After these biting remarks, I'm not sure I should be admitting to this, but oh well.
Basically, I have no notebook stamina.
You know, you buy a notebook with the noble dream of being more creative because you'll be writing down all your fantastic thoughts, being motivated by the beautiful pages and crisp cover. You'll write your favourite quote on the inside and everytime you open it, words will come gushing out.
Then, suddenly within the blink of an eye, your notebook is no longer your 'inspiration log', but it's where you write anything and everything: phone numbers, information, websites. It becomes functional and fails to inspire. It pages become dog eared, its cover no longer so crisp and clean. It denudes to a humble collection of disconnected thoughts that instead of transcending your daily rituals, infact binds and guides them.
I need help. Who's with me?
ps. I'm totally obsessed with artists' sketchbooks, which reach heights of cool I will never ever reach. eg Anthony Zinones
Photo credit: Ghostschool