Each year at the end of Fringe, I buy myself some new pens and a new notebook. End of August / early September has always felt like the beginning of the year to me–Fringe is over, my birthday’s coming, the traditional start of school. A clean slate. A fresh start. A blank notebook.
At Barnes and Noble I found three little black notebooks packaged together by moleskin. Lined (with very skinny lines for my tiny archaic chicken scratch handwriting), black cover, not too many pages, the correct size. I stuck two new pens and a notebook in my bag while I’ve been temping this week. And now it is Friday. And there is nothing in the book.
Maybe it’s just me and my need for perfection, but I have a hard time starting a notebook. It has to be the right word, the thought, the sentence that will propel my ink forward though the pages and the stories. And sometimes it takes a few days or weeks to get that started.
Maybe it’ll help if I get around to posting some thoughts on Fringe and I Hate Kenny G. Then I can put this year behind me, and look for a new sentence to start.
