Oh, how many lovely new pristine notebooks do I have in my drawers, on my shelves, and lined up proudly on my desk.

A self-confessed notebook addict, I’m unable to pass a stationery store without a little peak at the perky new notebooks that could steal my attention, part me with my pounds, and then remain awesome but abandoned on my desk.

I got a posh notebook as a present for Christmas a couple of years ago –  complete with inscription from the gifter – and somehow I’ve never felt worthy of using it. There has never been an occasion when I thought this book would be suitable. So it sits, in its shiny-clothed isolation – like a posh dress waiting for a gold-rimmed invitation – not being used, loved or creative.

An already damaged notebook has more chance of encouraging my creative writing.

It was in the want, rather than need, of a new journal, that I passed by the lovely Paperchase and happened to spot the perfect notebook for me. Twice the price of what I would usually pay, but leather bound and worth it. The lines are closer together – I dislike those fat-lined notebooks, as they need so few words to fill a page, and I feel my thoughts need lines that are narrower and somehow more intimate. The leather is already damaged, as though someone had bent over the corner on the front and pressed a hairbrush to the back. The paper inside is yellowing, and perfect for use with a fountain pen.

My new purchase was not perfect. I checked out all three purple leather journals in the shop to see which one fitted me best. All three smelt of that ‘old’ leather that you get in second-hand shops. The book I chose felt wise: its pattern was innate, it had been around the block a few times, and it was comfortable with its lines, its bends, and its creases.

This felt like Continue reading →