I'm beginning to suspect that my fountain pen is really not full of ink but something else. A dark, gritty swirl of God-knows-what*, often threatening, sometimes disarming, cuter than death, definitely tickly.
What's in your pen?
*God-knows-what is also a great name for a chapter. So says Mary DeYon, who is writing a memoir summed up thusly: shy Catholic girl becomes bad-ass salesman.