I wasn't going to post again until after Christmas, being somewhat in the doldrums, but yesterday I went shopping in Brighton and came home with a Clairefontaine notebook - buff faux leather cover, (that's buff as in hue, for Americans who think I think my notebook has a sexy body) stitched pages, ruled ... well, just a thing of beauty, really. All for £3.50.
And suddenly, despite the fact that all around me is literary doom and gloom, and good writers are having their books remaindered, and I don't even have a book to be remaindered, I'm happy again.
All it takes is something nice to write in, and this novelist is back in the saddle, churning out words. Cheap date isn't in it, I'm ludicrously easy to please, it seems.
So, I hope you all find a Clairefontaine notebook in your stocking this year, or whatever is the literary equivalent for putting a smile on your particular face.
Merry Christmas, one and all.
Labels: clairefontaine, notebook, novel writing