The Good Book.

I have a notebook.  It goes everywhere with me.  I carry it around like a little black-bound conscience, and I'm sure is often mistaken for a bible, causing people to give me a wide-berth, fearful that I may be about to preach at them.  (A blessing in itself.)  It snarls at me, it nudges me, it comforts me.  It is a symbol of my good intentions.  It is my sanctuary.

It contains over-heard conversations, family anecdotes, snippets of poetry, drawings, maps, timelines, sudden bursts of inspiration, plots, plot-holes, miraculous answers to all my plot holes, character sketches, and many more questions than answers.  But, everything is thrown into this crucible, to fester, to mature, to form connections and grow.

It contains all of my best work.  Artistically, it is what I am most proud of.  No-one will ever read it.

And I have read many opinions that keeping such a notebook may actually stop me ever writing anything else.  I can't agree.  I couldn't give up my notebook.  I view it like a sourdough starter, something that needs to be fed everyday, and which, in turn, leavens and nourishes my writing, producing a lighter, more individual style.

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