Quill :writing my story

 Quill: writing my story

 

I’m an ancient writing instrument of great magnificence. I’m a quill. I was born in the 6^th century in China and existed until the 19^th century, whispering words to parchment.

I was usually crafted from goose, swan, or turkey feathers. Goose feathers were common, swan feathers were considered superior, and crow feathers were used for fine lines. I either had a blunt end or a pointy one. Thomas Jefferson kept a flock of twenty geese so that he never ran out of feathers.

The feathers, preferably from the left wing, were cured by heat and dried to harden them. The tip was cut and shaped to form a point.

It was all exciting in the beginning, being dipped into an inkwell and dancing across paper. I felt important to be used to sign decrees and poets to express their love and longings and scholars to record their learnings. I was also privy to secret thoughts in diaries.

It’s quite a feather in my cap that I was used to sign the Magna Carter, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and the Declaration of Independence.

Life was not easy. When my tip wore down with use, I was reshaped with a knife and ouch! That hurt. Unlike your modern keyboards and pens, you had to be patient when using me, holding me gently and work me gently, because I was very pressure sensitive. I brought dignity and authority to the art of writing.

Time brought change and convenience. I was replaced by the fountain pen in 1827 with its inbuilt inkwell, and yes, it works faster, but not quite up to my page. Just so you know, I’m still proudly used by calligraphers, keeping alive the art of beautiful writing.   

I abhor the ballpoint pen. So cheap and graceless, with no personality at all. Ha-Ha! I guess I’m still entitled to opinions at least.

I’m now more than vintage. I’m nobility. I sit in antique shops or in a drawer, bringing on waves of nostalgia and watching parents explain to children my heritage.

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This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z 2026 challenge.