When I got my first "real job" out of university, I decided to treat myself and bought a Palm Pilot. My funky boss - the late Thea - had gotten herself one and I was so excited about all the cool things it could do, I just HAD to have one.
And it wasn't just the calendar and the contacts and the fact that you could BRING YOU COMPUTER DETAILS WITH YOU!! It was also the writing possibilities.
I used to use the Notes feature to transfer work from my work computer to my home computer. I could just as easily emailed it to myself but really, would that have been as fun?
I had often imagined myself using it for a more creative purposes - sitting on a park bench with a strong Starbucks coffee or Second Cup coffee, strength number 4, watching the world go by and recording it all using not a pen and notebook but a stylus and a Palm screen.
It got even better when I discovered that Palm(R) made a mini keyboard that folded up to the same size of the Palm. I would have no excuse about writing now.
The novelty - as it eventually does - wore off. I never did sit in a park and do any writing. In the end, that Palm is somewhere in a box in storage.
Lately, I've been thinking about getting a tape recorder, so that when thoughts enter my mind, I could speak them directly into it.
I often find myself in a moment - and to be honest, it's usually in a bar when I'm all glassy eyed - but I think of these things, words, concepts and I want to get them down. A tape recorder would do wonders.
But the cost is just not justifiable right now. I have enough trouble with my CFO when I try to buy a face cream let alone buy an electronic device which is for me only.
So, I had doomed myself to being left without any method of expressing my creativity.
It suddenly struck me that all I needed was a little book and pen. How did Shakespeare do it? Mary Shelley? James Joyce? all the great artists and creative types certainly were able to get by without technology.
Technology had made me an idiot. How had I not thought of this and why did I think I needed to further my tedonitis by making sure I had something to type on whenever the mood struck?
On my birthday when I was wandering the stationary shop, I found it.
And there it was. This lovely little book with an orange promotional band, claiming historic users such as Van Gogh created their masterpieces in these books.
It was called the Moleskin notebook. And I wanted one. Except, not for £30. Were they serious? For a cute little book that has inspiration written all over it? Who would pay that kind of money?
Oh, but it was SO PERFECT.
But I walked out of the shop, promising myself that when I got the better writing job I would most defnitely get one.
And then it arrived.
A day after my birthday but the best late present I've ever gotten.
My little sister C bought me a Moleskin notebook.
And she attached a note that said "For those times you can't blog". How she knew that's what I was looking for I'll never know.
I had never seen this book or mentioned it until the day before I received it and somehow, she knew I would LOVE my present - she told me so in an email.
Perhaps she didn't know how much I'd love it. Now she will.
Talk about karma or connections or just plain sisterly intuition.
And it wasn't just the calendar and the contacts and the fact that you could BRING YOU COMPUTER DETAILS WITH YOU!! It was also the writing possibilities.
I used to use the Notes feature to transfer work from my work computer to my home computer. I could just as easily emailed it to myself but really, would that have been as fun?
I had often imagined myself using it for a more creative purposes - sitting on a park bench with a strong Starbucks coffee or Second Cup coffee, strength number 4, watching the world go by and recording it all using not a pen and notebook but a stylus and a Palm screen.
It got even better when I discovered that Palm(R) made a mini keyboard that folded up to the same size of the Palm. I would have no excuse about writing now.
The novelty - as it eventually does - wore off. I never did sit in a park and do any writing. In the end, that Palm is somewhere in a box in storage.
Lately, I've been thinking about getting a tape recorder, so that when thoughts enter my mind, I could speak them directly into it.
I often find myself in a moment - and to be honest, it's usually in a bar when I'm all glassy eyed - but I think of these things, words, concepts and I want to get them down. A tape recorder would do wonders.
But the cost is just not justifiable right now. I have enough trouble with my CFO when I try to buy a face cream let alone buy an electronic device which is for me only.
So, I had doomed myself to being left without any method of expressing my creativity.
It suddenly struck me that all I needed was a little book and pen. How did Shakespeare do it? Mary Shelley? James Joyce? all the great artists and creative types certainly were able to get by without technology.
Technology had made me an idiot. How had I not thought of this and why did I think I needed to further my tedonitis by making sure I had something to type on whenever the mood struck?
On my birthday when I was wandering the stationary shop, I found it.
And there it was. This lovely little book with an orange promotional band, claiming historic users such as Van Gogh created their masterpieces in these books.
It was called the Moleskin notebook. And I wanted one. Except, not for £30. Were they serious? For a cute little book that has inspiration written all over it? Who would pay that kind of money?
Oh, but it was SO PERFECT.
But I walked out of the shop, promising myself that when I got the better writing job I would most defnitely get one.
And then it arrived.
A day after my birthday but the best late present I've ever gotten.
My little sister C bought me a Moleskin notebook.
And she attached a note that said "For those times you can't blog". How she knew that's what I was looking for I'll never know.
I had never seen this book or mentioned it until the day before I received it and somehow, she knew I would LOVE my present - she told me so in an email.
Perhaps she didn't know how much I'd love it. Now she will.
Talk about karma or connections or just plain sisterly intuition.
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