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(FDMFTR) Meanderings: Pens – the Good, the Bad, and the Blah

Pens – the Good, the Bad, and the Blah

By Jill Serendipity Behe

I am a pen collector.

But I’m not alone at that Pen-aholics meeting, and the majority of attendees are writers.

It doesn’t matter what kind of pen (fountain, ballpoint, gel, and all the other gotta-haves), only that it has ink. Pencils are okay, but they’re not as … attractive. Any trip to any store requires a stop in the stationery aisle, where the writing implements hang in silent invitation—command?—to take them home.

This, I’m sure, doesn’t apply to everyone who loves to collect pens, but I’ve gone overboard. Not sure when I became aware that this was a problem—and it was a problem–because I justified every purchase as acquiring necessary tools for my craft.

I need a lot of pens.

I’m a writer.

Writers need pens.

From the time I remember starting to write, I’ve always written every story, novel, blog post, out in longhand. Well, duh, can’t do that without a pen. I could type it up on the computer (which I do for the final phase), but it just doesn’t feel right, if I don’t put pen to paper, literally.

But this obsession with buying pens? It’s like an addiction. Is there a medical term/scientific name for the fear of running out of ink?

Purchasing paper (notebook paper, tablets) used to be a problem, too. I never seemed to have enough. And, oh man, when the back-to-school sales flyers came out … woo-hoo! I was in heaven!


Recently I moved abodes, and in preparing for that event, I had to downsize; a box of pens surfaced that I’d forgotten about. Each one was tested. About a third (gasp) had to be thrown out because the ink had dried. (A sad state, indeed, to have so many unused pens go to waste). I separated the remaining bunch into LIKE and DISLIKE piles. Of course, they were all likes, at one time. Still, the amount of pens destined for the yard sale made my heart beat faster. (Pathetic. Really.) It was hard, but I didn’t back down. Even those in the ‘to keep’ box will need to be sorted again.

Some day.

The compulsion to re-stock my stash has since been tempered, almost to the point of non-existence. I have favorites, but since becoming aware of the fixation, I can, and DO, resist the urge to pick up a pack any time I’m in a store.

The weirdest thing is that when I’ve used one from my preferred pens pen-holder, so long that it’s about to run out of ink, an imp in the back of my mind starts jumping, screaming, “Stop Stop Stop, you idiot! If it goes dry, you’ll have to throw it away, and then you won’t have it anymore. It’s your favorite, and nobody makes that kind anymore.”

Well, the imp is wrong, and needs to be ignored. Or kicked to the curb. I have so many pens left in that container, I’ll still be using them when I’m a 104.

All of us make decisions every day, and though buying pens isn’t life-threatening, there are consequences. For myself, I need to ask: Do you really need another pen, or two, or ten?

Pros and cons.

Right and wrong.

Good or bad.

No one can make our choices for us, though some people think they have that right. They only have that power if we give it to them–which is rarely a good thing. Sometimes we’d rather someone else made the executive decision, but ultimately, it’s up to us. We decide which path to take. Not choosing is a choice, too—and again, not usually a good one. We may come out looking selfish; friends and family may shake their heads. But we’re the ones who have to live with the decisions we make, so we might as well make sure they are the best, for us and anyone else involved.

At the top of the page, I ranted about the craving to keep adding to my collection. An innocuous thing, to be sure, but a major skirmish (the little angel on the right vs. the devil on the left) to resist buying packs of pens every time I set foot in a store.

Pens? Seriously?

For me, becoming aware of the pattern was the tipoff, and like any bad habit, it took a whole lot more effort to undo it than it did to begin—especially since I hadn’t even been aware it was something needing to be curbed. By acknowledging the problem, bringing it into perspective, and then making a choice to stop the behavior, I was able to halt—okay, significantly reduce—the irrational compulsion to purchase pens before it gets out of control.

If only it could be that simple for everything we face. But, it can be! YES, my habit may be minor in comparison to some, but still a struggle, and not my only bad habit. Buying pens isn’t a bad thing, but there comes a point where the amount being bought is ridiculous. And it didn’t become that way overnight, so it’s going to take a while to be completely free of its grip.

One moment, one baby step, one day at a time. Set a goal, never lose sight, and reach for it every single day. It’s the only way to cross the finish line.

