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During my peak teen mall rat phase, Barnes & Noble was a haven. Sometimes I’d buy a book, but mostly I’d walk each aisle until I reached the notebooks. My favorite were leather-bound, roped shut with a cord. Some were etched with spiral designs; others had gold-edged pages. They all cost $20 or more — more than, at the time, I wanted to spend. But I always looked.
When I actually did buy one, there was nothing more alluring than that first crack of the spine, choosing the perfect pen to press to the lined page. I’d write a poem, or a few diary entries, then close the book.
After that? It would stay 90 percent empty forever. In a few months, I’d see another new, beautiful book, full of promise, and the cycle would repeat.
I’ve gotten no better at filling out notebooks over the years; I still have stacks of sad, half-used ones spread across my apartment and childhood home. But I know I’m not alone — the internet is full of people who find themselves unable to finish a goddamn notebook.
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James' World 2 
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