I have a secret.
I was in the local bookstore several days ago (a wonderful, quiet place with large tables suggesting exactly the books you might be interested in from the warrens of bookshelves surrounding), and nearly bought a notebook. Not just any notebook either - a Moleskine notebook.
You might be wondering why I would feel guilty about this- and I would have difficulty answering. I live in a world, and a life filled with technology and gadgets. I sit in front of computers for endless hours during the day, and almost always carry a Palm Organiser around in my pocket during waking hours. The Palm keeps my diary, remembers everybody’s phone numbers, various passwords and license keys, and a number of electronic books that are read while commuting. The Palm is wonderful for keeping notes too.
Even though I have this wonderful “encyclopaedia galactica” in my pocket, I still want a paper notebook.
There is something about the act of writing on nice paper, in a bound book, with a good fountain pen. It screams a message - “I am writing!”. There is something tactile and solid about making a mark - your mark - and recording a thought forever. Perhaps it forces a change in your mindset - sitting, pen in hand, one leg crossed over the other to support your notebook.
I might write poetry, or draw pictures, or draft passages for my blog. I might make notes of the people sitting nearby. I might solve equations.
The Moleskine notebooks have something of a history - they were “the legendary notebook of Van Gogh, Chatwin, Hemingway, Matisse and Cline”. Perhaps through owning and using one I might stand on the shoulders of such literary giants, and channel their talent through my pen.
So herein lies the question - which would you choose - the modern, efficient, digital device, or the tried, trusted, friendly notebook? I know which I would prefer, and I look longingly at them every time I visit the bookstore.