The feeling of writing in a new notebook is heavenly.
The only down side to this, is that once you’ve written in it, you can’t do it for the first time ever again.
Which is why you buy another, and then another after that. But the problem with so many notebooks, is that it takes up A LOT of room, and you have a mere three or four pages with words, the rest are blank. It’s kind of a waste.
The only good thing is that when you eventually have a sort out of your notebooks (admittedly, very dull, but you’ll feel almost cleansed afterwards) you usually come across a few half finished – or hardly started – bits of writing.
I think this is great, because often you can’t even remember when/why/how you wrote what you did, you just stumble across it. Today, I found this in one of my notebooks – I haven’t edited it (yet):
I park my car outside the modest supermarket and wait for my mother. She usually gets here around 8ish, but this evening she stumbles along a little later. She’s drunk, again. Her eyes are wobbling around in her head, a trait I’ve learnt over the past few weeks means that she is really drunk. She doesn’t know what day it is, or that she has a son. If a grizzly bear introduced himself to her I doubt she’d remember it in the morning. The only thing on her mind is more of the same. More alcohol, more cigarettes, more drugs. She pushes open the door slowly, her paper-thin arms struggle.
I wait for a long time in my car. An old man parks next to me and squeezes his huge body out of his vehicle and shuffles past mine. I feel my jaw lock and my body tense up, but he manages to squeeze past without scratching the body of the car. Care home kids hate other people touching their stuff, let alone destroying them.
Whether you want to continue with what you wrote, or ignore it completely, it’s up to you. Either way, I think it’s always good to revisit your writing. Who were you when you wrote it? Who are you now?