Most writers treat their notebooks too carefully. They wait until they have something worth writing down, something polished enough to deserve the page.
The result is a notebook that looks tidy and reveals almost nothing.
In fifteenth century Florence, writers kept something they called a zibaldone, which translates roughly as a salad of many herbs.
Not a filing cabinet or a curated display of your best thinking, but a salad, mixed and varied and a little wild, where everything goes in together and the connections find each other on their own.
This week on Ramos On Craft, I write about what the zibaldone still offers the writer willing to let the page be as unfinished as the work they are trying to make.
This week on Ramos On Craft, I write about the zibaldone and what it still has to teach the writer willing to receive it.
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