Pen-sive: Using the Right Nib.

It’s so easy to get stuck in paradigms with historical research.  Before I needed to put a pen into a historical character’s hand, I thought there was only one type of old-time writing utensil…the carefully nibbed quill. I don’t know what I thought happened in between the quill pen and the clickable Bic, but when Miss Sternum (Rescue in Poverty Gulch) needed to pull a writing utensil from her purse at an important moment in the story, it gave me an ink-stained pause.

Like all technology, things undergo a gradual and sometimes a not so gradual change.  When I think about pens during my lifetime, I recall the fat ballpoints we were finally allowed to use when I reached junior high school.  And these were much different that the fine tipped Sharpies or gel pens in use today.  

Not my dad. High school boyfriend?

I also remember when pocket protectors were an everyday part of a business man’s wardrobe, not just the nerds, but people who went to work every day wearing a suit, like my dad. Even when he wore a sports shirt, the pocket protector was in place and a pen handy. Then, if you consider all the different styles and brands of pens, the variety is immense. 

 

The ball point pen itself was a huge leap forward, relying on a ball bearing at the tip of the ink tube to keep the ink from spilling out.  It’s the pressure on the ball, which releases the ink to flow out in what everyone hopes will be a smooth, even flow.  No blotters or blotting paper needed after the ballpoint replaced metal nibs for writing.  Ballpoint pens came into common use in the 1950’s and are still in use today.  (Gel  pens use a type of roller tip,too, but the consistency of the ink (the gel) is what makes the difference in how they write.)

The invention of the metal nib advanced pen technology.

So what came in between dipping and rolling?  I discovered it was the fountain pen which uses a nib, but also has a self-contained reservoir...no ink bottle needed. It worked on the science of capillary attraction to make work. And in case you've forgotten that science lesson, it is what allows liquid to flow into a narrow space...the little slit in the metal point.

1855

1890

1911

So to back up a little, there were quill pens, then the invention of metal nibs used for dipping, and from there the fountain pen which was portable and carried around its own ink in a metal tube.

The fountain pen, which was not very reliable to begin with, evolved to the point (no pun intended) where a person could be relatively certain it could be used  without ending up with a pool of black liquid in a purse,  a pocket, or on the paper being used. 

In the 19^th century, people were often judged by the quality of their penmanship,  but it makes me wonder if it became such a respected talent because of the skill it took to produce a piece of writing that was not blurred, blotted, blobbed or blackened.

Ink blotter

Judging by how often I use the delete key on the computer, I would have been hard pressed to produce an error-free letter.  I still remember writing my first published book on a typewriter (before White-out).  I’d use the little correction papers, stick them between the typewriter ribbon and keys to cover the mistake, retype so the mistake looked white and blended with the paper (sort of), and re-type again with the correction paper removed, and if I did this step correctly, I could move on.

(My typewriter was actually a little newer. than this one.)

And now, ahhhh, the computer keyboard.   Who could have imagined?

In the end, Miss Sternum did pull a fountain pen out of her purse (1896) and the important paper was signed without any pooled ink.  Or maybe I neglected to include that detail in the story.

In this case, it wasn't the most important thing. But it certainly was important that she didn't have to pull out her ink bottle and quill, uncork the bottle, dip the pen in and hand it over while the "bad" guy waited.
  

My final thought: be pen-sive and use the right nib. It may not be necessary to know the exact brand or design used, but an error in vintage will require a quantity of blotting paper to cover it up.  

Egyptian Reed Pens from 4th Century Egypt

Loving the Facts: Post Valentines Day Post

“Manna from Heaven.”  It’s wonderful when the historical facts surrounding an event  are so gripping that it’s hard to improve on them with a fictional account. 

This happened to me with my first published historical fiction work, “Nothing Here but Stones”.  The drama surrounding the immigration of a group of Russian Jews to a relatively isolated part of Colorado was palpable. What first began as a planned move to the United States became urgent when anti-Jewish pogroms became widespread in Poland and the Ukraine. 



Cotopaxi, Colorado about 1890

All planning aside, the immigrants left their homes and settled in an area south of Cotopaxi, Colorado. With promises of houses, farming equipment, two span of horses and other items, the Cotopaxi “colonists" set out, traveling from New York City to what must have seemed like an empty expanse of nothingness.  As they left Pueblo and headed due west, the terrain quickly shifted to steep rocky canyons, foothills, and towering rugged mountains.

When they arrived in Cotopaxi, they discovered the houses were insufficient and incomplete, the equipment and livestock less than promised, and the “farming” ground littered with rocks. Miles south of town, the small dwellings were above 8,000 feet with no water available for irrigation.

