“But our notebooks give us away, for however
dutifully we record what we see around us, the common denominator of all we see
is always, transparently, shamelessly, the implacable ‘I.’ We are not talking here about the kind of
notebook that is patently for public consumption, a structural conceit for
binding together a series of graceful pensees; we are talking about something
private, about bits of the mind’s string too short to use, an indiscriminate
and erratic assemblage with meaning only for its maker.”–Joan Didion, “On
Keeping a Notebook,” in Slouching Towards Bethlehem (1968)
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