Some things ought to be obvious. Some things should just go without saying. Yet, it is the first time I’ve kept all my notes together in one tidy, neatly arranged, damage-resistant location.
When writing my first book there was a lot of additional, unrelated brainstorming and planning going on for other projects, and all my notes wound up gathered haphazardly together in the same flimsy few exercise books with no conceivable order and some near unreadable even to me, dashed off so quickly. I still have all these notes and their resident books in various states of falling apart. They carry essential ideas which I may or may not be able to recall independently when I need them. I have to keep them, and keep them well.
But no more. I’ve had enough of chapter-coding endless notes scrawled across reams of pages torn from multiple notebooks in an attempt to keep respective plot lines in one place. Of hunting through these ripped pages with ever-increasing irritation, sure I wrote that note near the end of February in green ink, near that possible quote circled in red and perhaps beneath the bare bones of that new conversation to add to chapter twenty-eight recorded in now faded pencil marks. The time has come for order and legibility.
The tidy, happy new home for all current story working (and only this story) is a hard-covered, sturdy pink TYPO journal with lots of space for notes, but also blank pages for sketches, and there’s even a handy pocket at the back where I’ve stuck all my pre-journal notes (after I searched my disordered notebooks and tore all the appropriate pages out). It had been sitting unmarked on my shelf for some time, a gift from Erin, but I hadn’t thought to use something so nice for something as rough as brainstorming before. But carrying my pink book, I’m always prepared to plot, to plan, and to ponder. I’m in control of my story, as opposed to last time, when my story was (and still is) most definitely in control of me.