Seamus Heaney has a poem I love called Digging in which he compares his writing tool to a spade. 

I think of it from time to time like today when I unwrapped this new gift. It feels solemn to a writer to uncover a new pen. To break the little plastic seal protecting the nib and make the first strokes with it. Every pen's feel and action along the page are idiosyncratic. This one wrote in green ink the colour of a meadow. Like a fresh sheet of paper a new pen holds infinite promise. Contained within its covering are worlds and worlds to be discovered.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47555/digging