“The pen is mightier than the sword.” -Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton
Pens are amazing harbingers of change. New governments arrive through pens. Laws enacted and signed. Stories told. Worlds imagined come alive. A point rolling across paper, using friction to spread ink from a tube. Words bloom into sentences, springing forth a garden of communication or laying weeds and vines into the minds of the unsuspecting.
“The pen is the tongue of the mind.” – Horace
The pen, an inanimate object, is an extension of the user. In the hand of a writer it is both animated and animator. A conduit bridging the gap between the imagined and real. Fingers caress and mold to the tube’s curve. Oneness of soul and tool. Like a sculptor’s chisel, a carpenter’s hammer, a musician’s instrument, or a painter’s brush; a writer’s pen is the escape route for pent up passion, anger, excitement, curiosity, depression, happiness, confusion, disillusionment, enlightenment, and any other emotion tearing at the artist’s heart and mind.
“To hold a pen is to be at war.” – Voltaire
I am the pen, and the pen is I. It yearns to create, to manufacture that which is not physical into something tangible to be held. To be read, and in doing so, to be brought to life. However, an enemy waits at the gate, prepared for battle against the creative. Disrupting the energy flowing to the pen, the enemy takes away the channels of communication from mind to outlet. Dams of corrupting self-doubt bring frustration, loathing, disgust, and hesitation. A war of emotions rage inside as the creative battles the inner enemy.
But the pen waits, ready to be used.