My name is Susan Fishel. I am pen collector and a snail wannabe, so hereGÇÖs my pen-oriented bio. I grew up in Nebraska in a small town where we knew not only everyoneGÇÖs names but the names of their dogs and cats and cows. It was the same little town that my mom grew up in, and her parents grew up in, and her grandparents helped establish. I was not a full-time feral child, only in the summers, and then I made an exception for the bookmobile when it came to town. IGÇÖve tried other states, but Nebraska is quiet and unhurried, comparatively, and so am I.
To fund my pen hobby, I work for Ameritrade as a technical writer. I became a technical writer about 15 years ago -- what else can you do with a degree in philosophy -- after trying a number of other GÇÿcareers.GÇÖ IGÇÖve been a paraprofessional librarian, industrial engineering tech, cocktail waitress, drafter, security guard, switchboard operator, bookkeeper, office manager, help desk guru, and cashier among other things.
My first fountain pen was a yellow Sheaffer school pen filled with turquoise ink. I was in the third grade. I bent the nib. Before the late, lamented Sheaffer, though, my sisters and I had feather pens. My mother would trim pheasant tail feathers with a razor blade and set a bottle of Skrip in the middle of the table. We would suit up -- in my dadGÇÖs old shirts worn backwards or my momGÇÖs aprons tied around our necks -- and have at it. Feather pens and Big Chief tablets arenGÇÖt the best of matches. We had better luck with the layers of newspaper Mama spread on the table. Other pen memories include engraving my dadGÇÖs name on his Eversharp with a straight pin. I have the pen. He must have used it after the artwork; itGÇÖs entirely brassed.
The next pen was a lady Sheaffer I with a porpoise nib that I used in college for notes. After a log dry spell -- not enough money for pens -- I acquired a couple of Vectors, and itGÇÖs been a free fall through pendom since then.ere
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