Recently I filled out a notebook that was given to me about a year ago. Not one of those full-sized loose leaf types, but rather a hardcover, one-inch thick journal type of thing.
There’s something to be said about the feeling felt upon ‘completion’ of a notebook. Perhaps it’s mostly pride – accomplishment – but for me, it’s also galvanizing, because my next thought right after “Huh, no more paper,” is “Alright, where’s the next book at?”
Filling out a journal/notebook with one’s notes and sketches, ideaa and phrases, fun names discovered or plot-point questions asked of one’s self is not a big deal. I’ve filled out numerous notebooks in the past (I think I keep them somewhere, too, even after transcribing and patching them). I’m sure most other writers have, too. But I feel like in this digital age, the value of a good notebook might be overlooked. It’s no much a technophobic “hey, slow down and smell the ink” kind of thing, so much as a “Ahh, good times, am I right?”
The majority of my writing is digital. Big surprise. But I truly enjoy looking at a notebook, knowing I’ve filled every page with scribbled ink. This feeling is surmounted only by the sensation of holding a new, fresh notebook. A clean slate.
Just felt like sharing.