It's still satisfying to fill a notebook, at least for me. I like being able to riffle throughthe pages and see all the colors (I used a different one every day, pens are my weakness), the half-finished scenes, my notes to myself. This notebook in particular has bits and pieces of my novel, And You Tell Me I Am Home, as well as snippets from the Imperial Story. I'm quite proud to retire this baby, giving it a good home on my shelf.
This means, of course, that I had to pick out a new journal to use as my "kickaround" notebook. Rather than buy a new one, I raided the collection in my cedar chest - at some points, it's better than going to Staples. I found three nice leather bound journals, gifts from various people (my Uncle Joe, my Aunt debbie, and ex-boyfriend Caz). One was a gift from Mrs. Keane, my senior year of high school - the cover is emblazoned with the words, "We are the hero of our own story." These are the journals I want to keep in perfect condition, not let get bounced around when I carry them everywhere. It was good to remember than I had these journals waiting for me, waiting to hold the perfect project.
I ended up choosing a hardcover journal, nothing fancy, but the paper inside is of a good weight and it will hold up to a lot of abuse. This notebook lasted me 15 months; the next one should be able to do the same. I'm excited to write on that very first page, to fill another notebook with my thoughts and words. It's been too long since I've started something new.
I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels this way - this elation, this thrill. It's one of my perks to being a writer, and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it.
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