Notebooks: What They Can and Cannot Do

Notebooks have been having a moment recently. They’ve been around for centuries now, yes, and I don’t see them going anywhere, but they’ve been having a moment. The number of YouTube channels and videos all about notebooks, commonplacing, fountain pens, stationery, and more is staggering.

Two channels I’ve come across in the last year or so, ParkNotes

and Jared Henson

both blew up after posting videos about commonplacing. Heck, one of my more popular YouTube videos from the early days was all about how I used my notebooks during my PhD and one of my better read Substack posts was about all of my notebooks. So, what’s so special about notebooks? What can they do? And, more importantly, what can’t they do?

There is no denying that for many, myself included, the draw that notebooks exert is romantic and aesthetic. As someone who loves writes like C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, who handwrote all of their first drafts, sitting down with a nice pen and a good notebook can feel like I’m doing what they did. And by writing in the same way, maybe, just maybe, I’ll have the same outcome. I know, of course, that this isn’t true, but that doesn’t stop me from enjoying the aesthetic appeal of notebooks and fountain pens. They just make me feel like a writer in a way my computer doesn’t. Plus, there’s no denying how classy you look pulling out a nice notebook and pen when everyone around you is typing away on computers or scrolling on their phones.

And that’s one of the other advantages. Notebooks help you avoid distractions. No notifications can pop up on your paper notebook. Your pen won’t suddenly start ringing while you’re trying to write with it. Your attention can be wrapped up in the world of your notebook and what you’re writing in it. But there are digital word processors that do that now, and typewriters were doing it long before those were invented. So why a notebook and not one of those machines?

The truth is, I just like putting pen to paper. It forces me to think more carefully about what I want to write. Especially, when I write in pen, am I required to think carefully. Any mark I make will be there for as long as the notebook lasts. I cannot easily remove them. At most I can cross them out, but they’re still there. And that’s a good thing! Because if it was a mistake or bad idea, I can learn from it. But if it turns out it wasn’t, it’s still there. It’s still recoverable. I can reclaim it.

What’s more, study after study has shown that taking notes by hand is better than taking them digitally. Yes, you can write more and more quickly on a computer or similar device, but your retention of what you have written will be less (yes, I understand that for some people handwriting is literally not an option, but that is not the position for the majority of people). Additionally, because you must write less, you must be more selective. This requires you to be more discerning about what you write down, and it will teach you to pick out the most important information. This will have the natural consequence of helping you perform better, whether in class or at your job.

Notebooks are also grounding. They are physical artefacts we can leave behind. I shudder to think about future researchers having to comb through old Twitter or Facebook posts. When I write, I feel the concreteness of what I’m doing as my pen scratches across the paper. And it is a little piece of myself, an example that someone with a soul lived and had thoughts and struggles and dreams. But even when a notebook is not preserved or not intended to be, they are still a greater connection to reality in that moment. At least I know that I left these marks that they are there to be re-read or destroyed as I see fit. The truth is, there are so many things a notebook can do for you, but there are limitations.

Notebooks are not a panacea for the woes of modernity. They cannot make you more attentive or a better reader. They cannot replace all the functionality of your phone or computer, despite what so many YouTube videos claim. They cannot make you brilliant or well-liked. And they cannot make you a better writer. They are a tool, made of paper, bound by thread or staples. They can be beautiful helpers, but they cannot do the work for you. You need the discipline to use them and the wisdom to use them well. On their own, they can do nothing, with you they can do much, but not everything.

So by all means, find a notebook you like. It can be expensive or cheap, high quality or low. Pair it with a writing utensil of your choosing, maybe just a standard yellow number 2, or a dip pen, or a ballpoint, or a fountain pen (my preference and I’ll explain why some other time). And then write. Write your dreams, your fears, your struggles, your sins, you victories, your plans for tomorrow, your shopping list, the opening lines to a new novel, the opening bars to the next great rock opera, or your notes from class. The important thing is to write. To use the tool they way that works best for what you want to do, or to learn what you want to do. Writing by hand on a notebook has its limitations, but it also can open up worlds if you let it.