Category Archives: Pens

Levenger Sunset Fountain Pen By Stipula

It’s really depressing when you open a purchase and your first thought is “How the hell am I going to get this fixed?”

This happened to me when I bought a pen from online retailer Levenger. The pen was the Levenger “Sunset” made by Italian pen maker Stipula. It had sterling silver decorations on top of blue cracked ice acrylic and that made it look vaguely like R2-D2. I liked the look and I liked the Italian pedigree and liked that it was priced to sell after a huge price drop.

This is not R2-D2 and that’s a sunburst logo not a sunset.

When I got it the first thing I noticed was the silver was tarnished. I emailed Levenger and their reaction was “Yeah, how about that.” In their defense, it wasn’t worth anyone’s effort or money to ship back to the USA for polishing and then have it shipped back to Japan.

I was also surprised that the word “Stipula” appeared nowhere on the pen. It only says “Made in Italy” under the Levenger Sunset inscription on the barrel to prove it wasn’t made by Levenger’s normal manufacturer.

I started using it and immediately liked the larger size. It’s 11.7 millimeters (just under half an inch) at the grip section and unposted it’s 5.4 inches (137 mm) long. Posted it’s an absurd 6.5 inches (166 mm). With the cap posted it’s too long to use comfortably.

The pen and cap. I like that cracked ice acrylic a lot.

The pen and cap. I like that cracked ice acrylic. The photos, unfortunately, don’t do it full justice.

A size comparison with my Cross Century. Note the scuff marks on the shoulders of the nib.

As I started using it I noticed that although it was a smooth writer–it’s a Rhodium plated 14 carat gold nib–it had an annoying problem. As I wrote, one of the tines would click out of place and I’d have to hold the pen slightly sideways to get an even ink flow. If I turned the pen over and pushed lightly I could hear the tine click back into place.

This became annoying enough that I finally put it way for a few years until last year when I sent it off to Mike Masuyama for work. He fixed the tines and smoothed the nib and it’s now one of my favorite pens. Despite its size it’s light and a pleasure to write with. It currently has Aurora blue ink in it which makes it even smoother.

The only remaining annoyance is caused by the silver plating. To accommodate the silver pattern and the sunburst (it’s not a sunset) on the cap, the clip had to be moved down the cap and this means the slot for the nib is small. Also, there’s a lot of metal inside there and it has to be cleaned frequently or it starts to corrode. Over time I’ve scratched the shoulders on the nib. It doesn’t hurt the writing experience, but I also have to be careful that everything’s centered when I put the cap back on or I risk mangling the nib.

That said, I’m pleased that after several years the pen finally became a purchase worth getting and something worth keeping.

The nib and cap. You can see the Levenger logo and the scuffs on the nib shoulders.

Retro 51 200 Series Fountain Pen–Twenty-One Year Review

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I bought a pen in 1994 that I wouldn’t like very much until 2014.

Soon after I moved to Oxford, Mississippi to work on my Ph.D., an acquaintance of mine opened a shop that was way ahead of its time (i.e. doomed to fail) and featured items that wouldn’t be trendy for another ten to fifteen years.

I helped out by buying a dark green Retro 51 fountain pen. I liked the look and liked that it was heavier than my old Cross Century. The grip section wasn’t much thicker, but the barrel was and the extra weight made it much more comfortable to hold.

It turned out I didn’t like much else about the pen, though. The wood pen coffin it came in was cool, but it didn’t lock closed. If I grabbed the coffin incorrectly, I dumped the pen on the desk. I also didn’t like that it couldn’t hold two small standard international ink cartridges. (One installed, one backwards in reserve.)

Also, although the cap was apparently designed to be posted, it had to be pushed on hard to get it to stay. The cap flipped off several times when I was writing. Without the cap it was too small to use comfortably.

I could have forgiven that, though, if the nib had been better. I always found the steel M nib scratchy and dry. After several months of use and attempting to like it, I ended up switching back to my Cross Century (until I discovered the Pilot Vanishing Point).

