I subscribe to Whiskey River, a thought-provoking blog that offers quotes from well-known, and some not-so-much, writers. Today's post quotes writer Charles Wright, from a piece about lessons learned from others. I was particularly taken with the third lesson: "Write as though you had in hand the last pencil on earth".
The last pencil on earth. Can you imagine that? First of all, do you still write with a pencil? I used to write all my poems, short stories, grocery lists, budgets and snarky notes that sit on the mantelpiece with No. 2 pencils. With or without erasers, but always graphite lead.
Now I use the keyboard connected to my PC.
What would you write if you held that last pencil? To whom would you write? Would you draw something? A sketch of what you see before you? A portrait of your child or grandchild; perhaps of the love of your life (or for the moment you share)?
Would you savor the aromas of graphite dust and fresh-cut cedar shavings? Would your ears thrill to the sounds of lead against paper as you scratch out words or doodles or music notes or just make marks that only your hand can produce?
Does this pencil bear indentations (and chipped paint marks) from when you held it clenched between your teeth? (Oh, yes you did - at least once in your life you did that!)
Is your last pencil one of a few others sitting in a cup, stubs or half-lengths or broken and splintered? Or is it a brand-spanking new one, with a pink eraser, brass ferrule, yellow paint job? Does it remind you of going with your parents to buy school supplies for the new school year, that bittersweet demarcation between the end of summer and passage to the next level classroom?
I read that line a couple of times this evening, thinking about all of these things and more. Memories from childhood came flooding in: First grade and those thick pencils designed to make it easier for untrained fingers to hold onto while learning to print our alphabets. Later, a full box of No. 2s, bought with money I had earned from my first summer job. Graphing algebra problems, being grateful for the eraser, wishing the graph paper were sturdier. I made so many mistakes!
In my house, I must have four or five boxes of old pencils, bits and pieces of once perfect treasures. Most have hard erasers (if any at all) that tear holes and leave streaks of eraser dust on any piece of paper unlucky enough to get caught. Nearly all of them have teethmarks along the shaft. Some show signs of being hand-sharpened, faceted cuts made with my penknife or a kitchen paring knife. Others bear the uneven cuts from a hand-cranked rotary sharpener. Still more have empty spots where the lead snapped off and was never resharpened. One could imagine those empty spaces were the black holes of the pencil universe.
I sometimes think about what I will miss after I've died: family, friends, stars, birds and other animals (sorry, Joe - not spiders!), and on, and on.
Tonight, I've added pencils to that list. Maybe I can convince my daughter to bury my remains with a box of old-fashioned, cedar-clad, Number 2 graphite pencils. Plus a good German-made sharpener.
