Finding Magic

Loose paper, notebooks, three-ring binders filled with paper and dividers--all fascinating.

My romance with paper began early and continues unabated. I recall owning a black and white wide lined notebook and carefully writing between the lines. The words so contained and measured never touched a line.

By middle school I moved on to three-ring notebooks--all sizes. Flimsy paper worked for school, but not for verse. My nascent poetry required a smooth heavier paper--one that welcomed the scrawling of my fountain pen.

By high school I owned a small black three-ring binder that I used to record items discovered in the newspaper.

Before the behemoth large stores put many stationery stores out of business, I enjoyed the variety displayed in those small stores.

That's where I unearthed treasures--French notebooks, binders that opened and snapped shut on a hundred sheets of heavy weight paper.

I knew enough about paper to resist the folly of allowing a cover to seduce me.

Nothing comes close to the organic feel of good paper--especially if you eschew the ubiquitous roller pens.

That said the computer and the paper coexist in a respectful manner on my desk.

For me poetry must be written first and then transcribed--years ago on a typewriter and now on a computer.

Still a new notebook holds out the possibility of magic.