Also, almost as soon as I started using it regularly, it got chips in the enamel paint, exposing the brass underneath. Even worse, the gold plating on the clip and the band started wearing off.

I stored the Retro 51 and almost literally let it rot as I didn’t bother cleaning it much before putting it in storage.

Here you can see the corrosion and the size.

Here you can see the size and the corrosion from all the years of neglect.

Detail of the lost gilding and the Retro 51 Logo. This all used to be shiny.

Me being me, I took it out of storage after 10 years or so and tried to use it. Me being me, I dropped it and left it with a nice hook style nib. Me being me I put it back in storage until I heard via the Pen Addict of a nibmeister named Mike Masuyama. Because I had another fountain pen/questionable purchase that needed nib work, I decided to send the Retro 51 along for repair. (More on the other pen in another post.)

Mike Masuyama did a great job on both pens and the Retro 51, after twenty years, finally entered my regular pen rotation.

Now, however, the pen is going back in storage. It’s too small to use for a long time and I have other pens I like better. I’m still annoyed it won’t carry two cartridges and that it won’t accept standard sized converters.

I may still have the annoying wood coffin, but I have no idea where it is. That’s also me being me.

A wider size comparison showing the cap posted.

Cross Century “Classic” Fountain Pen Long Term Review

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I used to claim, back when I was in school, that I’d never thrown out a pen. This was not because of hoarding tendencies, but because I would always lose them long before they’d run out of ink.

Then, sometime in the early 80’s, my father got a pen and pencil set from Cross that included a fountain pen he didn’t want and he passed it to me. The first hit was free and I was immediately hooked. I kept that pen longer than any other pen I’d ever owned and actually used.

Eventually, of course, I lost it but somehow (student loans) managed to replace it guaranteeing that my student loans were spent on at least one thing that was useful.

My oldest fountain pen and maybe the only useful thing purchased with my student loans.

I used the Cross Century all through college and graduate school and am still impressed by how neat my notes were when I used it. It also survived two years in Albania with the Peace Corps.

I was partial to blue-black ink although I tended to cycle from blue to blue-black to black to blue quite regularly. It has a gold plated steel medium nib that was always very smooth and the black matte coating on the barrel looked cool–I’ve never been a fan of the gold and silver versions–and kept it from getting too many finger prints.

I used it until I bought a Retro 51 200 series and then used it some more when I didn’t like the Retro 51 as much as I thought I would. I didn’t replace it until I moved on to harder stuff: Pilot Vanishing Points. Even after that, I used it a bit, but eventually it got tucked away in a box.

A couple years ago, out of nostalgia, I broke out the Cross Century, cleaned it and re-inked it. I immediately began to wonder what I saw in it. It is surprisingly thin, much thinner than I remembered. In fact, it’s about the same thickness as most woodcase pencils. After several attempts to writing something longer than a signature, I cleaned it and returned it to the case.

The Cross Century next to a Levenger and a Palomino Blackwing.

The Cross Century next to a Levenger pencil and a Palomino Blackwing.

Now, after almost 30 years, I’m thinking about getting rid of it. I don’t see myself ever using it again and there’s no point in keeping it if it’s just going to stay in a box.

I’ll either sell it or pass it on to one of my daughters and see if I can get her hooked.

Pilot/Namiki Vanishing Point “Faceted Version” Long-Term Review

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It took me 20 years to write today’s review.

I don’t remember which one I got first, but I think it was the Pilot. I seem to remember getting it back when I was at graduate school at Ole Miss in 1995. I got the Namiki right after I moved to Japan in 1996. The latter came in a fancy pen coffin with enough room for three pens. Me being me, I got them both in basic black, although I wish I’d thought to get a different color.

The Namiki and the Pilot. Only the names have changed.

The Namiki and the Pilot in the coffin. Only the names have changed.

In the end, though, it doesn’t matter what order I got them, because they’re both basically the same pen with the same strengths and structural weaknesses.

