Magic Pencils

I walked into a Family Dollar Store this afternoon, intending on replenishing my supply of body wash. Lost in the aisles, I found myself alone by a shelf where they keep pens. It instantaneously caused me to become self-aware of something someone recently told me about writing: “Always write in pencil on paper, the way it has always been done. A machine only gets in the way.”

I was never against the idea- the first serious thing I ever wrote was written on a paper pad in the backyard and became an instant hit among the close family members I showed it to. Over time, I did stray to my laptop. It seemed easier, the way professionals might do it even though it’s doubtful I will be become skilled the way they are. A true writer finds his or her own way of doing things. (Leave them alone at all times if you happen to stumble across one. I’ve heard they can become dangerous if they turn against you.)

As I stood in the aisle that didn’t contain soap, I wondered if they had any pencils. Shuffling two paces to my right I noticed a value pack of some sort. A closer look revealed 18 mechanical pencils in assorted colors for only $3.25. Wow. Staring at the package I saw so many things!

There was the true story of my own life, a verbal recollection of how the line of a chart began in the lower left-hand corner and has risen happily towards the top right as it flows north with age. It’s an uplifting tale for someone who might be in need of inspiration.

My eyes blinked and I saw something else.

A man who got a glimpse of a girl and how simply seeing her made him so comfortable with his entire world that he wanted more glances, chapters of glances.

And Look! In that pencil is a little girl’s pink scooter sitting all alone on the dusty floor of a pawn shop. It comes equipped with such sadness stuck to it that nobody wise should ever buy it. You don’t want to know why. Wait, should I tell you?

I kept staring.

Three blonde haired sisters who plan an awesome combination of drinks, sunset and beach are interrupted by two well-dressed Russian men with unforgivable intentions on a north shore of Bermuda. That one is too hideous; I’ll let someone else write it. (You have my permission to pen the story if you’re up to it.)

I looked at a purple pencil in the package and saw a man, widowed six months ago, trying to answer his son’s question about what love feels like because he thinks he may have found it again and his only child desires answers on why everything in his life is becoming  so different now. That Father owns an old biplane and desires to fly from the east coast to the west coast and back. It brings me sorrow to know how that adventure ended for everyone, but I dig that dude for trying.

With that, I had to look away because I would have been there until the store closed and they kicked me out. Still, I could not believe my luck in finding such a deal. Three dollars and twenty-five cents for all of this? What a bargain. I picked them off the shelf and walked away while trying to contemplate how it was possible they had not sold completely out by now. I’ve never met such magic on a dumb keyboard before or I’d long ago gone broke trying to collect them.

Walking across at least two football fields of parking lots, journeying back to my hotel room, a good analogy of why you should not write serious things using a computer arrived in my mind: In my RV I have a CB radio that almost never gets turned on. This is because every time I do, the entire cab gets filled with negativity or distracting nonsense. People are bitching or acting like juveniles (and not in a good way.) Flipping a power switch on a machine is not always wise and so it goes with using a computer to write. Those things are often connected to the internet. The web, while helpful at times, holds a lot of negative stuff, like bad news or worse yet, the back-and-forth comments that people leave on them. Evil can lurk around any given click, so perhaps it is a good idea to work on real things in real ways, like using a pencil on paper. Using this technique it becomes you and what you want to say without all the dangerous and unhelpful background noise. How pleasantly simple. It likely applies to other things in life.

At less than four bucks, it’s a wonderful bargain as well. Pick up yours today before they sell out.

(This story was originally written with a purple mechanical pencil making love to paper while held by a dreamer who wishes you luck with all of your best dreams, especially if you’re the one who wants to write that horrific tale about the blondes and the Ruskies.)