So I’m a terrible, pathalogical hoarder of notebooks of all sizes and descriptions. Sketch pads, notepads, spiral notebooks, legal pads, composition books – you name it, I’ve written verse or started the next Great American Novel in any number of them.
Don’t forget shopping lists, phone numbers, threats and scraps ripped out. I’ve seen and done it all.
Of course, then, my birthday list (I’ll be 30 in October) includes the notebook made famous by Hemingway and Van Gogh: The Moleskine.
A recent blog post made me remember my infatuation with the leather-bound beauty of the Moleskine. That and Jenn has one gratis from work.
Yeah, I work on notebook jealousy and a desire to emulate great artists/writers of the past. Sue me.
All I know is that I’m smitten and the Moleskine is the only thing standing between me and worldwide fame and literary renown as a brilliant novelist, essayist and bon vivant.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
Of course, that’s also the reason I have so many projects in media res.