As I’ve written before, my fountain pen history moved from a Cross Century to a GoldenStar 711 to a Retro 51 200 series before a friend introduced me to the Vanishing Point.

VPs are rather strange at first. The built-in clip takes some getting used to, but I found the “facted version” of the pen to be thin and light enough that I didn’t have any problem adjusting to it. I’ve used both pens enough that I’ve worn slight dents in the clips l where my index finger rested.

Oddly, when I switched back to regular fountain pens I found myself rolling the pen in ways I couldn’t with the VP. One advantage of the built-in clip is you always hold your pen correctly, at least if you are right-handed.

There’s also a charm to being able to click the pen into use rather than fiddling with a twist cap and posting and hoping you don’t lose the cap and then fiddling with the cap again and then doing it all over when you realize that in all the fiddling you forgot to write something down.

The VP nibs are terrific. I prefer the thicker Medium–that nib and Pilot Blue/Black ink is still one of my favorite pen and ink combinations–but had very few complaints about the Fine except the way it got scratchy on cheap paper. I otherwise never had any problems with them, even though I used them for almost 20 years and tended to flush them infrequently (once every five years or so, give or take).

The only complaint I’ve had in those 20 years was structural. The barrels on both pens–specifically the part with the “nock”–cracked over time. I suspect that it was partly a combination of over-tightening, being tossed in bags and occasional, sudden flights to the floor. It’s also partly the result of questionable design as the “female” threads are cut directly in the plastic and there’s no metal ring reinforcing them even though they are tightening over metal “male” threads on the pen body. (That sentence didn’t seem dirty until I wrote it.)

Several years ago, during a trip to one of the Tokyo pen shows, I asked the Pilot booth if it was possible to repair the pens. They referred me to the pen section of the store where the show was taking place. The clerk took both pens and sent them off to Pilot Pens which managed to find a replacement barrel for one. The other remains cracked and retired and I’ve always claimed I got the last replacement barrel in Japan. (It seems they were only out of black, though. I could have got another color.)

Eventually I replaced the “faceted versions” with a modern VP made of metal. I like the new style, and will review it some day, but nothing beats the sleek look of the “faceted” VPs. They are works of art.

Still good looking, even after 19 of use.

Still sleek and good looking, even after 20 years of use.

Making Your Time Thing is Not a Waste of Time

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Any close analysis of it will tell you that I think too much about calendars.

I’ve written before how, after years of trying to find the perfect calendar, I gave up and started constructing my own. There is a certain feeling of accomplishment that you’re carrying something you made. The feeling lasts until you realize how much time you wasted making something that was supposed to keep you from wasting time.

That feeling goes away quickly, though, I’ve found.

My main problem is that I inevitably find flaws even with the calendars I made myself. For the past few years I’ve used an A4 sized calendar made from A3 paper. I printed a 12 day pattern on both sides then folded and sewed them together. Being a masochist at heart, apparently, I wrote all the dates in by hand. A smart person would learn how to let the computer enter all the dates, but if you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, well, yeah, you know how smart I actually am.

Next week's schedule. Guess where I'll be on or around the weekend.

Next week’s schedule on this year’s calendar. Guess where I’ll be on or around the 27th.

I like the 12 day format because I can write a lot in each day, but can’t write too much. I also like that I can get a full year in only seven or eight pages making it easy to carry.

The problem is that with the old system I didn’t have any overview of the year. I found myself turning the page and suddenly remembering the special event listed the very next day. Also, because the calendars are center bound and I just fold a page over, flipping and unfolding to find a past date can look a lot like black belt level origami (knowing Japan, that almost certainly exists).

What I’ve done this year is put 12 days on one page and left the back side blank. I’ve added full year calendar at the front and a monthly special events calendar behind that. I’ve then added card stock covers and left-bound it all with staples and gaffer’s tape. It makes the book thicker, but I suspect it will be a lot easier to use. I can also use facing pages for notes and random scribbles.

This format also gives me covers to scribble and doodle on.

