Yesterday, amid the scrapbooks and the letters, I found one of Amy Blanchard's notebooks. It is a true writer's notebook from 1926, packed with illegible notes and other detritus of the writing life.
There was this typed onto the front of the notebook:
A list of stories and poems that have sold and stories that need to be sold:
A clipping that could be an idea for a story, or just something that caught her eye:
A trusty list of important words:
A random crochet pattern: