Am I the Only One Who Buys Notebooks But Never Actually Uses Them?

Zero Day posits the improbable

Netflix

This post is not about Zero Day, a Netflix political thriller starring Robert De Niro as an ex-president and America’s Last Great Hope. I actually want to talk about notebooks. But the TV series prompted these thoughts. And this is mostly a pop culture newsletter.

So: Zero Day.

One of the first scenes involves President De Niro (not the character’s name, but c’mon, it’s De Niro) in the swankiest office you can imagine. Fireplace, upholstered chairs, wall-to-wall book shelves. Light and space. Mahogany for days.¹ The only thing missing is one of those nifty ladders on rollers to access the top shelf.² De Niro is working on a memoir, and during the scene he stands before a shelf filled with used notebooks. He wants to confirm some obscure detail from his past, but all I could think was: “Damn, Bobby—you actually use your notebooks?!”

The funny thing about Zero Day—a very not-funny series in which people die—is how frequently notebooks feature into the story. De Niro carries around a notebook and, as setup in the intro, he actually uses it. Not just uses it—the notebook does heavy narrative lifting. There are probably a dozen shots where the only thing we see is the notebook. I can just imagine the director saying, “I get it, Bobby—you’re a famously awesome actor. But I need you to step aside. I want to run another iso play for the notebook.”

I genuinely expected to see the notebook listed as the 4th credit:

• Ex-President: Robert De Niro

• Landry Clarke: Jesse Plemons

• Tami Taylor: Connie Britton³

• The Notebook: Moleskine

This is probably one of those instances where the viewer’s worldview amplifies something in the narrative. My wife was too busy untangling plot threads to pay much attention to the notebook. She loves thrillers. For her, the notebook was the plot device it was intended to be. Me? I love notebooks and therefore assigned something like personhood upon it.

That’s not really a surprise. Of all the people in the world, I know myself the best. It was just strange to see my paper-bound fetish reflected in a Netflix series. The only reason we get all the gratuitous notebook porn—is there anything more satisfying than opening a used notebook and running your fingers across the text and feeling indentations left long ago by one’s own hand?—is because someone associated with Zero Day (read: a writer) put it there. Because they feel that way too. Because all writers are filthy little notebook devotees when you get down to it.

If the last notebook you bought was a spiral-bound number at a back-to-school sale, there’s a good chance you’re wondering: WTF is a Moleskine. No, it’s not a notebook bound in the skin of a mole. But I can see how you got there.

Moleskine⁴ is both a brand and a distinct kind of notebook. I don’t actually know if De Niro was carrying around an actual Moleskine. It had the distinct markings of one, which has been replicated by other brands and, of course, cheap knockoffs. You’ve probably seen it before: black covers, rounded corners, an elastic band to keep it closed. The notebooks also have stitched bindings, a ribbon bookmark, and an expandable pocket tucked into the back cover. They’re the Lamborghini of notebooks. They attempt to evoke prestige from bound paper.

It works.

I was actually afraid to use the first Moleskine I bought. True story. I just sorta admired the idea of using it. I wouldn’t have articulated that at the time, but I felt like a notebook of such caliber should be reserved from something significant, which I didn’t feel capable of producing at the time. For a while I just collected Moleskines with the idea that I’d use them someday.

Some of my limited edition Moleskines, plus a standard one I put a Star Wars sticker on because of course I did.

Apart from the sheer pleasure of holding something well-crafted, Moleskines tap into the mystique that surrounds the craft of writing when you’re an aspirant looking for a way in. The thinking goes something like: “I’ll be a writer when I have all the proper writerly things. Ernest Hemingway used moleskine notebooks. I’d like to be a writer like him, even though I thought The Old Man and the Sea was boring.”

It’s reductionist thinking that ignores an obvious truth. You can only be a writer by writing.

I crossed that conceptual bridge long ago. But even though I confidently, some might say brazenly, consider myself a writer, I still treat notebooks like vintage Star Wars toys: something to be collected but not used.

I own at least a dozen unused Moleskines—which go for over $20 a pop, though I once scored a Star Wars one for $5 years ago and to this day regret not buying dozens, I’m not even joking. I also have a gorgeous leather journal that resembles a map of Middle-Earth, and another that looks like a D&D prop. I have a metal-bound notebook with a dragon head embossing. I have baby-sized Moleskines to carry when I leave the house, as though a change of venue might inspire me to bust out a pen (it doesn’t). I have a huge stack of soft cover notebooks I bought for D&D but instead use an old yellow legal pad.

Last week, my wife and I went to Michaels for something she needed. I had no agenda and wandered off on my own. Do you know where I ended up? The section with journals. Every time I pass the notebook aisle at Target, I rubberneck for a fleeting glimpse. I used to get excited for back-to-school shopping because it meant I had a valid excuse to fawn over notebooks and pens. I never buy anything. I’ve already bought too much. But I still like to look. I must look.

It’s seems crazy that I can easily write words on the internet for public consumption, but find myself unable or unwilling to write in notebook just for myself. I’m currently trying to bullet journal—again—as a way to get myself in the habit of opening a notebook everyday. I’ve already seen value. A notebook encourages me to slow down, to think. It helps clarifies my intentions and gives heft to my goals. Plus the tactile experience is unmatched.

Since we finished Zero Day, I’ve started keeping a Moleskine on my desk. I’ve even written in it a bit. A few short journal entries. My goals for the week. I have zero desire to be a diarist. I’m still looking for the use case that clicks for me, for that elusive ‘aha!’ moment. I’m trying to make myself into someone who uses a notebook, by actually using a notebook. Maybe that’s all it takes.

I’m reminded of something George R.R. Martin once said about writing:

“Some writers enjoy writing, I am told. Not me. I enjoy having written.”

Tell us something we don’t know, George. 14 years later, we’re still waiting for The Winds of Winter. But he speaks truth. I enjoy the creative act of writing, but most of my satisfaction is found in the completion of something. Perhaps I’ll enjoy writing in my notebooks once I’ve already written in them.

In the meantime, I’m just going to carry around a Moleskine like I’m a deep thinker of important thoughts. They don’t need to know my notebook is full of D&D maps and writing plans and things that struck me as funny. Maybe I need to treat it less like something profound and more like a commonplace book, the kitchen drawer of notebooks.

I want to use my notebooks, because I’d really like to buy more.

1. I’m not really a wood guy, in the sense that I don’t know what constitutes quality wood. I know oak is solid, but less impressive than something like maple or walnut. For whatever reason, whenever I’m setting a scene in D&D and need to describe a richly appointed office, I always default to ‘mahogany desk.’ It’s become a bit of a running joke.

2. One of my dreams is to one day have a house with a dedicated library and one of those rolling ladders. It’s totally impractical because I’m tall enough to reach the top shelves. But the heart wants what it wants.

3. Sorry not sorry—I will forever identify Plemons and Britton with Friday Night Lights.

4. I talk a lot about moleskines because I love the form and the brand, but in notebook aficionado circles, Moleskine is not universally beloved. Some prefer the Leuchtturm1917, a German notebook that closely ascribes to the moleskine aesthetic. There’s a well-regarded Japanese notebook called Midori that eschews the moleskine look completely. The fact that I know these brand names by heart is maybe a bigger nerd flag than anything else I’ve ever copped to.