The nicest gift anybody has ever given me is a blank, high quality writing tablet. The worst and most intimidating gift anybody has ever given to me is a blank, high quality writing tablet.

I’m a writer by heart, bursting with a multitude of ideas, nonsense expressions, and trivial observations (as much as any other writer), and I’m fortunate enough to have caring and thoughtful friends who keep that in mind. But oh, when my birthday rolls around each year and then I’m presented with a new writing tablet begging to be soiled with my careless scratches, I feel like collapsing out of guilt and fear. I admit, I’m fucking neorotic, which is probably why I’ve ended up chasing away everybody who’s been attracted to me. But I digress.

High quality writing tablets are intimdating. They stare at you with their beautiful binding and their carefully crafted covers, and they simply scream of insight and sophistication even when they’re blank and new, containing no more words than the fine print on their inside sleeves. Whenever I sit down to write in one of those things, I can feel the book egging me on. “Do it, kid. Make it good you prepubescent, would-be Kerouac. My cover is made out of high quality suede, you know.” Freaking sarcastic high quality writing tablets. Give me a beat up spiral-bound notebook with twelve pages ripped out of it and the remainder with all of the corners dog-eared. I’m a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy after all, and I’d like to apply that way of life to my writing style. Thanks for the gifts though, guys. I’ll take any reminder I can that I’m a writer, and not just a video-game-addicted zombie.