I admire an empty page waiting eagerly for me to introduce it to my pencil. It’s a love affair that’s sweetly happening when I collect the two simultaneously. Before I fall asleep at night or when I’m motivated during the day, I write. Each page in my notebook is filled with words. My notebook first held the ideas I put there for…well, lots of things. I’ve written countless stories, poems, and blog posts before I type them up and let others see. I’m almost always carrying a notebook or paper of some kind. My writing always ends up saved in a file on my computer, but my notebook saw it first. Flipping through a notebook, I see page after page filled up with words. It is beautiful! There is no order how it goes down there, for it will arise in organization as I type it.
Is a notebook just a notebook? Is the lined paper it contains meaningless? No, for when all school supplies go on sale in August, I select my discounted college-ruled notebooks. I pick up a 24-pack of mechanical pencils, and I set them in the cart side by side. There, they meet, and together they shall be until discarded. When I open a notebook, it beckons me: Write.
Sometimes I write a lot in a short amount of time. Sometimes it takes me longer and scribbles fill more of the page than words. When I’m asked to write, it doesn’t always come as easy as it should. But when I want to write (for me), I listen to the empty page and let my thoughts pour onto the lined paper. It meets my pencil as I begin writing and the love affair begins.