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Vladimir Nabokov wrote his novels on index cards; Alexandre Dumas pere his non-fiction, fiction and poetry on different coloured paper (rose-pink, blue and yellow respectively). Edith Sitwell lay in a coffin before setting pen to paper; Colette prefaced writing by picking the fleas from her cat. Samuel Coleridge took opium, George Sand smoked cigars. Truman Capote only wrote on the sofa or in bed. John Cheever used to get up and into his only suit and take the lift down to the lobby with everyone else on their way to jobs in the office, then go to the basement, take off his suit again, and sit down in his underwear to write.
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| Colette: looking for fleas (by Jacques Humbert) |
But do these things really matter to writers, and to those wanting to know how to write, or are they a distraction? Surely what you need is rather more dull: to understand language, make up a story, and have the time and discipline to put that story into language. Do you really need a bizarre daily working habit, a superstition, a lucky charm, a (as people like to call it these days) ‘process’?
I need coffee; I need absinthe. I require music. I insist on silence. Special paper; my favourite pen. Only early mornings. It has to be late nights. It’s interesting that these superstitious rituals of inspiration are also generally means of repression, a way of fencing about the creative moment, defining its limits, at once trammelling and setting free. We dull our nerves with drugs so our neurons may fire, deafen our ears with music so as to hear our inner voice, confine our bodies to bed so our minds may travel far.
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| George Sand, sans cigar (by Eugene Delacroix) |
6 Comments on Because it’s Friday the Thirteenth – Lily Hyde, last added: 4/14/2012
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Lovely post - I enjoyed it. I don't have any set rituals, although I often use a kitchen timer to stop me worrying about all those other nagging tasks to be done. (I'll spend an hour writing and THEN I'll wash-up,change the bed, shop etc.)
It's intriguing to hear about the rituals of all these writers - thanks, Lily, and for the pictures!
Taking yourself to a space where there are no personal demands other than the writing task - cafe, shed, a friends empty room while they are out working - can work well if it's possible. It's not here, so I'm another one voting for the timer
Hmm. That writerly basement underwear may well have been long johns & vest rather than teeny boxers so more respectable than one imagines. Oh! Am writing this in my dressing gown . . .
Yes, Penny, I think an empty space away from usual distractions really helps - for me it's linked to the boredom thing; if you're in a friend's empty room or a shed, there's actually nothing else to do.
Will have to try the timer trick, Susan..
I'm really worried now about Cheever shivering in his underwear all day, even if it was more substantial than that of today's men. And I want to know if he kept on his shirt, tie, waistcoat etc or shed those too.
Lovely post, Lily! I'm amazed Colette's cat held still long enough for her to de-flea it! I imagine after that, writing fiction was a doddle...
The opposite! When other things are clamouring to be done, I want to ignore them and write and become protective of every minute. When there is plenty of time to write, I fritter it away until things get desperate.