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What’s up with writers?
We don’t write books or stories. We type them. We don’t even write notes – we send email. We don’t write checks – we use debit cards. Or online bill pay.
We don’t write. We type.
Are we typers instead?
Excuse the inner Seinfeld. The Uglee Pen Company sent me a set of three UGLee Pens. They’re the ergonomic pen designed to combat hand fatigue when you write.
That’s great, for a journal writer stranded on a desert island or engaged student. How do the rest of us subject ourselves to hand fatigue?
I’ll hand-write a post to test it.
And you thought Mike Rowe was gritty.
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It’s tough to even find a pen.
And my handwriting. I write like a doctor, without the six-figure salary or Adam Scott’s golf game.
My GPS, wallet and work badge know this: I misplace stuff. Like pens.
UGLee Pen sent me three. They’re smooth. They’re comfortable. They’re … ugly.
They picked the right dude to review these, right?
I don’t know where the other two comfort pens are.
You know who can keep track of his pens?
Yeah, that Steven King.
I carried his bags as concierge at a Hilton in Charlotte. The man keeps six ballpoint pens in the front right pocket of his jeans.
And I can’t keep up with three UGLee Pens.
We’re both writers, you know. Like Jose Mourinho and I are both soccer coaches. Or, like Elvis and I both sing “Love Me Tender.”
Stephen King is an excellent tipper, Red Sox fan and conversationalist. He carries a messenger bag stuffed with steno pads stuffed with hand-written gold.
I assume it’s scary, and not notes on his fantasy baseball team or lobster recipes.
When he arrived, a girl at the front desk said, “that dude looks like Stephen King.”
This happens a lot in the hotel business.
“Man, that kid looks like a 10-year-old Mr. Bean.”
“Wow … that lady looks like Elsa Pataky – from behind.”
“This dude looks like an old, white Ceelo Green.” (True story. We’d hum “Crazy” as he got his room keys. He had to have known.)
[Hand-fatigue check: So far, so good, at page 2.5. But I could use a snack.]
I stood behind Stephanie as she typed in Mr. King’s details. She pointed to the screen without a word: STEPHEN KING.
“Mr. King, I said with all the authority of a man making $10 an hour who directed those who made $9. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us.”
Faster than a “Carrie” nightmare, I gathered the staff to remind them of our “no autograph” policy. And of the “don’t pester great American novelists with stupid questions” clause I made up on the spot.
“If we’re cool,” I said, patient as a Christian dating site, “maybe he’ll have dinner at our restaurant.”
Mr. King, for a one-night stay, needed a hand with his luggage. With our bellman in the shuttle on
a Taco Bell run an airport pickup, I stepped up to the luggage cart.
This man, with a bag of potentially frighteningly brilliantly frightening hand-written stories, walks with me to the elevator and says, “so, what’s your story?”
“Well Mr. King,” I should have said, “I’m a former writer stuck in the hospitality business. I loved your book “Christine.” I also loved Sarah in ‘The Dead Zone,’ in a confused adolescent way.”
Instead, I said, “Well, I used to be a sports writer.
“And I hate the Yankees.”
This led to baseball talk between great American writers.
Like LeBron James and Cheech Marin in a game of H-O-R-S-E.
Stephen King slipped me a 10 and patted me on the back.
[Uglee Pen check: I’m feeling good. Not tired a bit. And I forgot all about the snack.]
Stephen King visited the front desk for a bottle of orange juice. Remember Stephanie, the front-desk clerk who checked him in?
“You know what you should do?” she said in her Long Island way. “Write a novel about a hotel.”
“Um, I did,” he said, and pushed up the glasses on his nose.
“Ever hear of ‘The Shining’”?
Stephen King ate at our restaurant. The road warrior business folks checked in, unaware, 20 yards away. Some probably had copies of “Dr. Sleep,” “Misery” or “Cujo” tucked in their overnight bags.
Someone photocopied his registration card and switched the original. Someone might or might not have given it to my sister for Christmas. It might or might not sit framed in her den.
No one probably knows it’s missing.
Like my Uglee Pens. We’re giving away a set of three. Drawing will be held a week from today. Leave a comment below for an entry. Get extra entries if you:
- Like UGLee Pens on Facebook
- Follow @Eliatcoachdaddy and @UGLeePens on Twitter. (Tell me in your comment if you do.)
Better luck keeping track of yours than me.
Grace spent Sunday writing on napkins to see if her hand got tired. It didn’t. Elise said she’d taken one for school. She loves it. Marie wants this one when I’m done. Imagine that. My kids, taking notes. Happily.
Now that’s scary.
Right Stephen King?
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