disappointment. I posted my pen and began writing. I noticed huge ink smudges on my fingers from ink that had welled up on the plastic at the base of the nib. Maybe I overfilled it?

I continued using the pen regularly for a week, making sure to keep my fingers up on the grip and away from the inky mess that waited below. The pen was out of ink by the end of the week, with less than a few hours worth of writing time. Something wasn't right. My new hobby was quickly converting into a giant messy bummer.

Notice the green discoloration from the T&T review? I noticed similar discoloration on my pen from dried ink.

I refilled my pen after my bottle of Noodler's ink arrived but it continued to leak around the base of the nib. Perhaps this is what all fountain pens do? Maybe this is normal? Shawn Blanc's site Tools and Toys posted an excellent writeup about fountain pens, including my beloved Lamy Safari. I noticed that the reviewer had the same barrel discoloration but didn't mention leaking in his review. Apparently this was normal, or so I thought. I removed the Safari from my bag and put it on the shelf. So much for my new hobby. Fountain pens were just too messy.

Would this be the end of my fountain pen journey? The answer was somewhere on the other side of the world.

To Be Continued...

Camping Trip

I stood on the creek shore, holding our family dog by the collar. My dad and brother made their way across the raging creek to the midway point where the engine of the tiny motor boat sputtered and died. I can remember their faces slip from smiles to frowns as they slowly started to drift sideways. I wanted to laugh, but I knew that my brother couldn't swim. Although he was probably in his 20's at the time, the water was just deep and angry enough to present a real danger.

We regrouped on the shore a few harrowing minutes later, anchored the boat, and made our way to the barn with our gear. It felt like hours to me, but I spent most of my days inside playing video games so I wasn't the best judge of outdoor time. We spent the night camping in an old flooded-out camper, which had been bleached and declared "good as new". It wasn't either of those things. The camper sat inside of an old red barn, in the middle of a field.

It poured for the entire day, so we sat inside and watched the dog trudge across the field, only visible by the shifting weeds. My brother brought along a medical crate, full of composition books and Pilot Precise V5's. I was obsessed with my brother, 15 or so years my senior, and his cool hobbies. He was an artist by skill and emotion and was always trying something new. I still have a love for the V5's, all because my brother used them to write in the old cloroxed camper that weekend. He wrote and wrote as the composition books filled with crisp black ink. I was certain that he would be a famous author, painter, or combination of the two someday.

I wanted to be just like my older brother but doubted that I could ever be that talented, as if talent was some God-given skill that couldn't be achieved with practice. I begged my parents for some fancy pens and a composition book, not just a spiral notebook that could be purchased for a few cents at the drug store. I kept a journal, somewhat akin to Harriet the Spy's, full of observations about classmates, family, and friends. I like to think that my love of writing was born in that little red barn, as I watched my brother scribble furiously, using ideas as bricks to build his own new world. Writing has always been on the same shelf as painting and other forms of artistic expression in my mind, and I still yearn to be able to produce something worthy of consumption.

I'm thankful to my brother for instilling this love of art and creative pursuits. I learned more about the other, less admirable, parts of his life as I grew up. He's since disappeared for years at a time and is currently off of the grid. I hope for his sake that he sorts out his life someday, but despite his imperfections he has had a profoundly positive impact on me. Sometimes I wish that I could dust off my kid glasses, in my case large and tortoise-shelled, and go for one last camping trip.

Baby Steps

The student stared at his feet as he sat in the waiting room. I rounded the corner and called out his name (we'll pretend it's Bill for the sake of this post). He didn't respond verbally, but stood up and followed me down the hall, without a hello or acknowledgement of my existence.

He sat across from me and stared awkwardly at the corner of my bookshelf, somewhere up and to the right of my head. No eye contact. Communication on his end was sparse, aside from a few "yeahs" and head nods. He was certainly a "good" student, but just couldn't seem to get the words out. It was my job to help this guy successfully navigate the internship application process, develop a polished resume, nail his interviews and eventually find a job, and he wouldn't even speak or look at me. I knew it would be a tough road, and he was certainly representative of the 20% of students who would need 80% of my time.

The job search was painfully slow, but salvation appeared in the form of a research position that required tons of technical skills but few communication skills. Four months later, the same student showed up in my office, sat down, made direct eye contact, and said "hello." I needed a forklift to hoist my jaw from the floor.

The ability to hold a basic conversation is a given to many, but for him it took work. Even though his communication skills were still below par, they were certainly leaps and bounds above his skills when he left for the work term. This student's progress helps me through the rough days where I wonder why I chose this profession. Every year I work with hundreds of stellar students who work for top notch companies, but for some reason I consider the guy who learned to make eye contact and say "hello" to be one of the most successful students in the program.

My colleagues and I often talk about meeting students where they are and measuring success by the distance travelled, not by the final destination. Although I teach this way, I have trouble applying it to my personal life. As a junior educator, I understand that learning is a lengthy and individual process, but as a human I immediately expect success in my work and to perform on the same level as my senior peers. Of course the work and breadth of knowledge of a three year newbie won't come close to that of a thirty year veteran, but I tend to be hard on myself when it doesn't stack up. It's easy to see the results of thirty years of work, but it's harder to understand and accept that it takes thirty years to get there. Deep down I understand this, but sometimes it helps to be reminded. Just as I attempt to meet students where they are, I need to do the same for myself.

A Better Beginning

Welcome to A Better Desk, a chronicle of one man's journey to become a slightly happier, friendlier, and more productive human.

A Better Desk comes at a time in my life when carefully crafted workflows are ripping at the seams and a hectic work life has left me in need of an outlet. Writing is ever present in my life, but lately it has been restricted to cranking out emails and meeting agendas. I'm eager to reclaim a bit of myself and my passion for writing, and I hope to make a few friends along the way. In the end, this blog is therapy for me, and I have no delusions of becoming rich and famous from my online ramblings. Cyril Connolly writes, "Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self," and I've learned through experience that this is the only way to write.

Thanks for tuning in.