I’ve backed it all up on computer (Google Calendar) so I can keep track of things when I’m not carrying the big book.

At least that’s how it all works this year. Next year, I’ll probably try something different.

Have fun now, because your days are probably numbered. No pun intended.

My Daily Log Book is Not My Blog

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When I want to, I can draw. I can also have neat penmanship when I want to. The trouble is, most of the time I just can’t be bothered.

As I’ve written before, I’ve had the same problem with keeping a daily diary. I’ve started valiantly many times but then slowly but surely abandoned the daily entries and, inevitably, abandoned the notebook with at least one third of the pages empty.

This year, as a way to try something different (last year’s project was this blog) and to use up thick notebooks that no longer interest me, I’ve decided to keep a daily log.

The difference between the log and a diary is that rather than writing a summary of the day when I’m too tired to care, a log is filled in throughout the day. I keep track of the weather, work, my various layers of crankiness and all my meals.

Every now and then I have an actual accomplishment to record.

I also like the log because it gives me an excuse to keep several pens inked and actually have an excuse to use them. It also gives me an excuse to use a Muji notebook I’ve had in storage for a few years.

To make the log different than anything I’ve done before, I’ve decided to sketch out the weather as silly cartoons.

More interesting than an actual weather report.

The little cartoons aren’t great and my handwriting, especially if I don’t support the thin side enough, is worse. Still, it’s a lot of fun and it helps get a notebook that I know I wouldn’t use otherwise out of storage and into use.

There is a problem with bleedthrough on the Muji paper, but I learned to embrace that a long time ago. I even found a philosophical way to justify it:

The words in the cloud seem more profound than they really are. Chicken rice is the proof of that.

The log is still a work in progress and I’m going to add more sketches as I go along. Lately I’ve also been adding a short summary of the day at the end.

The problem is, once I’m done, the notebook will go into a different storage area. But at least it will have been used.

In With the New; Now What With the Old?

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I have a problem with notebooks.

As problems go, a notebook problem is not a huge problem, but it’s still a problem.

All though I tend to prefer to write things down as it gives me an excuse to buy pens, one of the problems I have with analogue notebooks is that once I finish them I still have them.

I then have the problem about what to do with them.

I have this problem with books too, but I rarely have to go back through a book and decipher my handwriting. Although, in all fairness, there are some cryptic notes in the handful of textbooks I kept. For example: LitCrit; B.S. P.H.D; and 8 Wombats Live. The first, I think, was a comment on a character’s comment that sounded like something from literary criticism; the second was my reaction to someone’s literary criticism (the P.H.D. means “Piled Higher and Deeper” you can guess what B.S. means); and the latter I think must have been some graffiti I saw somewhere and then scribbled in the margin of the book. Or it’s a band name I thought of. Or it’s an actual band. I don’t remember.

With books though, as long as I’ve not marked them up too heavily, I can always sell them off or give them away. With notebooks, though, I have to find a way to save the few snippets that I wrote down that are actually worth saving. I can photograph them and upload them to Evernote but that still leaves me the problem of finding stuff on my computer or on my phone whilst hoping the batteries don’t run out. Even searchable storage reaches a critical mass of “that’s too much mass” to be useful.

I can also transcribe the notes into a computer but that means I have to come face to face with my handwriting.Then there’s still the problem of critical mass and easy searching.

That, however, isn’t as bad as what I actually find in my notebooks, especially the thicker ones I’ve kept around for years. There are the false profundities scribbled haphazardly during a commute. There are also the moments that seemed like a really good idea but I don’t remember where I was going with them. For example “I can’t believe I’m here writing for the sole purpose of making a mess” seems like a really catchy opening line, for something. As is “The disaster is now the backdrop. The people only props” which I think I wrote after the earthquake and tsunami in 2011. The trouble is I didn’t date it or add any context.

Lately I’ve been doing daily or weekly transcriptions. This lets me enter the material while it’s still fresh, but that can steal time from real work.

