This time of year I get obsessed with stationery. Calendars, journals and planners are marked down for post-Christmas sales and I start thinking of all the projects I want to do and how I want to organize them. I find myself wanting to write meticulous outlines and notes in a Hemmingwayesque moleskine journal. Notes for what? How the heck should I know? Everything. Nothing. Just notes. Notes that will become stories, essays, novels, manifestos…
I remember a poet friend of mine confessed how she was OCD about paper and stationery. I never really thought about it until she said it, but once she did I realized I was too. It’s a nice feeling to look at a blank sheet and think of the possibilities. Or to look at a blank notebook and think of how you might fill it.
It’s easy to get sidetracked, though. I find myself getting so obsessed with organizing and note-taking that I set projects that are in motion aside. It’s sort of like the “I’ve got to clean my desk before I can write anything” syndrome that so many writers have.
My advice. Indulge your inner note-taker and buy yourself a nice journal for 50% off. Spend an hour playing with it. Then get back to work.