I have been a ‘writer’ all my life. Writing a diary, letters and now, I suppose, this blog.
I also like writing ‘interesting’ letters to people who annoy me, or provide products that have let me down and/or I just love writing to the ‘scammers’ – to see one of my favourites click here.
Anyway, not all my interactions are bad, some like the one below are just, I suppose nice, with a bit of funny (even from the recipients of one of my letters!)
A few months ago I wrote a letter of, not really complaint, but sort of, to Pilot pens.
I wrote it in long hand, on paper, with a pen – a Pilot pen actually. Here is a picture of the letter but I have ‘transcribed’ it for those (like my kids) who are apparently incapable of reading cursive:
10th August 2015
Dear Mr Pilot,
I am writing to you, because, I love writing.
In our modern world the ‘art’ of penmanship is lost in SMS, jottings at a meeting and the occasional ‘gone to the shops’ note left on a ‘post-it’ note on the front door.
However, this art and skill is savoured by a few, like myself who love the innovation of modern writing instruments.
When I was 15 I saved my pocket money to buy a ‘Rotoring Micro Norm’ ink pen (I have written the name of that pen from memory) because I wanted the best pen on the market to practice my dreams as an architect. Unfortunately, life got in the way and I worked as a public servant most of my life.
The public service had its drawbacks but generation of paperwork was not one of them. I have gone from manual typewriters to ‘glass typewriters’ to the wonders of modern word processing.
But, always, the written word, on paper, in my own hand has been my favourite. As I sit here, at a real desk, not a work station, writing to you I feel all the joys that my grade 7 teacher Mr Kennedy instilled in me in forming of the perfect letter, sentence and paragraph. In addition I have been a diarist since I was 13 and have a handwritten chronology of my life!
All of this is in no small part thanks to the people who made the first pencil I wrote with to your pen I am writing with now.
So, I write to you today to say initially ‘thank you’ for continuing to improve the instruments through which I get so much joy and satisfaction; and; to enclose those that don’t work so well. The black one just never worked and the ‘multi-coloured’ one just ran out too quick (I am using it’s replacement to write this letter!)
I am disappointed in the performance of the pens (as you no doubt are in my spelling – but there is no auto correct with a pen – we just write as we are – who we are!) but not to the point that I have discontinued using them.
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I love the way the ink flows in the ‘FIXION’ range of pens, and the thin nib (I have started using the pens in preference to your ‘9-2 .38’ pen). In addition being able to erase my mistakes (other than spelling which I am oblivious to) is the ‘hard-copy’ version of the backspace key.
So, in closing I say ‘thank you’ for creating the ‘FIXION’ range of pens, just keep working on their longevity and quality control. I am sure your aim is to have us all continue the joy of handwriting with wonderful writing instruments.
Finally, I share with you a little sad, but fulfilling story about the joys of writing.
My Mother passed away recently; in going through her things in deciding what to keep, and what to donate, what to sell and what to fight over, I came across a box of letters I had written to Mum over the years. They started back in 1978 when I moved from our country home to the city to study; we had no phone; so I would write to my Mum and Dad on a weekly basis – and they would reply; the years passed and our correspondence was spasmodic, often through necessity only, or the obliged post card from holiday locations my parents only visited through those glossy cards of a few words; my Father passed, the phone became my connection to my Mum; the letters stopped. Mum eventually moved into a nursing home about 12 years ago and visits became obligations and phone calls the contact of the drifting connection. Then, about 5 years ago I wrote my Mum a letter. On the following weekend that I visited her, she spoke about nothing other than the joy of receiving that letter. So each week, I sat down on Tuesday and wrote my Mum a letter; each weekend I would visit. There was not very much time between letters and visits to ‘report’ on , but, there was a lifetime to write about. My obligation became our connection; my letter our world; the past, the present and future. Mum passed; I now have those letters, those moments in time; the paper she touched and the words we wrote and read. Those letters are who we were, who we hoped to be. They are us, and always will be.
Thanks for the pens to make this possible.
Very kind regards,
Ian Schlein
Anyway, after a few months of not hearing anything I wrote them another letter that I thought they may understand (and I thought was funny!):
Anyway a few weeks later I got a reply with a few pens enclosed (which I was grateful for):
Finally, I thought I would write just one more reply – this time it was unaddressed and unsigned, but, I reckon Hayley will know it’s from me:
The joy of a card, a pen, a piece of paper, can never be underestimated.
So, I was wondering how I was going to explain the word ‘duty’.
f you would have asked me this question a few years ago, or perhaps even a few months ago, I would have raved on about discipline, parental responsibility, experience, etc etc…. well, basically all the stuff my parents said to me. But, today, not just because it’s father’s day, but today, after doing a reasonable job of being the benevolent family dictator, without the benevolence, I have realised that my responsibility as a father is not just discipline, home defence, no one sitting in my favourite chair, sitting at the head of the table and mowing the law.
Example: the average dickhead will often have manipulated themselves into a position of authority . The reason this has happened is that everyone else thought that they were the only one that thought this person was a dickhead and didn’t want to speak out in the event that everyone else thought they were the dickhead. Hence the dickheads rule supreme because everyone else who is not a dickhead doesn’t want to be one. It is like the old catch 22 movie – in that you only realise you are a dickhead when you are not one, and if you are one you never realise you are.
e to your next tactic – just give them what they want. Sound absurd, but think about it. They are a dickhead and just want to keep asking you for things that you cannot give – so turn the tables on them and ask them what they want. When they request it, give it to them – dickhead problem solved as they have nothing to argue about. Of course most times it won’t get to this as merely asking them what they want will throw them into confusion as what they really want, deep down, it to shit you off and be a dickhead. Of course later on when it all turns to shit, you just blame them anyway as you used that magnificent get our of gaol free card… delegation.
So even in death, it really is the living that matter. It probably goes as far to say that it doesn’t really matter how you die, but how you live. Yeah, it is tragic and sad when someone goes before their time, but when you go, surely that is your time. It always surprises me, when we are surprised at death, as really, and literally, it is inevitable for all of us – it is just the timing and the length and quality of the dash that are different.
So, the second date is inserted for another, and the funeral has been, their final letter written and I am on my way to the shops. I do the stuff that the living do.
