Today/tonight, I finished my plotting/planning book.
That notebook has traveled with me, it’s been with me since I started taking this whole writing thing seriously. I remember when it became my planning book. I was house-sitting for my (now ex) boyfriend’s boss. I was curled up on the sofa, in front of the open fire, the sun setting, preparing my notes for NaNoWriMo.
That was six or seven years ago now.
That right there, is six or seven years worth of ideas and notes. Each tab marks a new idea or book.
That book contains my writing history to date.
It has notes on my very earliest books, the ones which weren’t good enough to be published. It has my first forays into world-building, and my explorations of other genres. It carried me through the erotica days, the paranormal romance, and all of my Urban Fantasy books.
It’s full of ideas that may never be written, but they’re there, ready. It shows the progression of some of my published books, how Quin was originally called Finn.
It shows my shifting attitudes and focuses, from the bright colours and stickers in the beginning, to the organised bullet-pointed lists in the final pages. I had to stop using post-it notes at about the 3/4 mark because it was bowing too much.
There’s even some poetry and flash fiction in there. There are some bits that were written directly onto the back of bread bags where I wrote them during work as a baker.
That notebook is like a horcrux, it contains a very real part of me.
It’s more than a little weird that I’ve filled it. Now I will start on the beautiful Paperblanks notebook my mother-in-law gave me for my birthday. I’ll fill the next notebook with the next leg of my writing journey.