So, today I’d like to talk about Moleskine notebooks. Why? Because I love them, all of them, all the different possibilities held by the lined notepads, the blank sketchbooks, the music pages, square pages, storyboard pads. Oh my. When I first got hooked, it was all about the lines. Now? Now I covet the sketchbooks.
I know I’m not alone in this, I know there are others out there who stare longingly at them in bookstores imagining how much better, how much more complete their lives will be if they can just have that shiny new notebook.
For me, there is just one problem tied up with the lovely Moleskine bundle. It centres mainly on my insecurities as a creative writer, because once I’ve written something on those pages? Something which will inevitably be less than amazing, and will, just quietly, stink? Then my beloved Moleskine is tainted and all it was and all it could have been, is lost.
Sounds melodramatic, doesn’t it? I’m really not overplaying how it feels. But last week an event occurred which I’m hoping might help me break through the barrier of paralysing anxiety and into the land of write-a-lot.
I found an old Borders gift voucher for thirty dollars and promptly took it shopping. I was going to buy a book but couldn’t decide and then I saw them, the Moleskine notebooks, on a stand of their own, singing my name. I picked up a journal and a pack of three small notebooks which added up to thirty dollars. Perfect. Then I took them to the counter and was informed they were 75% OFF AND WOULD I LIKE TO GET SOME MORE? Hell, yes.
So I bought more. Quite a few more. And now? Now if I mess one up, I have another ready to go. And if it doesn’t work? Screw it, at least I’ll have tried instead of letting ideas languish on a dusty shelf.