The Search
I have a lot of special notebooks on my shelves. One is used only for short stories; one is filled with letters. One is a (poorly written) novel in progress. Another is used only for Bible study notes.
And then there's this stack. They don't look like much, but these battered notebooks represent about a decade of events in Ashleyland.
I am an avid journaler. I've always been into books, but starting roughly the summer after my freshman year of high school, I began writing on a regular basis myself. Since then, it's turned into a habit, a need, almost a compulsion.
It's also evolved. What started as a "this is what happened today" form of writing has turned into an all-inclusive book. Notes, addresses, pictures, maps, lists, quotes, pre-formed blogs all find their way into the pages right next to my thoughts, reactions, and frustrations with the things going on in my world and the world beyond. It's not always interesting reading, but there's always something to say.
They aren't all full, either. Sometimes I stop using one after one major event or another ... I stopped one after my first summer at Storm. I had turned a corner in my life and decided it was time to switch it up. The same thing happened after my trip to Russia.
The one after that filled in seven months, as I moved through my senior year of college.
Believe it or not, each notebook itself was carefully chosen, which is what inspires this post. That top notebook is my current journal, and there are only about fifteen sheets left. It won't last far into 2009 -- and so my search for a new book has started.
Every time I have to look for a new one, it gets tougher. I want something durable, something that has room to expand (whether it's because I'm taping things into the pages or I spill my water on it), something that will fit into my purse. I need something I can take with me anywhere -- and something that isn't overly pretty so I don't feel bad about nearly destroying it.
Andyman described my current journal as looking like the Grail notebook from Indiana Jones, if that gives you any idea.
I also, for one reason or another, end up looking for something just a little different than all its predecessors every time. Since I've been insisting on black for the last ... oh, five years or so, that's getting a little harder to do every time. Only so many interesting black notebooks out there.
The right book can make you excited to write, can almost inspire thoughts. The right book begs to be used. The wrong book does nothing.
This all sounds crazy, but it's true.
I didn't realize the problem that was going to cause until I was wandering around the B today and stopped to look in the "Gifts for Readers" section (always my last section to check before I leave). Not one book jumped out at me, spoke to me, gave me any warm and fuzzy feelings.
That's okay -- for now. I have about seven weeks before it'll be an issue.
And so the search continues. I have to wonder, though -- what would my life be like if I put this much time into every menial decision? [Maybe it would just go by much more slowly.]
And then there's this stack. They don't look like much, but these battered notebooks represent about a decade of events in Ashleyland.
I am an avid journaler. I've always been into books, but starting roughly the summer after my freshman year of high school, I began writing on a regular basis myself. Since then, it's turned into a habit, a need, almost a compulsion.
It's also evolved. What started as a "this is what happened today" form of writing has turned into an all-inclusive book. Notes, addresses, pictures, maps, lists, quotes, pre-formed blogs all find their way into the pages right next to my thoughts, reactions, and frustrations with the things going on in my world and the world beyond. It's not always interesting reading, but there's always something to say.
They aren't all full, either. Sometimes I stop using one after one major event or another ... I stopped one after my first summer at Storm. I had turned a corner in my life and decided it was time to switch it up. The same thing happened after my trip to Russia.
The one after that filled in seven months, as I moved through my senior year of college.
Believe it or not, each notebook itself was carefully chosen, which is what inspires this post. That top notebook is my current journal, and there are only about fifteen sheets left. It won't last far into 2009 -- and so my search for a new book has started.
Every time I have to look for a new one, it gets tougher. I want something durable, something that has room to expand (whether it's because I'm taping things into the pages or I spill my water on it), something that will fit into my purse. I need something I can take with me anywhere -- and something that isn't overly pretty so I don't feel bad about nearly destroying it.
Andyman described my current journal as looking like the Grail notebook from Indiana Jones, if that gives you any idea.
I also, for one reason or another, end up looking for something just a little different than all its predecessors every time. Since I've been insisting on black for the last ... oh, five years or so, that's getting a little harder to do every time. Only so many interesting black notebooks out there.
The right book can make you excited to write, can almost inspire thoughts. The right book begs to be used. The wrong book does nothing.
This all sounds crazy, but it's true.
I didn't realize the problem that was going to cause until I was wandering around the B today and stopped to look in the "Gifts for Readers" section (always my last section to check before I leave). Not one book jumped out at me, spoke to me, gave me any warm and fuzzy feelings.
That's okay -- for now. I have about seven weeks before it'll be an issue.
And so the search continues. I have to wonder, though -- what would my life be like if I put this much time into every menial decision? [Maybe it would just go by much more slowly.]
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