A Case for Writing Things Down

A story about observation

For maybe ten years now, I’ve carried a notebook in my back left pocket. Along with my wallet / phone / keys, it’s become part of the essentials. Because it keeps my mind straight.

A lot of mundane things go into the notebook: grocery lists, to dos, people I ought to catch up with. But, on occasion, I write down a thought that’s worth something. I’m talking about observations, fragments of memories, interesting facts—which, for reasons both known and unknown, seem notable.

A couple of recent notes:

1. American Robin (from Birds of Colorado Field Guide): “City robins sing louder than country robins in order to hear one another over traffic and noise.”

2. If someone is too important, too celebrated, put them in a group of plural—pluralize them (i.e. the kings of England, the actors of Hollywood, etc.). They immediately seem less important.

As a storyteller, these little things can make the difference between getting called for bullshit and writing something that feels real. In his poem, my friend william, Charles Bukowski says, “his garden is a paradise / the heels of his shoes are always level / and his handshake is firm”—that middle line blows me away. It tells you everything about this man.

More importantly, though, and universally, writing these things down forces me to pay attention and keeps me from gliding mindlessly through life.

To be sure, I fuck around on my phone plenty, especially when I’ve got a few minutes to kill. However, I love sitting in a coffee shop, for instance, listening to the sounds around me. The conversations . . . people say the craziest shit in public. When people stare at their phone all of the time, I guess it’s easy to assume no one is listening. I’ve gotten great restaurant recommendations this way. A couple of new jokes. And, as far as figuring out how to write dialogue, it’s gold.

Carrying a notebook generally coincides with when I started taking writing seriously. However, I’d argue that both the notebook habit and the writing followed a personal revival in observation.

A quick but relevant sidebar: around thirteen I got super self-conscious about “fitting in” with my friends—wearing the clothes, getting the haircut, saying the right things—and so I spent a lot of time watching what everyone else was doing. As anxiety-ridden as I was back then, I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything because it was my first effort at serious observation. And the self-awareness I now have is a direct result of the self-consciousness I felt back then (but that’s a bigger topic for another time).

Observation. The notebook turns it into a treat. Alongside ambitious meal planning, I want to fill the page with the things I see / hear / feel. It might sound a little sanctimonious, but the notebook does a lot to keep me present. (I should also say that I often write notes in my phone. I like the way they synch to the computer.)

ten years of pocket notebooks

One final thing: writing thoughts down frees up mental space. This goes for snapshot takes in a pocket notebook to the deep confessions of a diary. I’m not a great journaler, but when I’m trying to sort out what’s going on in my head there’s something cathartic about putting it on the page. And even when I can’t figure it out (which is mostly the case), the effect remains, because whatever it was is not in your mind anymore.

There was a time I was afraid of what I might put on the page if I was being honest. And then I realized the scarier the thought, the more important it usually is. Once it’s on the paper, you can do whatever you want with it. Save it, recycle it, burn it. You have effectively donated those thoughts to another place and time. Getting it out there—that’s the win.

To bring it on home, observing the world is worthwhile but observing yourself is worth everything. Do it. Then write it down.

Martin