I am becoming a stereotype

The more time I spend writing and living as a writer, the more I resemble stereotypes of writers. Not the crazy writer stereotype, but the distracted writer, too wrapped up in my head to quite pay attention to daily life.

Once I've taken care of kids and the renovation, I'm done with practicalities. I forget where I need to be tomorrow, or where I was last week, and what the event was called. I stand in the back entry, wondering what I've walked back there for. I don't lose track of my glasses – not yet – but that's only because they're on my nose.

I've also developed a thing about pens. I once heard a writer asked "What pen do you use?" and it seemed like a terrible waste of a question. Not any more – I've become fanatical about pens. Signing pens need to be felt-tipped, black, with a lovely flow. But that's a terrible pen for writing. Felt-tipped pens put too much ink on the page, making my writing even more illegible than it already is. So it's ball-point for me, but never one that blots. Cheap, because I lose them. Click, because I lose the caps. Not too fat or too thin, because both cramp my hand. And the tip has to be angled just right, to keep my fingers from creeping forward. I feel like Goldilocks, searching for the perfect pen.

I buy them by the box, and I make sure family pens are different, so if I find one of my pens lurking around the house, I can reclaim it. Usually rather forcefully. Don't mess with my pens. Except when I'm too distracted to notice.

Maureen