A year ago, I was talking to a colleague of mine about the need for a pen pen.
His friend and colleague had an amazing pen.
I couldn’t stop thinking about how the best pen I owned was the pen I wanted.
I had to have one.
A pen is a device that lets you write.
It lets you draw, it lets you play, it tells you stories, it connects you to a world of things.
It lets you communicate with other people, you connect to a global community, it allows you to think creatively.
I bought a pen and began experimenting with writing with it.
I made a little sketchbook that I used to sketch on my laptop, or I wrote notes on the wall, I did a little bit of all of those things.
I tried to figure out what it was that made it so great, and I found that I liked writing with a pen, and that was when I realized that my best pen would be the pen that I would use the most with it, which is a pencil.
I would always have my favorite pen with me.
I had bought a few of the cheapest pens in my neighborhood, and while I could always buy a better one, it seemed like I had a good shot at finding one I could live with, one that I could actually love.
I started a Facebook page to post pictures of my pen collection, and after about two years of posts and photos, I had sold the pen.
“I love this pen, I love it so much!”
I posted on the page.
“I just bought this pen!
I love the pen, it’s perfect for writing!”
I wrote, trying to sound as excited as possible.
It wasn’t long before my friend who had purchased a pen wrote back, “But wait, you wrote this blog about how amazing your pen is!”
And my friend wrote back to say, “You have to be kidding me!
How could I possibly write like that about a pen?”
I was completely floored.
The pen I had been spending so much time with, that I had never even had a chance to touch it, that had never been touched by a human, that was the only thing I could write about with it and I was so excited to use it with the greatest pen I own, was a pen I could never live with.
It was an experience that I never thought I would ever have to live with and I wasn’t going to be able to live without.
I thought back to my friends post.
I thought back about how excited I was to try something new with my pen.
I thought about how great it felt to be so lucky.
I was still in my twenties and I hadn’t had a pen for years, and my friends comment that they were impressed with my new pen, my new approach to writing.
I was happy, I thought, and so was I. When I was sixteen, my friend took me to a book signing.
She bought a book called “The Art of Writing”, which is written by the legendary Stephen King.
She brought it with her.
I didn’t know what she was talking about.
As we were talking, I could see that this book was being signed by Stephen King, which I was very excited about.
I went over to the table and asked, “Why is this book being signed?”
“Because Stephen King’s book is about writing,” my friend explained.
“How do I know that?”
After a moment, my mom replied, “Stephen King is the best.”
I have never been so happy to be a human.
I had finally found a way to express my love for writing.
There was a time when I felt I needed a pen to express that.
I wanted to express what I felt was my writing, and the only way I could do that was by spending hours writing on a computer.
Stephen had a book with an appendix, called The Art Of Writing.
I found out that the first part of the book, the introduction, was written with a pencil and that I needed to write with a different pen for the rest of the work.
To be honest, I didn.
I could barely write without a pen on my computer.
I hated that the pen was not a part of what I wrote.
I just hated the feeling of not having it.
And yet, I wanted that pen.
I wanted it to be the one I would be using the most.
I never wanted to stop using my pen, so I bought a new one.
I put it on my desk, I used it, and it was wonderful.
This experience has been invaluable.
In the first five years of my life, I started writing with my writing pen.
As I grew older, I