Write Stuff

Old Notebooks

A couple of weeks ago, I had need of an old book—a novel I had read some years back. In my collection finding a specific book is not an easy task. However, the act of searching often yields unexpected diversions. In looking for the book I came across several old notebooks.

I’ve never been one to religiously use notebooks or journals—for most of my writing life I’ve had easy access to a computer—but for the better part of twenty years I’ve usually had a notebook nearby. And over the years I’ve scribbled quite an impressive volume into them. So during my search I took the liberty of browsing through some of my old ramblings.

It’s both exhilarating and humbling to read the stories, the fragments, the scenes, written over a decade ago. Although read is a bit of an exaggeration, as my handwriting is cryptic when read immediately. It’s downright fun to read some of the ideas that flowed from my own pen in response to one prompt or another—ideas that once burned, but faded away for one reason or another.

I did find the book I wanted. And now it and a dozen old notebooks sit on the corner of my desk.

I certainly won’t want for ideas for quite a while.