“It is mine, I tell you. My own. My precious. Yes, my precious” 

–Gollum

It’s a story as old as time, or at least as old as paper: the love affair between writers of all kinds and notebooks. There’s even a whole book about them. These precious little bundles of joy are more than just a collection of blank pages; they’re judgement-free sanctuaries for thoughts, repositories of ideas, and free space to dream freely. But ask any writer about their stash, and you’ll likely discover they have far more of them than they could ever realistically fill. Why, then, do writers love notebooks so much? Why do we hoard them? I have a few theories.

First, there’s the allure of possibility. Each notebook holds the promise of stories waiting to be told or at least random musings ready to be scribbled down. A fresh notebook feels like a clean slate—a new chapter waiting to unfold. The variety of the items themselves makes them especially  enticing: lined, unlined, grid, leather-bound, spiral, in sizes ranging from pocket to legal. Each serves a different mood or project.

But it’s not just about utility. Notebooks are both analog and personal. You don’t need Wi-Fi to operate one,  they never crash, and they don’t pepper you with notifications when you’re deep in thought. The tactile act of putting pen to paper fosters a unique kind of creativity that typing on a keyboard can’t replicate. For me, writing in longhand accesses a different part of the brain and my ideas flow differently without backspace keys or that annoying–but handy–autocorrect function.

Then, of course, there’s the fact that many notebooks are just plain cute.  What kind of heartless monster can resist a beautifully designed cover or the crisp, luxurious texture of high-quality paper?? A notebook can feel like a small piece of art—a collectible, even–or maybe especially– if it’s never sullied by a single word.

And that’s the reality: many of us will never use all the notebooks we own. I just spent a weekend going through my home with personal organizer Edith Dandenault of Havenmaven.ca  in an effort to tame my clutter, and we identified 35 notebooks, untouched, collecting dust on my shelves, plus a bunch of others that had been filled only halfway before being abandoned for pretty new ones. I managed to part with about 20, but I fear my hoarding will continue, stoked by the idea that a new notebook will bring new magic.

I guess these notebooks symbolize hope, and potential. They’ll always be dear to my heart, but I’ve promised to keep my stash down to 20 from now on.

Seems reasonable, right?