Profitez de votre journée,

The Rebel

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By Jill S. Behe

I was thinking about timelines, and the Star Trek version of parallel lifelines, and what if’s. My dad’s birthday is coming up, and I remember last year at this time, he hit a major milestone. All four of us kids were able to celebrate it with him.

Because of my career path, I was ‘away from home’ for more than thirty years. Served my country, got married, had three boys, got divorced. In that span of time, my family and I were getting older, too. But when I thought of them (and I did, very often)—from my barracks in Germany, the beach in Hawaii, my living room in Colorado, and my backyard in Washington—they were the same age as when I left.

Now, for almost eight years, I’ve been back in the area where I grew up (Wow! Time does fly, whether you’re having fun, or not), and yet I still have trouble grasping the fact that all my relatives are … old-er. They aged while I was gone. Fancy that. It wasn’t like their lives stopped while mine moved forward, but in my brain that’s what happened.

When we get together, and begin reminiscing—well, they do—about escapades they all shared, I’m almost jealous that they had so much fun … without me sharing it with them.

But, the other part of my brain is thinking, And where would you be, who would you be, if you’d never left? A different life most definitely, and a different outcome most assuredly, but would it have been better, or worse, than the one I’ve lived? We can’t live in an ‘I wish I could go back and do it over’ life. One, it’s impossible, but secondly, would we really and truly want to?

By staying in my hometown—never venturing past the town’s boundaries—there are so many things I would have missed. Gives me chills! I’ve had a much more adventurous life, in comparison. Went overseas, lived in five different states—all over the U.S. I wouldn’t have experienced military life, as an active duty enlistee, and a military spouse. My husband would have (probably) been someone I grew up with (or perhaps I wouldn’t have married, at all). I wouldn’t have the sons I had with their dad, that’s for sure.

Wouldn’t have my writing accomplishments, either! What a shame.

Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

Maybe not, maybe it’s best to not wonder about what could have been, because we’ve experienced things unique to the path we chose, and the direction that path took.

In one of my previous blog posts, I said: “Don’t go backwards.” That’s appropriate here, too. Okay, yes, we can go back in order to pull from our memories to enhance a story (“…and do you remember that time when Bob took the canoe out and….), but not to dwell there and wish your life was different. Our lives are what we decided it was going to be, by the decisions we made. We did that.

The past can’t be changed, no matter what James T. Kirk and the USS Enterprise say to the contrary.

But the future?

The future is just waiting for directions. Where we end up from here on out is still up to us. Good path or bad.

So go ahead, make a move. It’s really only the first step that’s risky. Then it’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, and another adventure has begun.

Profitez de votre journée,

The Rebel

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By Jill S. Behe

I’m old.

Yes, I am.

I don’t feel like it, nor do I particularly look like it, but I am. My birth certificate says so. It has that authority and must be believed. That’s beside the point. It took me a long time to get where I am as a writer and as a person, but I’m here now, and don’t intend to quit until I’m cold and in a box. I’ve written a few novels so far (five!), and a whole bunch of short stories—with more of each on the way.

One of the novels was published a few years ago. During the process of writing it, and unbeknownst to me (the author), it decided there was a need for a second. And in the middle of writing said second, I realized there was going to have to be a third, to complete/finalize the happenings in my characters’ lives, to everyone’s—real and imagined—satisfaction.

To be honest, the one in print was only supposed to be an exercise in short story writing. With the writing group I participated with, the facilitator would hand out prompts and each of us would write a three page short, or as much as we could in the 60- to 90-minute time limit.

This night, my prompt … exploded!

Eight pages in, I was still scribbling when she called time. Nowhere near finished, I went home and kept at it, eventually ending it some 40,000 words later. Too long for a short, and too short for a novel. A friend from the writing group offered to edit it for me (Thank you, again!). The revisions added another 10,000 words or so, and Presto Change-o … a novel was birthed.
Pitched it out and it was caught!

Imagine thatheart-racing moment when I played back my editor’s voicemail: “Jill! Jill! Pick up! Pick up the phone! It’s accepted!”

I was in seventh heaven, on cloud nine, and all the other appropriate clichés.

What an odd time. Surreal is about as accurate a word as I can think of to describe that whole accumulation of things. Then to see the e-mails telling me, the bookseller’s site saying so: People unknown to me, and who didn’t know me, were reading my words, my story … my baby. And the really amazing part, they liked it! But even better, they wanted more, were already clamoring for a second book.

