Each writer has his or her own way of developing his “next big project”, fleshing it out and producing an acceptable draft worthy of becoming the basis of the final, editable manuscript. They may dictate their thoughts and ideas into a recorder, type them out on a document on computer or, my personal favourite, physically write them down.
Every time I see a personal journal/diary at a store, I buy it.
If you stand looking at my bookcases, you will see a section dedicated to journals and diaries. There are spiral bound notebooks, little, square hardback diaries, “personal improvement” journals with those daily inspirations printed on each page, journals the size of a novel, paperback, rigid back covered in cloth, soft back bound in leather…it matters not!
There are also several old cigar boxes, each holding an assortment of pens and pencils.
One smaller box holds the few pencils collected from the home of Thomas A Edison when I was but a wee child; I reserve those for days that I’m “stuck” in my own writing. These pencils are down from a dozen to a mere three.
During those times that I feel my creative juices have dried up, I will pick up one of those pencils and immerse myself in daydreams; “Imagine what thoughts have been set down using this very pencil,” I will say to myself. “Mind drives hand, hand drives pen, pen drives words…this pencil was once directly attached to HIS mind.”
Yes, there is something…I don’t know…tactiley satisfying and inspirational in doing things by hand.
This is most especially true when it comes to writing. Our books contain pieces of…US. How much more can you put of yourself into a book, how much more deeply and efficiently…and surely…can you bring it to life, than by touching it, as one nurtures one’s child.