Yes, I am indeed writing this essay in a Moleskine notebook. You must have an eye for creativity. Everyone around me can see that it’s one of those 3/4-sized ones. Ruled. The kind really creative professionals like me use.

But I'm not really writing anything. There's no idea here. No story. But whatever, I'm in a café surrounded by people, quite visibly working in a Moleskine notebook: the legendary notebook of Hemingway, who I assume also really cared about people knowing he was extremely creative. Which is why he also chose a Moleskine notebook. Most of us creative types do.

Oh, how literary I look! My laptop pushed away as this idea clearly must be birthed physically, scribbling furiously in my leather-bound Moleskine notebook with a free hotel pen that was just moments ago clipped to the inside of my front pocket with the shiny metal clip showing to let everyone know that I could have a genius idea at any time.

The other café patrons who are here for non-literary reasons like muffins can only guess at the gems I'm prying from the jaws of what creative people like me and probably Christopher Nolan call “idea oysters.”

“I wonder if he's a screenwriter,” seat Extra Hot Americano must be saying to himself, “He's got to be good. After all, that's a Moleskine notebook. And they only sell those in the best airport bookstore end aisles. Plus, I think earlier I saw him carrying it around in his back pocket.”

I can't blame him. I've filled up almost every line on this 3/4-sized page. There are cross-outs and squiggles and even some arrows emanating from one paragraph and pointing to completely different paragraphs. I clearly know what I'm doing.

For a moment I appear deep in thought. My pen dangling from my lips like I forgot that it was there. I haven’t of course. But I flip all the way to the back of my Moleskine notebook to the inside back cover where the expanding folder is attached. I keep a lovingly well-worn scrap of paper in there. Sometimes I take it out and carefully unfold it to consider something on the page. It’s blank. But looking at it looks great.

Sorry, you'll have to hold that refill water just a moment longer. Can't you see I'm in the middle of re-reading what I just wrote and mouthing-it-out-to-make-sure-it-flows-properly? Never mind, you probably don't understand the importance of written cadence. You’re a server at a café, not a creative person with a Moleskine like me or the showrunner for seasons 3 and 5 of Young Sheldon.

Sorry, actually can I get more ice?

My ¾-sized page is now full and the hard work is over, signaled by the stretching of that little elastic band from the back cover of my Moleskine around the page to mark my latest endeavor. It’s something creative people do to mark an especially good idea. At least, the ones with Moleskine notebooks do.

Oh wait! I hurriedly click my hotel pen and audibly snap open the elastic band of the Moleskine once more. I even let out a little audible “ah!” No one could have missed it. It looks like I just put the perfect coda on my brilliance. Or at least, I hope that’s what it looks like.

I adjust myself noticeably as I slip my 3/4-sized, leather-bound, ruled Moleskine notebook back into my back pocket, even though it’s pretty uncomfortable to sit on. And I audibly click open my Apple brand earbuds, the kind creative people like me and at least one of the members of LCD Soundsystem prefer to use and place them in my ears.

“He's probably listening to a podcast on the creative process or an audio-reading of Robert McKee’s seminal Story,” Oat Milk Latte is clearly thinking.

But she's wrong. I'm not listening to anything. I just have earbuds in my ears.