confessions of a notebook addict who’s at a loss for words

I’m a notebook addict. I can barely pass a stationery store without looking in and seeing if my perfect notebook is out there that can hold my thoughts, ideas, inspirations (which often happen just as I’m about to fall asleep), and that will help me act on the brilliance of those insights. As a writer, I always have one of my many notebooks to hand. What happens with my plethora of pages is that I intend to have different notebooks for different moods, circumstances and surroundings. I therefore have:

  • brightly coloured folios in hardback for uplifting spiritual thoughts
  • a ‘gratitude book’ for the end of the day, to thank the universe for my blessings
  • my ‘observations’ book, where I log the conversations, mannerisms, annoyances and joys of the day
  • my ‘train book’, where I like to scribble whatever comes to mind, especially to rant about the sound/smell irritations and insights of the journey
  • my ‘Morning Pages’ hardback journal, which holds the essence of those first 20 minutes of the day
  • a professional writer’s hardback notepad, in which I store notes from meetings
  • a plain white notepad on my desk, where I continually update my to-do list
  • a precious hardbacked designer notebook that I’m scared to use in case my writing isn’t worthy
  • a notepad jotter that doesn’t matter a jot – and therefore frees me to use as many pages as possible, be as creative as my pen will allow, and not worry that I’m ‘spoiling’ something precious
  • a ‘day book’ in polka-dot hardback that is meant to contain everything, and I rue the fact that it doesn’t
  • a drawer full of pretty books semi full of hopes, dreams and snapshots of life
  • scattered squares of Post-Its with meaningful morsels of character, plot and ambience  – not to mention receipts, envelopes and tickets and scribbled notes I’ll need to refer to in future
  • old journals with shameful rants and wishful thinking
  • diaries with appointments past and parties new
  • reams of regret after deaths of loved ones
Yes, the paper in my life holds me, protects me, saves me. All the keyboards in the world can’t infiltrate the intimacy I have with my pen and paper – and all their varying secrets held within. Shame I can’t locate the right word in the right place at the right time. It’s a total frustration that I can’t find the perfect note when I need it. Is it in the red polka dot? The turquoise butterfly? The pale-pink rose? Or the workaday, ironic brown?
Hang on, maybe I need to pop down to Paperchase to purchase the perfect one.

4 thoughts on “confessions of a notebook addict who’s at a loss for words

  1. I too am a secret notebook addict….there’s something promising about all those empty pages. What happens when you travel…do you take them all with you? Also, you should make your own….its a nice thing to do..

  2. I love it! You are keeping the tradition of pen and paper alive. 🙂 Recently, I reorganized my writing bookshelf and found I had an entire shelf’s worth of journals and spirals. Where did they all come from??? Lol.

  3. Lol. Brilliant to know I’m not alone! I know exactly the feeling of all the potential of an empty notebook – and all the self-imposed pressure that goes with it.
    I have no idea where they all the notebooks come from. But my drawers are groaning with them.

  4. Pingback: why I chose a bashed notebook over a pristine one | inktuition

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