For Neil Diamond, inspiration could arrive at any moment—on a park bench, in a taxi, or during a quiet pause between shows. To capture it, he developed a simple but vital habit: carrying a small notebook everywhere he went. In it, he scribbled lines of poetry, fragments of melody, or even single words that might later bloom into full songs. That creative habit, he once admitted, was the secret to keeping his songwriting well from ever running dry.
Unlike many performers who wrote only in structured sessions, Diamond treated songwriting as a daily practice. If a phrase struck him while reading a newspaper or overhearing a conversation, he would jot it down. Sometimes the pages filled with half-formed thoughts that went nowhere. But every so often, those scribbles became the foundation of something unforgettable. “You never know which note or word will unlock a song,” he explained. “So you write it all down—every spark, no matter how small.”
Fans and collaborators recall that his notebooks were filled with a mix of clarity and chaos: lines crossed out, arrows pointing to rewritten verses, small sketches in the margins. To outsiders, they may have looked like messy journals. But to Diamond, they were treasure maps leading to melodies that would one day move millions.
One of the most remarkable examples of this habit was the birth of I Am… I Said. Diamond revealed that the song began as a series of notebook entries written during a lonely stretch in Los Angeles. Struggling with identity and searching for belonging, he poured raw emotions onto the page: lines about talking to chairs, about not fitting in, about longing for home. For weeks, he wrestled with the words, rewriting them dozens of times in his notebook until they crystallized into one of his most personal and powerful ballads.
The notebooks also captured lighter sparks that grew into sing-along anthems. Phrases like “Sweet Caroline”—reportedly inspired by a magazine photo of young Caroline Kennedy—first appeared as casual jottings before evolving into one of the most beloved songs of his career. Without his constant habit of writing things down, those fleeting inspirations might have vanished into memory.
Even in later years, long after his greatest hits had secured his legacy, Diamond continued the practice. Friends described him pulling out a notebook at dinner parties or backstage, quietly scribbling when a thought struck. To him, the act of writing wasn’t just about making songs—it was about honoring creativity itself.
What came from those pages wasn’t always immediate, but when it arrived, it was magic. The notebooks became silent collaborators, holding the seeds of songs that would outlive him. Fans may never see every page, but knowing they existed adds a layer of intimacy to his catalog. Every lyric feels less like an accident and more like the product of constant, disciplined devotion.
Neil Diamond’s creative habit is a reminder that greatness often comes not from grand gestures, but from small, consistent acts. A notebook in his pocket turned fleeting ideas into timeless classics—and from those pages, the soundtrack of countless lives was born.