By Sabyasachi Roy
At what point does an obsession with buying notebooks become a cry for help? Because if owning stacks of untouched Moleskines made you a writer, my bookshelf alone would have penned a Pulitzer by now. And yet, here I am, staring at another blank page, wondering if I actually write or just enjoy the idea of writing.
If you’ve ever wandered into a stationery store, locked eyes with a particularly handsome leather-bound journal, and thought, “This will be the one that finally turns me into a disciplined writer”, congratulations. You, too, might be suffering from chronic Notebook Collector Syndrome. It’s a condition where you convince yourself that productivity starts with aesthetic office supplies.
Why Buying Notebooks Feels Productive (But Isn’t)
It’s simple. Buying a notebook feels like a commitment. It tricks your brain into thinking you’re making progress when all you’ve really done is exchange money for paper. It’s the same phenomenon as buying running shoes and convincing yourself you’ve exercised. Sure, you could become a marathon runner—but first, let’s just take a moment to admire how cool these sneakers look.
The truth is, notebooks are seductive. They sit there, all crisp and full of potential, whispering, “You could write something amazing in me”. But then reality hits: the moment you put words down, you risk ruining the pristine beauty of that blank page. And God forbid it’s bad. (It will be.)
The Fear of Writing vs. The Reality of Bad First Drafts
The scariest part of writing is… well, writing. Thinking about writing? Easy. Fantasizing about your future book tour? Delightful. Actually putting words down and realizing they sound like a drunk pigeon dictated them? Soul-crushing.
This is where fear gets in the way. A blank page is full of possibilities. A filled page is proof of your mediocrity. So, the logic goes: if you never start, you never fail. Except that’s nonsense. Every writer, from the literary greats to the guy angrily tweeting about his lunch, writes garbage before they write anything good. The difference is, some of them keep going.
If it helps, Ernest Hemingway once said, “The first draft of anything is shit.” And this was a man who survived two plane crashes in two days—so he knew a thing or two about dealing with disaster.
How Imposter Syndrome Tricks You Into Thinking Real Writers Don’t Struggle
Imposter syndrome is that annoying voice in your head that insists real writers don’t struggle. That they wake up, sip black coffee, and effortlessly produce lyrical prose with zero self-doubt. Lies. All lies.
Even famous authors panic. Franz Kafka once described his own writing as “nothing but scribblings,” and let’s not forget that Harper Lee only published one novel in her lifetime because the pressure to follow up To Kill a Mockingbird was just too much (Well sure there was Go Set a Watchman but that was in 2015, a full 55 years later). Anyway, the point is, if they felt like frauds, what chance do the rest of us have?
Writers struggle. They procrastinate. They consider careers as mushroom foragers because that seems easier than editing another chapter. The difference between them and the people who just think about writing is that, eventually, they force themselves to sit down and do the work.
The Difference Between Thinking About Writing and Doing the Work
Thinking about writing is great. It makes you feel creative without actually doing anything. But unless you plan to publish an imaginary novel, at some point, you have to, you know, write.
Here’s the harsh truth: there’s no magic moment where writing suddenly becomes easy. No celestial alignment that turns you into a productivity machine. You just have to start. Even if it’s bad. Especially if it’s bad.
If that sounds unfair, consider this: sharks have been around for 400 million years and still haven’t figured out how to avoid getting stuck in fishing nets. Everybody struggles.
A Simple Habit Shift to Move from Notebook Collector to Writer
If you want to write, start small. Open that beautiful notebook you bought and commit to writing for five minutes every day. Even if it’s nonsense. Eventually, something will stick.
Or, better yet—skip the notebook entirely and type on whatever device is nearby. Because let’s be honest: you’re going to hesitate before ‘ruining’ a fancy journal, but you have no problem filling your Notes app with absurd thoughts at 2 AM. (We’ve all written a random sentence in our phones that makes no sense in the daylight.)
Therefore
So, owning notebooks doesn’t make you a writer. Writing makes you a writer. Even if you’re convinced that raccoons, given enough time, could compose better sentences. Just keep going. And if all else fails? Remember: at least you’ll have a very stylish collection of unused notebooks to pass down to future generations. Maybe they’ll finally fill them.
Bio: Sabyasachi Roy is an academic writer, poet, artist, and photographer. His poetry has appeared in The Broken Spine, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review, Dicey Brown, The Potomac, and more. He contributes craft essays to Authors Publish and has a cover image in Sanctuary Asia. His oil paintings have been published in The Hooghly Review. You can follow his writing on Substack here.
