1. Pen and Paper
Okay, strictly speaking that’s two things. But they’re the basic tools of all
my scribbling. It’s true that when writing a novel I type straight on to my
computer, so that I’m able to edit, reorder, cut and paste and generally fiddle
to my heart’s content. But all my hard, important, conceptual thinking is done
by hand (for instance, this fine article’s being composed that way…). I like to
make notes in different colours, draw diagrams, figure out the structure by
drawing arrows between chapter summaries, and so on. It’s messy, it’s involved,
it’s the nitty gritty of novel creation and scarcely any different in feel to
the way I made little books when I was a kid. There are just slightly fewer
Berol pens involved now, so my fingers aren’t stained every colour of the
rainbow.
2. The Ability
to Touch Type Okay, that’s not actually a thing. It’s a skill. Substitute
‘computer keyboard’ if you’re feeling pedantic. But acquiring the ability to
touch-type was seriously the most useful month’s work I ever did, teaching
myself with a how-to manual my grandmother had given me, and bashing away on an
old-style typewriter. It was just after leaving university, when in the manner
of English graduates the world over I lacked both a job and a clear idea of how
I was going to get one. I surmised, however, that touch-typing might be an
asset. Not so. It’s been an essential. It allows me to work and communicate at
top speed and save my brain for other things.
3. A Quiet Room
It’s true that sometimes I do wilfully upend myself and go to a café to sit and
write notes (see 1) surrounded by general hubbub and the blast of coffee
machines. That’s just so I see human beings occasionally. It helps to keep me
sane. But in general I need solitude and lack of distraction. I fact, I should
probably have put ‘dull, quiet room’ because it needs to have nothing in it
that might pull you from the task in hand. Bland pictures, files of accounts,
preferably a blank wall in front of me. And no music. What’s with these writers
who play music as they work? I don’t see how it can’t interfere with the
rhythms of the language. Nope, strictly dullsville is what works for me.
4. Slightly
Uncomfortable Chair Was it Balzac or Thackerary or Trollope who always wrote
standing up? Or someone completely different? Well, whoever it was, they knew a
thing or two. And probably got terrible varicose veins. I don’t myself go that
far, but I do have a rather decrepit chair that used to belong to my sea-faring
grandfather. The horsehair stuffing’s gone in the seat and both the arms are
broken off. It’s simply not very comfy, which keeps me at my task, and prevents
me dozing off between 2 and 4 pm (the most dangerous time of day).
5. An Optimum
Page-Count When writing a novel, I always aim for 5 pages a day. This target
(almost always unattainable) spurs me on. Even if I don’t make it, it gives me
a context within which my activity can be judged.
6. Dozens of
Secret Vices Rereading the above I was dumbstruck by how remarkably tedious the
act of writing actually is. The exciting stuff (hopefully) is confined to the
page: the mechanics of achieving it relies, unfortunately, on regularity and repetition.
To redress the balance, I evidently need to acquire a large number of
colourful, slightly dubious pastimes. Insert the proposed vice of your choice
right here: _____________ and send your
suggestion in on a postcard, which I’ll read at precisely 11.00 a.m. when I
have my cup of tea.
Jonathan's new book The Screaming Staircase is out at the end of the month. Check it out asap as it is excellent (my review will be up soon)
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