‘Do you have a special pen you like to use? A particular notebook you like to write in?’ I asked a young writer at the weekend.

She said she didn’t, then asked, ‘But why does it matter what kind of pen you use when you’re going to type it up anyway?’

So I explained that I’m really picky about it – that I prefer to handwrite my ideas first, prefer the act of putting pen to paper, that there’s something about the flow of handwriting that helps my creative thoughts flow, too. And that, when I’m doing that, I’m almost obsessive about the type of pen and paper that I use.

Some writing implements encourage the words to roll out of me with ease and others feel like they’re snagging the words, halting their progress from brain to fingertips. Thick, scratchy paper for instance, or the cheap biros I bought in a pound shop, once, for one of my first ever and self-funded young writers workshops, and which won’t do the decent thing and just die, now, so I don’t have to use them anymore (though to be truthful, I don’t often, which is why they’re still around).

Several research studies have discovered, through high-density electroencephalogram (EEG) imaging, that the act of handwriting stimulates a different part of the brain to that lit up when typing on a keyboard. This, researchers say, embeds the information being written more effectively, enabling the writer to recall it better afterwards.

Great for note-taking, then, though whether it’s of benefit to creative writing isn’t documented. But handwriting first drafts certainly helps my creative process. I’m a trained typist and can input work to the computer faster than I can hand write it. But the physical act of moving a pen over paper, adding word after word slowly and clearly enough to be readable afterwards, definitely helps me. My ideas flow better and I have time to weigh them up and carefully choose the right words to express them.

And then they’re there on the page – visually pleasing in a way that the uniformness of printed text generally isn’t – especially when they’re written on good paper with a decent pen.

By the end of last weekend’s session, with its black ink fine-liner pens, I’d converted the young writer to my way of thinking and she left with a photo of the pen she’d used on her phone, so her mum could take her to Tesco’s to buy one.

Part of me feels a bit guilty that I didn’t just let her take my pen home. But, well, it’s a black ink fine-liner of just the right nib thickness to flow really smoothly when I write, and, you know, I love a nice pen. I really really do love a nice pen …