Lilty, go spiralbound, but get the kind with a sturdy cover--I do all my longhand writing and note-taking in Mead Five Stars.

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I can see how the fancy ones might lend an air of formalcy or ritual to what you're doing -- I've gone both ways with sketchbooks. In the end, the moment and the product are your own.

If I was feeling ambitious, I could always get the pretty one as more a trip diary. OTOH, with one backpack, should it come to a choice between a fancypants notebook and, say, another pair or two of panties, I guess I should err on the side of hygeine.

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Aaaaaaaaaaaand, I just finished the first half of Chapter 12.

That's it. Must go cook.

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Lilty, I feel your pain. I love nicely bound and unique journals; I've bought dozens over the years. I haven't written in any of them, though. I take notes on legal pads or in spiral bound notebooks, then do my actual writing on the computer. Although, I've been known to use credit card receipts from my wallet in a pinch, when unplanned inspirations strikes in the bank drive-thru lane.

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I once wrote fast and furious on the front and then the back flyleaf of a novel I was reading because I didn't have any paper with me. Since then I've carried a half-size spiral in my bag at all times. I found some that have pages of 20 lb paper, which is heavy enough to take fountain pen ink and not bleed through.

I break down and buy the pretty notebooks and journals...and wind up giving them away as gifts. When I started journaling again, I had a section in my day planner of lined notebook paper. The planner was usually with me, and I could scribble anytime a thought took me. I'd keep about a half-inch of blank pages in the binder, replacing filled ones with blank until I had about an inch thickness of filled pages. I covered report binders with pretty gift wrap or fabric, and bound the pages in those to archive. A pretty conceit, but now spirals do fine.

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I wish I could keep a notebook, but my handwriting? Looks like ass. So keeping a notebook has been more about playing writer than being one.ETA: Because it became a prop as I could not read myself, later. I thought maybe that sounded judgemental of others' yen for the paper. But I was also blessed and cursed with a photographic memory. Blessed at times like that and cursed because I'm often stuck with a disturbing thought till somebody says(sigh) "Are you still on that?"

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Going through my books some more. Would anyone like a copy of "Amateur Detectives: a writer's guide to how private citizens solve criminal cases", part of the Howdunit Series from Writer's Digest?

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This is nuts. It is. Attack novel, or something. I'm in the very high tension part of this thing, zooming in toward the solution and the ending, and I know precisely what's going to happen, what they're going to say to each other, the lot.

I wouldn't mind (in the sense of envy) except it is so good, so engaging, and I'm always WAITING WAITING WAITING for more.

...

Lilty, I would totally get the pretty notebook. It would be like in the movies -- you know, inspirational music, a montage: me taking out my pen, and pretty notebook, writing, falling asleep on a park bench, with my glasses all crooked, 'cause in my montage, I have glasses.

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I wouldn't mind (in the sense of envy) except it is so good, so engaging, and I'm always WAITING WAITING WAITING for more.

Honey, I wrote three thousand words on this thing yesterday. Thag want feedback! Except I'm pretty sure it doesn't need much - and then there's the part of the brain that says, jeez, bitch, you really are in love with yourself, kiss the fuckin' mirror and get over it, it can't possibly be going this smoothly.

There's a bit, earlier on in the book, where my female protagonist tells Our Hero that the way to frell a lie detector test results is to choose one of two paths, and go down that one: either go completely zen, or else be agitated from the first moment.

I keep going between agitated and zen on this book. Another 12K to 15K words, I think, and it's done.

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Except I'm pretty sure it doesn't need much - and then there's the part of the brain that says, jeez, bitch, you really are in love with yourself, kiss the fuckin' mirror and get over it, it can't possibly be going this smoothly.

I started to give feedback, and it came out all fangurl, and I already sent that, yesterday. *g*

Seriously, I love the pacing in particular. I feel like the main character and I just catch our breath, and then there's something else, which is, of course, what life is like.

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