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The black-covered notebook, the fountain pen, the bottle of ink, the marble-topped tables, the smell of coffee and luck were all that Hemingway needed.

He had just arrived in Paris and visited the papeterie on Boulevard St. Michel, then made his way to a clean, well-lighted cafe where he ordered a latte (grande size), sat down and thought of a good sentence. He opened the notebook and started to write, but to his horror, the ink from the pen feathered and bled all over the page and through to the next like Bordeaux on white pants.

Realizing his luck had run out, Hem cursed under his breath, pressed a napkin to the stain and shut the book. A skinny old man at the next table saw the whole thing and rose from his chair.


"Essayez cette", he said, offering Hem a pencil. His wrinkled face showed that he understood all too well the pain and disappointment that comes only from the use of wet ink on cheap paper.


From that point on, Hem swore off fountain pens forever. And the rest, as they say, is history.

But oh, how history might have changed had that little stationer in the Latin Quarter carried the Seven Seas Notebook, filled with four hundred eighty creamy pages of bleed-free, feather-free Tomoe River paper sewn into a compact book block the same size as other notebooks with half the page count.

Who knows how much more Hemingway could have enjoyed his considerable productivity with a good fountain pen, a little luck, and this notebook.

The Nanami Seven Seas Notebook: It's what Hemingway would have wanted™.



Please note: You might recognize this little fable as a gratuitous plagiarism of a real Hemingway story...