Ink Spots – The Mark Of The Writer

There is faded green ink on my left index finger. I don’t know how long it’s been there. I can’t remember how long ago I used a green pen.
Near the bottom seam of my salmon colored tee shirt is a smudge of black ink. The skin just inside the top of the shirt has some purple blotches from a pen I forgot to click back inside before clipping it into the top of my shirt, where I usually always have a pen hanging.
I’m right handed so on my left hand, in dark black gel ink, there are words written. The meaning of those seemingly disjointed words is invisible to anyone else. To me they are ideas, quickly jotted down in the nearest available place when a notebook wasn’t within reaching distance. New ideas, new shades of color, cover the old after water from a shower or bath washes and fades them.
The inside tip of my right middle finger has a large black stain where ink had spread from a pen that exploded. I used it before I realized it was covered in a sticky black mess. It takes more than one bath to remove that much ink. Thus, the stain.
I suppose I look rather strange to most people when they encounter me. I pay no heed to these marks of a writer. I’ve worn them like a badge of honor for most of my life. I don’t even notice them too often. Like a note left too long hanging in plain sight, they become invisible.
There are those who might ask why I don’t just switch to writing on a computer instead of a notebook. Maybe that works for others. Sometimes I can write in front of a computer, but my creative juices seem to flow better with an ink pen in my hand. I like to be able to “draw” the words with my hand, combining my art and my writing into one.
I am a pen freak. My husband will not go with me into an office supply store anymore. I can stand in the aisle with the pens for a good while, looking for any different pens I do not already own. I need the variety for my various moods. There are days the the bold colored gel inks inspire me more. Then other days, I need a no-nonsense plain black extra fine point pen to say what is on my mind. The color, the size of the tip really does make a difference for me.
A writer needs to write, whether it is with ink or a keyboard. For me, I bleed ink. It’s my life force, the heat that flows through my veins.
I am a writer. It is what I do!