Mojo London

“I confess that I was drawn into the Moleskine obsession after reading the history of the notebook. I fell in love with the idea of using the same notebook used by Hemingway, Van Gogh, Henri Matisse, and bought one on impulse, having yearned for one for a long time. Being quite difficult to find makes them seem even more romantic - with a moleskine you can be a writer, a wit, a poet, an artist, a romantic. Unfortunately, and through no fault whatsoever of the notebook, because of this fine history, I got the Moleskine home and discovered I have absolutely nothing to write in it. I am no Hemingway, writing notes for a future classic novel, nor am I a Van Gogh, sketching a future masterpiece in my book. I am a mere mortal, which raises the question of what on earth do I write in this thing? It seems such a waste, almost a sacrelige, to write down things such as "remember - buy socks," or "party guestlist." These mundanities should be reserved for the back of an envelope. Chatwin would be spinning in his grave. I then made the unfortunate mistake of writing just such things in my beautiful book, and the dream shattered before my eyes the moment the first crisp page was tainted. I tried to rip the offending pages out, but due to the way the pages are bound, they all are now slowly falling out,the one and only fault I can find with the thing. It is only while you have not dirtied the virginal pages that you have the fantasy that comes with the book - after you start, it immediately hits you how very normal you actually are.”