Writing Utensil

I usually write all of my poems by hand before typing them. Something old-school, something visceral, tangible - to feel the pen in my hand. When I was a kid, I described it like an itch - my fingers eager to create words, phrases, stories. Over the years, I've gotten less rigid about the brand of pen - my favorite was a simple bic papermate blue ink pen - solid blue, not the clear ones with blue caps. I was religious, almost superstitious about using the simple pen to craft my words - believing somehow, like a sports fan in dirty socks, that the utensil itself had a way to change the outcome - that the pen would make my words more poetic, my stories more inspiring. Now, I am far less rigid about the pens I use, grabbing whatever assorted pen from the bottom of my bag, or jacket pocket, or junk drawer - knowing that the words come from craft and practice and inspiration. That writing is a discipline and regardless of the tools, it really comes down to a combination of time and talent. Of course, I still have a proclivity for blue ink.