Then there’s the final problem: throwing the notebooks out or storing them. I’d prefer to store them, as thumbing through the old notes can be inspiring, but storing them requires space. Now that I’m using smaller notebooks, it’s easier to transcribe them and throw them out, but there’s still a part of me that thinks I might need that someday.

Lots of Pens Without Much Passion

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A cute Japanese lady almost convinced me to buy a pen, but I told her I couldn’t.

Actually I said I’d have to think about it and then asked if they’d still be around on Monday.

Today was the 16th Mitsukoshi Fountain Pen Festival at Mitsukoshi Department Store in Downtown Tokyo. (It’s two blocks from where the Maruzen World Fountain Pen Fair took place last week.)

Last year when I went I was underwhelmed at what I found. Today I was only slightly more whelmed.

Today was helped by the presence three of Japans’ small fountain pen makers: Nakaya, Ohashido and Eboya (more on them later). I also like that the Mitsukoshi Festival has a table with racks of pens visitors are welcome to try. Piles of notebooks are also provided although, being a writer and a proper addict, I brought my own.

Try it, you’ll like it. Then you’ll want to buy it. (I spent a lot of time here trying and rejecting rationalizations.)

Mr. Yoshida of Nakaya was there fixing nibs and I was actually able to get get close enough to the table to handle some of the pens. However, She Who Must Be Obeyed apparently put a curse on me before I left the house because each Nakaya I touched burned my skin and I heard the Devil’s voice telling me I was going to burn and that forever was a very long time.

I also got a chance to try out Eboya pens. They specialize in pens made from ebonite. I impressed and scared them when I showed my Edison Glenmont LE. I was impressed with the Eboya and they are now on the possibles list. I was disappointed, though, that they use Peter Bock nibs rather than manufacturing their own.

Two ebonite pens from Eboya. The force is strong in these two, but I don’t like the gold band on the cap.

The problem with the show is a problem that seems to apply to all Japanese pen shows: they are run for the stores and not for the enthusiasts. The Mitsukoshi fair had a terrific selection of pens, but most of the counters were run by Mitsukoshi clerks. Mitsukoshi, for those who don’t know, is similar to Harrods in London and Saks Fifth Avenue in New York. It’s for people with money and not the unwashed saving up to buy a Nakaya.

As such, there are no small stores selling pens, no vintage pens, and no fountain pen peripherals for sale. Although Mitsukoshi has a stationery section, there are no pen cases or pen cleaning items for sale. There’s also very little or ink, except that produced by one of the big pen companies. Sailor’s ink mixing master usually makes an appearance at the show, but he wasn’t there today.

Each company provides their own pen repair expert, but only at certain times on certain days. It’s all very serious and there’s also not a lot of charm or passion.

Th Pilot Pens section. The man in the front is repairing pens.

The Pilot Pens section. The man in the front is repairing pens. There’s not much passion on display here.

For example, Pelikan had an impressive display where visitors could try pens of different sizes with different nibs. It looked cool and after playing with the larger pens, I asked if I could take a picture. The clerk half scoffed/half sneered a “no you can’t take a picture.” I walked away saying that I didn’t realize that “Pelikan” was German for “asshole”. I may have to work that into my vocabulary: “Watch where you’re walking, Pelikan,” “Hey, Pelikan, stop trying to cut in line,” or “Hey, Pelikan, let me take a picture of your pen display.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever go again. That’s a lie. I’ll be there again next year.

Good Things Come in Threes a Bunch at a Time

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I’m trying to figure out if I bought some notebooks or a bunch of Beanie Babies.

First you have to understand how particular I am about notebooks and how the internet creates odd groups and fads.

As a writer I’ve worked my way through different types of notebooks depending on whatever phase/pretension I was in the middle of. I also always had problems with every notebook I ever had. There were those that were too precious, those that had spiral binding and those that were too thick. The latter were especially a problem as I’d soon get tired of carrying the large notebooks and start leaving them at home. Looking back at those I still have, I doubt I ever used every page of one.

