On the shelf above the desk in our study stands a line of old moleskine notebooks. The first was discovered in the stationary isle of the local book store while kicking my heels one Saturday afternoon. It accompanied me to and from London on trains for a year, and was filled with thoughts, ideas, observations and all manner of idiotic doodles.
You might be wondering why I would still bother carrying a paper notebookand I would have difficulty answering. I live in a world, and a life filled with technology. I sit in front of computers for endless hours each day, and almost always have either an Android phone in my pocket, and either a netbook, or a tablet in my bagand yet I still carry a paper notebook.
There is something about the act of writing on good quality paper, in a bound book, with a good pen. There is something tactile and solid about making a markyour markand recording a thought. Perhaps it forces a change in mindsetwriting requires planning, forethought, and deliberation. Sitting, pen in hand, one leg crossed over the other to support a notebook.
I might record thoughts, draw pictures, or draft passages for the blog. I might make notes of the people sitting nearby, or of the world passing by.
The Moleskine notebooks have something of a historythey were “the legendary notebook of Van Gogh, Chatwin, Hemingway, Matisse and Cline”. Perhaps through owning and carrying one I might stand on the shoulders of the literary giants, and channel their inspiration. Somehow I suspect not, but I do end up with a row of intriguing book spines on the self for future generations to delve into and discover.