The picture above is self-explanatory but I’d like to add a few words. In case you hadn’t guessed, I like notebooks. They help me stay organised, they jog my memory and they relieve my conscience. They are my creative partners and loyal friends.
Choosing a notebook is no easy task. Sometimes, they smile at me from the top of a revolving shelf; others, they scream at me, begging to be picked up. This might be the time to point out how low my self-restraint is. And so I treat myself, because how else would you justify buying a notebook you don’t actually need?
It often starts like this. A notebook grabs my attention, I buy it and it sits on my book shelf until I decide what to fill it with. And since the most genuine decisions are always the spontaneous ones, I have never regretted a single purchase. Because at the end of the day, my notebook addiction forces me to be a better writer. It pushes me to be imaginative, to invent not only the content but also the purpose of it.
This shouldn’t come as a shock to you : I am attached to my notebooks. I carry my ‘Novel’ notebook everywhere I go because the slightest idea might turn into something when you put pen on paper. As of recently, I also carry the little ‘Curious London Facts’ notebook where I jot down any information I find relevant. A new building under construction, an interesting sculpture whose creator I want to discover or a funny observation while riding the tube…
Yes, my phone would suffice in such cases. But there is something rather unique about flipping through the pages of your notebook, scribbling, drawing, highlighting and post-noting. There is a tactile relationship that no fancy gadget will ever replace.
PS: This is only a selection of my notebook collection. I have various other, buried at the bottom of drawers or hidden in places even I have forgotten…