Writers and Notebooks are the Perfect Couple

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One drawer of my desk is filled with notebooks. All sizes. Pocket, book-sized, little notebooks and thick tomes waiting to be filled with all the clatter that happens inside my brain. Book things, blog ideas, how much I’ve spent, a shopping list, someone’s address for a Christmas card; all the things go inside the large number of notebooks scattered in my living space. 

Besides my planner addiction, and sticky note obsession, I must confess to my affair with my notebooks. Right now, as I write this, I’m sitting on my bed. The wood drawer next to me is open, and I can count five notebooks, no make that six. Each with a job to do. I have a journal next to me on a pillow. I can see three planners from where I sit.  

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My writer’s tote is on the floor next to the wide windows draped in grey curtains. There are three notebooks in there. One for each of the books I’ve been working on. Plus one for book ideas. It’s a small bright yellow spiral I received in a scribbler monthly crate.  

If I switch out purses, I sometimes leave a notebook behind. Later, I’ll find it and smile over memories of being in a rush and scribbling down a snippet of a conversation I heard. They’re treasure waiting to remind of things that worked out in the past. And those that didn’t.  

They aren’t a journal per se. I’ve played with that word in my mind. Lifelog. That’s what they are. Often, I jot down when I woke up. In my afternoon reading I’ll run across a quote and put it in whichever notebook is handy. If I write something down, I remember it. Just a quirk.  

Agatha Christie kept notebooks. There is a book about them. Agatha Christie's Complete Secret Notebooks details of the every day, but the riches were the story notes. Names, ideas, brief passages. Entire short stories. In a box full of notebooks.  

When I learned she did this, I nodded my head. Makes sense. The storyteller in my mind never turns off. There was a criticism of what I thought was one of my stronger books. I put it down and said I’ll look at it again next year. Last week, I was throwing away a Kleenex when the solution popped into my brain like a firecracker. Yeah, I wrote that down.  

Even though I use quite a few notebooks, there are always more. They come in presents, or a subscription box, or I order them directly from Japan because I love the style. I like foiled ones and simple little cardstock and paper notebooks. While I love sparkles, they don’t age well and there is almost nothing sadder than a notebook who has lost some of its glitter.  

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My affair is hot and heavy. I got a package with another notebook in it on Monday. My guy didn’t bother to say anything. I’m not willing to give up the beagles or my paper goods. Ever.

I use entire notebooks up, then file them away by year. I’m always blue when I finish one. Like saying goodbye to a trusty friend. We've spent hours together, and its patina proves that out. Tea stains, the fortune from a cookie, the stub for when we parked downtown to see a comedy show shoved in its pages.

Some people may keep their notebook affair under the covers. My approach differs. There is no shame in my drawer full of notebooks. They are waiting in line, ready to go. If you need a notebook and we’re together, I’ll hand you one. Then for every birthday, you’ll get more notebooks.

Sometimes the beagles try to eat one. I usually put those to rest.  

For writers, all that living between the pages of these notebooks is a blinding diamond. You can write entire books after a page or two of reminiscing in one of your notebooks. Character sketches. Settings. A drink name. An ad on the subway. Use those notebooks. Let the thoughts have a home. I'll end with a quote. "Everything is copy." Nora Ephron.

How many notebooks are you hoarding?