Blank Pages

I bought a new journal yesterday. There’s nothing quite like the potential of a brand new book full of blank pages.

My very generous congregation gave me a gift card from Barnes and Noble to recognize the Month of the Ministry, so I stopped by there yesterday at lunch. A journal seemed a good way to use the gift, part practical, part reflective, part complete splurge. I picked out a black, leather-bound book, with an expandable inside pocket and an elastic strap, made by Moleskine.

I’d had my eye on the Moleskine journals since several of my favorite writers at the Collegeville Institute raved about them last summer. And the label declares that Moleskines are “legendary,” used by the likes of Hemingway and Picasso.

“It was kind of expensive,” I confessed to Rob.

“Meaning, it was more than a dollar notebook from Rite-Aid?” he asked.

I glanced at the price tag. “Um. Yes.” Significantly more than a dollar.

He looked at the price tag, too, and rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”

But I had this gift card. And surely, the more you pay for a journal, the better your writing will be.

Right?



  • 🙂

    No, but better paper helps the ink flow more smoothly, which helps my hand get less tired so I can write longer.
    And the softcover means I can put the pen inside the book and put the elastic around it, so that the tools I need are there when I need them. Like many writers, I’m lazy, and I’ll latch onto any excuse not to write, including having to hunt for a pen.

    Don’t get me wrong, the cult of the Moleskine really is eyeroll-worthy! I’m all for the cheap stuff if it does what you need it to do. But they are worth every penny to me. (And if you get hooked on them, they’re cheaper online.)


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