Several years ago I stumbled across a line of notebooks called Moleskine. They were, at the time, fairly expensive, even for Japan but were pocket sized and well made. They also included a built in bookmark, a storage pocket, and an elastic band that held them shut. I bought a couple and then, when I got home, discovered in the storage pocket a little card that explained the history of the Moleskines. It involved Picasso and Hemingway and was such bullshit that I actually felt as if I’d been duped buying the notebooks.

Eventually, I worked my way through one book and started using the other. Of course, me being me, I cut out the bookmark (it’s annoying) and ripped out the elastic closure (also annoying). I won’t buy anymore because 1) they are now absurdly expensive, especially for Japan; 2) they aren’t that good; 3) despite not being very good they’ve remained too trendy; and 4) despite being trendy, no one can agree on how to pronounce their name (Moleskin; Moleskeen; or MolaSkeena). The latter is apparently the most accurate, but it’s too pompous to be taken seriously. It’s like going to Starbucks and using an Italian accent to order a frappuccino.

Instead I’ve recently been a convert to Field Notes. Field Notes are pocked sized journals with 48 pages (usually). I’ve already found them more convenient than the thicker Moleeseekineikies (or however you say it). They are easier to carry and it’s easier to find the notes you made. I’ve already finished a book and have stocked up on a few extra. I even, as part of the tithing I’ve mentioned before, subscribed to their annual limited editions.

The problem with Field Notes, though, is those limited editions (called COLORS). Basically every three months the masterminds behind the Chicago based Field Notes put out a special edition to subscribers. Each set comes in a pack of three notebooks and there is violence involved with people who throw away the band that holds them together (more on that later). Each subscriber receives two packs of the special edition and two packs of the company’s generic notebooks.

They started out with simple colors but have since been embossed, enlarged, waterproofed, clad in wood and even given out at random in sealed boxes. The newest versions have been wood type printed at a museum in Wisconsin and part of every sale goes to the support the museum.

The problem is the community that’s grown up around Field Notes can be both exciting and kind of scary. Some of the early limited editions can sell for hundreds of dollars if they are still in their sealed three pack. Serious collectors trade and deal to get complete sets (as of yesterday there are 26 limited “COLORS” editions). They also try to acquire custom versions made for businesses and conventions. Even the paper bands that hold them together have become collectible.

A few months ago Brad Dowdy of the Pen Addict opened a rare set and started using it. The reaction surprised him and he kept pointing out that he got them to use not to resell. It might have a high value now, but he bought it to use and because he liked the color. (Rather than freaking out, the collectors should have thanked him for increasing the value of their holdings.)

A few weeks ago I ordered a couple sets of a version called “America The Beautiful” from a store here in Japan. The day after my order was confirmed, the store, having apparently dealt with serious collectors before, contacted me to tell me that one of the sets had accidentally been opened and the decal lost. (Some of the sets come with extras.) If I wanted to cancel my order they understood. I didn’t cancel and they threw in a free set of a different, less popular COLORS edition.

What it reminds me the most of, at this point, is the Beanie Babies craze. That bubble cost people lots of money and even a couple lives. The best thing about the notebooks is that even if there’s a collapse, the collector at least has something they can actually use.

As for me, I’m not that interested in the collecting, especially as I tend to abandon collections after a certain point. That said, if someone wants to send me lots money for anything I own, I’ll be happy to ship it to you.

This stuff might get someone killed.

Mere Blather

A Bad Reputation and Too Many Pens

Category Archives: Pens

Levenger Sunset Fountain Pen By Stipula

Retro 51 200 Series Fountain Pen–Twenty-One Year Review

Cross Century “Classic” Fountain Pen Long Term Review

Pilot/Namiki Vanishing Point “Faceted Version” Long-Term Review

Making Your Time Thing is Not a Waste of Time

My Daily Log Book is Not My Blog

In With the New; Now What With the Old?

Lots of Pens Without Much Passion

Good Things Come in Threes a Bunch at a Time

The Kickstarter’s Dilemma