My Notebooks

The holiday season is a time for getting together with family and friends, and this year though different has already brought out moments to be treasured and recorded. And, as I do year-round, I pulled out my notebook and began to jot down a few comments to remember—a book title that someone mentioned, an idea for a story that popped up when an interesting-looking stranger passed me on the street, a plan for a spring get-together, the name of a shop I wanted to return to. No one comments when I pulled out my little composition book, and I doubt anyone who knows me well even registers what I'm doing.

I have stacks of them. Each one usually covers about six months. The stacks are high enough to prevent the desk from closing properly, so I'm wondering about where I'll put them. Curious, I pulled out one from June 1998, when I attended a city planning meeting and noted the statistics someone gave. What would our little city look like if every lot were built on? This was all part of the city's master plan, and giving residents a chance to debate the proposals. I can't remember why I went, but the notes are evocative. 

 

A few pages later I had notes on Emotional Intelligence by David Goleman (1995), along with the Boston public library and its call number, followed by a few quotes.

 

In the beginning of one book is a short dialogue with two gay men, recorded moments after the fact.

 

First man to second: "You're a goodlooking guy. Here's a hug."

And then to me: "And you too."

Me: "I'm a distant second."

First man: "It's in the reading, not in the text."

 

This dialogue hasn't made it into a story yet, but other snippets overheard have. 

 

One of the best locations for catching dialogue is on Amtrak (sometimes even the Quiet Car), where riders are comfortable enough to shout over the rocking and clacking of the train. Coffee shops seem to be overrated for eavesdropping, but a hair salon is still a good spot along with certain grocery aisles.  

 

Sometimes I'm recording minutes of a meeting or drafting a grant proposal (when I was still working) or working out the idea of a letter I'm drafting. Lots of pages are filled with trial sentences. If the topics have changed over the years, my handwriting hasn't.

 

A colleague noticed my note taking one day and commented that she did the same thing. I asked if she reread her booklets at the end of the year. She said no, she threw them out. She never kept one.

 

My notebooks are inelegant, subjective, personal, and practical. They reflect my life and way of doing things, and I can't imagine throwing them out. 

 

Do you keep a journal? Any kind of record? Would you throw it out when it was filled? This is the kind of quirk that could lead to an interesting story character.