I Can Only Hope That Good Things Still Come in Little Packages.

IMG_4157Here’s a picture of my little notebook. It’s a thing I carry about my person and on any given day I move it about my body, from top to bottom, side to side and on very special occasions from bottom to top, just to confuse any would-be scallywag set upon liberating the somewhat tarnished treasures within. Don’t be fooled by its appearance either, it’s actually bigger than it appears. To give you some idea of its size I have set it next to a fifty pence piece. Can you see the fifty? Well there you go then. Come and have a go scallywag.

As a writer, I am sometimes caught mid dalliance with the odd idea or two, licking the underside of my brain in the hope that it will stick and depending on how often I scrape around the grey stuff will depend if the sticky notion will find its way into the book.

We are always told to carry some sort of recording device of some description such that in my case, at the drop of an item of clothing I can set about gently coaxing the fresh idea between the soiled sheets of paper before strapping it into place, oblivious to its screaming objections and cries of bad taste. There it will stay, maybe forgotten about until such times as I get bored with looking for that fifty pence piece or the next electricity bill drops onto the mat. And then it’s all hands to the book and the inevitable unease felt as I am reunited with more tarnish than glitter and even after a fair bit of panning for that one nugget that might just put some salt with my pepper, more often than not an old familiar thought echo’s in the darkness of an empty head: what was I thinking?

However there are sometimes gold in them there pages and for those moments of discovery where other ideas are inspired by the old then it’s worth the process of keeping a little piece of paper to hand and if you can bind it in a particularly appealing way you may grow to love it a little bit.

Here’s one thing for sure: If you love your little notebook it will give unto you unexpected treasures of hope, hope that you have something to say that is at least relevant to you, after all, isn’t that why we set about writing in the first place?