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Wednesday I got my Vampire: The Requiem moleskine notebook.

It’s my fifth moleskine since I started using them around 2004, when Michelle bought me one out of frustration after I hunted for a pen and paper in a Chinese restaurant when ambushed with a card game idea.

I have a weird relationship with my moleskines. For example, I’m not a writer that has a lot of rituals — I don’t have to write at a certain time, or in a certain place, or with a certain pen. When I get a new notebook, though, I always do three things within a day of getting it. First, I write my name, address and email address on the first page (which, conveniently, all Moleskine brand notebooks have spaces for already). Then, I have to write the page numbers on the upper corner of each page in ink. Finally, I write the date that I got the notebook, and a short entry about where I’m at as a writer and how I got the notebook that must take up at least the first page.

The first entry tradition started off for two pragmatic reasons. First, the first and last pages of each notebook are glued in weirdly — they’re stuck to the covers a bit, which makes them hard to write on unless you fold them down close to the spine so they lie flat. I hate writing on that page, so I want to get past it as soon as possible. The second reason is because the notebooks are nicer than most other notebooks, and I used to have the problem worrying that "it’s too nice to write in." If I have something written in it already, then the seal is broken, and I can start using it normally, but I admit I haven’t had that problem for years now. I often got a notebook before the previous one is full, so I wanted to start noting when I got them and how, and that first page notation evolved into a retrospective of where I am as a writer and a person.

This one is the first of the large-sized notebooks I’ve owned — 240 pages at 5.25 x 8.25 inches. It’s also the first one with any decoration on the covers. The previous four have all been pocket-sized — 192 pages at 3.5 x 5.5 inches. Part of the reason for the change is that over the years, I find that I’m carrying the notebook in my pocket less and less. When I’m out, I usually have some sort of bag with me (previously a Czech map case, but now a US Army engineer’s bag), and my notebook goes in there. If carrying my bag is a problem for some reason (such as when I’m working a convention), I can take short notes on my iPhone. While I still use my notebook for more detailed notetaking, such as brainstorming or meeting notes, the small size is a little hard to write in after a certain point, so I end up just sticking to bullet points instead of moving to a longer form if the mood strikes me. Since I don’t have to be able to carry it in a pocket on short notice anymore, I decided to try a larger size to give me more flexibility. (It’s also gridded, so I can do things like write story flowcharts or sketch out tables of data easier.)

Other people have weird reactions to my notebooks, although they tend to be in one of two extremes. The responses seem to fall either into "Wow, I could never write in something that nice" (it’s a notebook; it’s designed to be written in) or "I bet you write a lot of really deep stuff in there" (I’ve used my notebooks for everything from grocery lists to sketching out maps for role-playing games, but the one thing I almost never do is write complete stories or articles in one). These notebooks are often associated with societal perception of "being a writer," and yet I can’t shake the image of people who apparently carry around blank notebooks to coffee shops just so they can look thoughtfully at a blank page while sipping their espresso. (The fact that I saw someone doing exactly that in a museum in London doesn’t make it any better.)

The reason I carry a notebook isn’t because it’s a cool thing for a writer to have. It’s because I forget shit all the time. I see a cool building that I like, or meet a person that’s interesting, or overhear a story that reminds me of something, and I want to write it down so I don’t forget. Sometimes a snippet of dialogue or an idea for a story will come to me in the middle of Costco or in the shower or while I’m eating sushi, and I want to jot it down. A lot of Whitechapel, for example, comes from a variety of images and ideas I’ve built up over the years. Writers are cultural magpies, and when they take their latest shiny bit of writery goodness, it goes into the nest… er, notebook.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t tried to be more "serious" with my notebooks. One time I was bored in a hotel room and started writing a story for my own entertainment, but I ended up scrapping it. Another time I tried to turn my notebook into a diary, but I realized that I preferred blogging. I just don’t use my notebooks for what I’m "supposed" to use them for, but I’ve come to accept that I care more about function than external perceptions. Plus, it’s really fucking nice to be able to look up something I jotted down four years ago when it comes back into my head, and it’s easier to store a notebook on my bookshelf when it actually looks and feels like a book, instead of trying to keep a college-ruled spiral notebook from falling apart between a dozen moves or when it starts to rain.

So, here’s to the moleskine notebook, the dumping ground for my brain.