We’re bringing back "classic" posts here on Moleskinerie as the year closes and we get ready to celebrate our 3rd year on January 12.
There is something about these notebooks, isn’t there. I found one
in a Barnes and Nobles when I was looking for a journal. It’s
simplicity, functionality, elegance, ergonomics, and style all somehow
combine into an item that is greater than the sum of its parts. I love
mine. I bought thirty more in honor of Bruce Chatwin who bought 100
when he heard there might not be any more.
I find I like the sketchbook the best. It only has half the pages
but the pages are thick and solid. They suck up ink eagerly and never
bleed over or spread to the opposite page like the thin paged ones do.
For my more permanent work I use the thick-paged ones. For daily note
taking and rough drafts, I use the thin pages.
Part of me rebels against these words. Its just a notebook. Its
paper. Words matter. Stories matter. The little faux-leather covered
overpriced notebook does not matter. It’s stuff. Its degradable
material that will be dead in probably one or two hundred years max. It
doesn’t promote thought. It wont make you a better writer. It doesn’t
create life changing experiences.
But it does. Somehow, when you pick up one of these, you want to
fill it. You want to travel and write about it. You want to record your
thoughts so that perhaps in two to five hundred years someone else will
read them and know what you were thinking. They are useful to the point
of artistic beauty. I feel like Winston Smith in 1984, risking his life
to record his thoughts in a world that steals them from your head with
doublethink and thoughtcrime.
I love my Moleskines and you can have them when you pry them from my cold dead hands.
[Originally posted 1.17.04]