 

The colonists struggled to succeed, but for two consecutive years, their crops failed, yielding potatoes smaller than the seed stock they used to plant them.  To complicate things, they had hoped to own their own land. This never happened. Whether the understanding was lost in the translation from Yiddish to English or was misunderstood from the beginning is unknown.  They traveled 40 miles by wagon to Canon City to the county seat and made statements attesting to ownership, but the statements did not provide any rights of ownership.

This skeleton version offers plenty to hang a story on.  One can imagine the long, uncomfortable train trip, the difficulty getting the first crops planted, the language barrier and difficulty communicating…

And within that are the documented facts of men, three to a log, carrying huge trees down steep slopes to the river for the extension of the railroad, west from Salida over Monarch Pass, the women scavenging for coal along the railroad tracks, “marauding bears”, hungry Utes begging for food, pleas for help on bended knee, and a man fording the Arkansas at flood level to get medicine for his wife.  

And I still haven’t mentioned the love story of two of the colonists and the third colonist who tried to get the marriage annulled. When he was unsuccessful, he left the colony on foot, journeying through the back country to Denver in despair.

When the colonists began to struggle, some naysayers accused them of unrealistic expectations and lack of resolve.  Others insisted they were victims of misinformation and deceit. After two short years, the Cotopaxi Colony dissolved. Many colonists became leaders in the Denver Jewish community, and some became successful farmers in other places.  The descendants ‘success stories are numerous and varied.

 Manna from Heaven!  Who wouldn’t fall in love with this story of struggling pioneers and the things they endured to start a new life in the United States. 

I know I did.  It captured my heart, and after that, the hardest part was deciding on which details to add or subtract, or to bend or embellish in order to render the story in fictional form.  

With the recent re-release of “Nothing Here but Stones” in a paperback version, I’ve had a chance to revisit the original story that inspired me so much in the first place.

 I’m still in love with the facts as much as the fiction…still in love with the idea that people can overcome difficulties and go on to find success…even when the original vision becomes something new.

 

FINDING TREASURE

“ALL MEMBERS OF POST’S JUNIOR DETECTIVE CORPS EAT PLENTY OF POST TOASTIES TO HELP KEEP THEIR BODIES STRONG AND THEIR MINDS ALERT”

This fell right in my lap.  While cleaning and sorting things after my mom’s death a few months ago, I came across an envelope from Battle Creek Michigan.  It was paid by US Postage Permit #52 and marked: CONFIDENTIAL.

“What’s this?”  I asked Dad, picking up a slightly yellowed envelope.

Inside, copyright 1932 was an original membership book for the POST’S JUNIOR DETECTIVE CORPS.  (Manual No. 1 For Detectives, Edited by Inspector General Post)

My Dad was born in 1928, so he would have been four years old when this came out. The address on the envelope wasn't his, so it was either given to him or requested by someone else in his behalf.  He couldn't remember, but for whatever reason, he still had his membership at age 84.I skimmed through the book. 


 “Would you like to have that?”  Dad asked.

I couldn't keep my fingers from twitching.  I’d gone through clothes and books, looked through jewelry and other personal items, but nothing pressed the “need to have” button like the contents of this little black and white booklet. It’s the curse of someone who loves to write historical fiction and loves a good find.

Finding clues:             

Footprints

Written Message
Blotters
Forgeries
Things Left Behind

I flipped excitedly through the book.  In a black box set off by itself at the bottom of one of the pages:

SPECIAL ORDER by Inspector Post “You are forbidden to play detective games with guns, pistols, revolvers, knives or any other weapon that may cause injury.” It went on to explain about not playing with guns and ended: “Don’t ever disobey this rule.”

Still holding the mailing envelope in one hand, something crinkled.  I looked inside and spotted another much smaller envelope.  I opened it carefully.  Wrapped in beige colored tissue paper was a shiny detective badge.  DETECTIVE POST’S J. D. C.

Wow. 

It was hard not to place that badge on a young character for a book.  It would have been the depression years when eating cereal from General Foods and sending in the box tops might have been the only way to get something new.

A full blown character came to mind…a precocious young boy and a neighborhood full of kids. They might have lived in Rockvale, Colorado where the packet was addressed to, or maybe in Denver or some other town.

The character could also have been my 84 year old dad when he was younger.  Someone who walked to school carrying a French horn, wore glasses, wanted to play football, but whose mom thought it was too dangerous…

I looked over at Dad, blinked and traveled back all those years in my imagination, suddenly knowing something about him I never would have seen without the envelope in my hand.  Instead of an 84 year old man, I saw the young boy: Junior Detective # 66954 

Somehow it brought me closer.  

I wrote earlier about whether story ideas find you or you find the story.  Ideas are everywhere, but the ones that capture your imagination and fill you with excitement are the very best…whether you end up writing about them or not.

Thanks, Dad.