We spend a lot of time working with beauty around here. We have beautiful new pens to look at, play with, and test; we have beautiful old pens, ditto. We also have our illustrious editor's phenomenal photography, which comes in as beautiful (most of the time) whether the subject is or not. Beauty is, in a way, common at the Stylophiles office.

So I am here today to praise ugliness, which is a great deal less ordinary than mere beauty.

You see, two of my favorite writers--newer additions to the family--are ugly as … as … well, ugly as a three-day-old doughnut. But they are extraordinary (in my estimation, anyway).

Both are Waterman Crusaders, pens that were made in the late 1940s and early 1950s, not long before Marcel Bich acquired Waterman and turned it into Bic. They aren't of particularly high quality, though the nibs retain some of the quality of their great ancestors.

Their barrels are both black plastic; the caps are both aluminum with an anodized gold colored finish. Each has four rings cut through to the underlying aluminum which provides an interesting contrast.

The caps are dinged, scratched, battered, scraped, de-colored, bruised, and demoralized. The barrels are scratched and dinged and scraped. Except for their individualized life scars and the fact that one has a chrome and one a lever that sort of matches the cap, they'd be indistinguishable.

They are also undistinguished. In a tray of lovely old Golden Age pens, they'd never be noticed. In a tray of flashy modern pens, likewise. If pens lived in a gentrified house, they'd be the dustman. If … well, you get the idea. They're ugly.

But they are also possessed of two of the sweetest nibs I've run across in a long time. The first one contains a plain Waterman's Ideal nib--no size listed. It's a semiflex nib, with a good, sturdy feel to it as well as some flex. It lays down a sweet, wet line with enough line variation to be fun and make attractive writing without requiring perfect technique; it's great for lots of fast writing.

The second nib is older, one of the ubiquitous Waterman's Ideal #2s. It's a smoother, more flexible nib with a lovely, varied line that is much more conducive to formal work, but still doesn't require perfect technique (these days, that's a good thing). It's one of those rare nibs that makes its user sit back, relax, breathe out, and let a smile spread all across his/her face at its buttery responsiveness. A Zen pen.

Both ugly babies reside, more or less permanently, in a new, soft leather case that holds just these twins. A place of honor. Not for beauty, but for character and pleasure. Personality, if you will.

We've established long since in these pages that I tend to accumulate nibs rather than pens (although I'm probably the biggest magpie around and will also foolishly purchase bright, glittery, beautiful pens, to discover later that they don't write particularly well). These ugly twins are a prime example of my priorities. Here's how these two came to join my family:

On a recent visit to Boston--the first time I'd been there--I was honored with an invite to the home of The Pen God himself, Pier Gustafson (whose pen-related artistry adorns some Penlovers.com items as well as the businesses of many pen dealers, especially as banners on pen-show walls, and who occasionally provides illustrations and commentary in other publications).

Not incognizant of the honor, I still had the effrontery to counter his Pen God status with my Empress of the Universe status. He insisted that, in matters of protocol, gods, even minor gods of small niches, come before mere empresses, even of universes, but … well, never mind.

Pier is an engaging fellow with a desert-dry sense of humor who creates not only whimsical, beautiful, and interesting art, but also produces exquisite calligraphy and hand lettering. His studio, as are those of most artists, is filled with intriguing and often peculiar things to entertain the eye. We spent our time at a large desk-like piece, converted from a previous existence whose essence I forget into a super drawing surface. Pier casually pulled out, from several boxes with Spencerian labels reading "Fine," "Medium," and such like, a box that indicated its contents were flexible.

He pulled out two or three pens, pushed an old ledger (they were made during fountain-pen use days and have a great surface for writing) my way, and picked up another pen himself. I picked up one of the pens and made one stroke across the paper. "Wow!" I said. I made a few more strokes and then looked over at his sheet.

He had made great progress in some of the loveliest flourishes I've seen unfurl from the nib of a pen-wielder. His thins were so delicate they were barely there--evidence of spectacular control--and his thicks were clean, even, and smooth. And best of all, in the book of this harpy who nags people about using their shoulders when they write, his form was impeccable. Pier uses his shoulder, and to marvelous effect; and he also has the freest forearm action I've seen in a writer in a very, very long time. Watching him write was like watching Nureyev dance. Exquisite.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that the Pen God made fun of me, since that seems to be becoming a national pastime. As I tried out the first nib, the semiflexy one, I laid on it pretty heavily to see where it would go. "Geez!" he said. "I'm glad I don't have to drive with you--you'd back out of the driveway in third gear!" Though I wouldn't admit it to him, even my lightest, most gentle touch is heavier than his, and the results are of correspondingly lower quality. But if you tell him I said so, I'll call you a liar!

We did do some gabbing, partly pens, partly pen-folk gossip, partly politics, education, and other topics, even about food and cooking, but there were silences during which we just wrote and enjoyed the feel of ink silking across sleek paper. Amazingly quickly, dusk fell and I had to go, and Pier had an appointment to attend to. But I got to bring home those ugly twins, who have become fast and beloved companions. In addition, they remind me of a pleasant afternoon with the Pen God, and bring a smile to my face each time I see them.