I’ve gone through a lot of writing material in my day. I only wish I would have gone through more. (Perhaps more on that in another run-away-future post.) Henry Miller wrote that he’d written millions of words. And I’m sure he did. But did Miller write as much text as Bach wrote notes? Who in academic circles will ever answer that one? Anywho. At (my) last count, including journals, novels, plays and whatnot, I’ve probably written close to a million words.
I prefer the simple ”composition” books by Mead and Pen-Tab. I’m really not sure how many makers there are of these things – since W-mart you never can tell where anything comes from anymore – in fact, since W-mart you can’t tell if anything is actually produced at all – it all seems so… just there.
I never touched one of these notebooks before I was about twenty-five. I guess that had to follow the fact that the first novel I read was when I was twenty-two (or so). Back then I used to strap my notebook to the back of my motorcycle and it went with me everywhere. I wrote my first play in a ”composition” notebook.
Since moving to Europe the women here don’t fancy American public-school-looking equipment. No, they fancy brands. So I’ve moved up. When I can afford it (or when one of the girls I’m with can afford it) I use Moleskine notebooks. These things are really nice. Very convenient.
There are around fifty notebooks of different sizes and brands laying around where ever I am. They’re like my security blanket. As with all my journals, I start writing in one direction and then when the book is full I turn it over and write in the other direction.
Sometimes I get caught up in writing on anything. I’ve got poster board (DIN A5 size) full of writing. Why?
This is not a plug for selling these things. I’m just trying to get the message out that I’ve failed as a writer and I’m proud to have a lot of words to prove it.