Whoa! Head rush!

I’ve been a reader all my life, literally. From the moment I was born, my family read to me (and my sibs), until we were able to read for ourselves. I’ve been a writer since (can’t remember any further back, but might be) about the third or fourth grade. And from that decisive moment, my life goal has been to be a published author.

That was accomplished in 2011. Doesn’t mean the journey’s done. No. The bar’s been raised. There’s another rung on the ladder. Something more to achieve.

NEVER, in all those years did I imagine what it would feel like, to have a book in print. To have people I know come up to me, and tell me how much they enjoyed it, and then add, ‘So when’s the next one coming out?’

Weird, and wonderful.

Is this how my favorite authors felt when their first was published? Is this how their families reacted?

With nonchalance, or a Holy Crap?

For me, it was Holy Crap! And now, with the second of the trilogy accepted and in the final editing stage, it’s about to start all over again. But with added pressure. Will my ‘fans’ like this one as much as they did the first? And if so, they’ll be after me for book three, (maybe with pitchforks to prod me along) because book two is ends with….

Oh, I probably shouldn’t say.

But, geez-Louise! My characters better start talking to me, or there won’t be a third. It’s maddening! Me, the reader, wants to know what’s going to happen, too. Me, the writer, wants to be in the thick of it, in the middle of the book where I know where the storyline is headed. That’s when the characters are the most vocal; at least that’s what I’ve found to be true.

As of this moment? Pfft! I’ve got a bunch of notes, and three skimpy scenes.


Fists are raised and I’m yelling (in my brain, because that’s where they live), “Come on, you guys, tell me what’s going on! The Rebel’s rooters want to know. I want to know. I can’t tell your story, if you don’t start talking!”

Writing is hard work. It might not put muscles on our bodies, but I’m sure our brains have more … muscle-mass, from all the straining and stretching we do. But when our work gets that ultimate demand of: ‘We want your manuscript,’ all the sweat, and pacing, and hair-pulling, and screaming at the monitor we did to get to this point, is worth it.

Then we have to hand over that baby we labored to bring forth. It’s like sending a child off to kindergarten by themselves for the first time, or sending a high school graduate off to a faraway college. It’s hard to let go, and hurts some, but not for long, and the results are way beyond measure.

So, whatever the level of writing, we can’t stop. Even if it’s (in our minds) a piece of trash when it’s finished, we did something very few people can. We created something, from nothing more than a thought.

Pretty awesome!

Profitez de votre journée,


The Rebel

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(FDMFTR) Meanderings From the Rebel



Thinking about the subject of the first blog on my new site, I had to go back to the beginning. When my editor first suggested I should think about creating a Website, I … rebelled (imagine that). The thought of flaunting my work seemed vain. Exposing myself, to whomever clicked on the link to bring up my site, felt invasive. But his–strongly persistent–reasoning over the next few months gradually began to make more sense.

Don’t you want your fans to know something of yours has been published?

I don’t have any fans.

And you won’t get any, if they don’t know you have something in print. With a Website, they’ll have links to the places offering your work.

I can do that? Cool.

You like to know more about your favorite authors, don’t you?

Of course.

But how do you do that? Call them on the phone?

(Eye roll.)

No, you visit their sites. If you don’t have one of your own, you’re limiting your fans’ access to you. Think of a Website as your personal advertisement.

So, okay. I finally gave in and created a site … and it died a slow painful death. It took a while to decide where I wanted to set up a new one. This one gave me headaches, trying to figure out how to build it. So much so, I almost gave up. But with the help (about 95-percent) of a friend, it’s now starting to look pretty cool. Don’t you think? The goal is to have more and more ‘stuff’ to add to it, all the time.

For now, though, I’m happy with the progress. How about you? Did you find what you were looking for? Is there something in particular you would like to see? Let me know on the Guest Book page and, if it’s a feasible request or suggestion, I’ll try to incorporate it into the site.

That’s it, for this time.

To all my fans (current and future), THANK YOU:
For your support,
For liking my work,
For helping make my lifelong dream come true,
and for all the ‘nudges’ about when the next book is due out. (By the way, it’s close! Just be patient a bit longer, please.)

Til next time,


The Rebel

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