Writers are in general strange creatures of habit. They tend to behave in an odd fashion and usually do so when well out of sight. Allow me to give you an example. There is an individual sitting at a desk in a vacant room, with the door and windows closed. The person is carrying on a conversation, which sounds like a monologue, although it occasionally involves multiple imaginary people. What affliction is he or she suffering from? Well, he is either mentally ill and having hallucinations or he is a writer trying desperately to come up with a few lines of decent dialogue. Or perhaps it is not dialogue that is being searched for, but a particular word which perfectly describes a situation and will take the place and the poor choice the writer has already made. Then, as a last resort, he can hurry to a copy of a thesaurus and study a list of ten or more synonyms before making his pick. Ah! But which one fits best? Now, he must begin to pace the floor and speak to himself as he gives voice to the possible selections, for if it doesn’t sound right, it won’t read right. After multiple attempts the writer eventually discovers the word which strikes the perfect tone, for it is as Mark Twain famously said, “The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and the lightning bug.”
While we are in the writer’s room, we should turn our attention to other noticeable, deep-seated habits that authors possess. They sit or stand in the same place without fail, facing the same wall or window which must remain unchanged. No distractions or alterations will be allowed. And they must begin writing at the exact same hour, be it at dawn or 10 AM, for that is when the gate in the brain, which holds the magic words, will open. And the scribbling or typing time will also be defined, for the gate will remain open for only a limited time, be it three or four or more hours, and then it closes for the day, with any attempt to reopen it doomed to failure. Interestingly enough, the writer knows when the closure is occurring. The choice of words and flow of story begin to drift, which is the signal to bring the day’s efforts to a halt. But before closing, the experienced writer quickly jots down the words and ideas which will direct him to tomorrow’s continuation. Thus, the story will later flow on without interruption. And so the writing ends for the day, but on occasion the word section of the brain reopens briefly at odd times and new thoughts come to mind. This repeat performance may occur while one is asleep and, indeed, might awaken you. For this reason, the dedicated writer will always have pen and paper on the night table at bedtime, so he can jot down the excellent word or idea for use the following day. To believe you will remember the subconscious thought without writing yourself a note is pure folly, for it will certainly be lost forever. Thus, having pen and paper at bedside during one’s sleep at night is a curious, but worthwhile habit to possess.
But this list of peculiar habits does not tell us what makes writers write and why more than a few do it so well. They certainly do not aspire to the Hollywood image of the successful novelist. Think back to the scenes in which a handsome, middle-aged writer is sitting at a desk in a large study overlooking an expansive garden. He is smoking a pipe and jotting down lines effortlessly when his attractive wife enters to inform him that lunch will soon be served. He smiles at her and says, “Oh, just a moment, dear. One final sentence and the novel is done.” He writes down the ending with a most satisfying expression, then embraces his wife as they depart for a sumptuous lunch. Ah, that is the life the viewer envisions. What a delightful, easy way to earn a handsome income. Of course, this image is one of utter make believe. Writing is an arduous, time-consuming task that takes one along a road filled with rejection and disappointment. And rarely is there a large pot of gold waiting at the end of such a journey. I think Hemingway described the plight of writing best when he said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” So why then do writers write? There are a dozen or possible reasons, but I suspect the one given by Oliver Wendell Holmes is the most telling. He believed writers write “for the intoxicating pleasure of penmanship.” Perhaps then it is this addiction which causes writers to resort to such strange and peculiar habits in an effort to produce their very best work.
Leonard Goldberg is the author of The Daughter of Sherlock Holmes mysteries. The eighth novel in the series, A Scandalous Affair, was released March 4.
