The other morning I woke up thinking about paper.
I remember writing on lined paper, the Hilroy notebooks in elementary school for social sciences and reading logs, and their packs of loose leaf paper that could be organised in metal three ring binders for high school classes. A few years ago, I started writing on blank unlined paper, in landscape, with boxed headers placed across the page. This was a good way to write because I find linear writing challenging, it takes a long time to write emails, there is cutting and pasting of entire paragraphs to different locations in the body of the message to produce a logical presentation of thoughts.
As someone who likes writing, I would have thought I would want to write on good, high quality paper, but I simply like bad paper better.
Good paper tends to be thick and creamy, the G. Lalo paper used for writing notes to others has these qualities. But for ideas, notes, lists, the majority of daily writing activities, there is strong partiality for bad paper. The best one comes from a spiral bound notebook, the brand is perhaps Selectum, found at the dollar store. Recently I was at Walmart and picked up a 97 cent Composition notebook, it's great, I tear the pages out from the middle.
The thing about cheap, bad paper is that it's thin. Writing on this paper over a flat piece of marble, granite, glass, or hardwood, the pen remains on top of the surface, it does not sink. I avoid writing on surfaces that have texture (wooden tables with ripples, plastic ones that are pebbled), as they produce uneven letters. I also try to minimise writing in notebooks, over layers of pages. Yes, it's particular, but there is something about the pen sinking into the paper, producing thicker letters, that I do not like. The combination of thin paper and a marble surface produces writing that is precise and fine. It mimics the effect of pencil and I suppose this is the personal aesthetic that appeals most. I recall one year at university, in chemistry labs we submitted our reports in pen and the teaching assistant handed back one report because he thought it was in pencil.
The other contributing element of this pencil-like appearance of writing is the pen. I can't remember when I first started to use these, either in middle school or in high school, I might call up my friend S and ask her at some point, as she is the only person I know who also has a strong and particular fondness for the Pentel RSVPs, specifically the 0.7mm in fine point. The black one is key, the blue is sometimes in use, and I also have the red, green, and purple ones. When we lived together in Toronto, S would sometimes receive these from work, and we would pick out all the fine points and leave the medium ones. We both moved to Europe and jokingly, but with a slight undertone of 'but no, seriously', discussed how we couldn't find these in London or Paris. Last year, on a trip back from North America, S visited me in Paris and showed up with a box of 20 pens, quite an excellent gift, and I am set for the next several years. I sometimes think about stocking up, but I'm not sure how long ballpoint pens can last, does the ink dry out? I hope they don't discontinue these.
Naturally I have picked up and tried out other pens. Before Muji came to Canada, I came across their gel pens in Hong Kong. At one point I had a Parker pen but am not sure where it is now. I remember a blue medium point Bic pen writing well on a stack of paper and may one day try that combination again. But as far as standards go, it is the RSVP to which I return. They last an incredibly long time, I suppose a hallmark of most ballpoint pens, and I have managed to finish a few, the rare ones that don't go missing or become lost before then. When people ask to borrow a pen, I try to keep some other pens around for this very occasion, but if I have no others handy and am obliged to give the RSVP, I do my best to remain casual about it, while keeping track of it and sometimes preparing a polite face and going to ask for its return. I know, it's a bit awkward to ask for a pen back, but it would be useless to deny the attachment I have for these, and my mind would not let it be. There is something about the hours and words and markings that bring you to the end of the ink.