Introduction - Writers at rest

The art of slow writing - Louise DeSalvo 2014

Introduction
Writers at rest

Maxine Hong Kingston took seven years to write both The Woman Warrior (1976) and China Men. Then she took a very necessary break from writing. “You go into the subconscious by not writing,” she said, “and then you make it normal consciousness by writing.” Periods of not writing are as important to Kingston’s process as the times when she’s working: those times permit her to “get far into the subconscious,” the source of some of the stories she relates.

Sometimes writers misconstrue their need to take time away from their work as “writer’s block.” At a reading of Home (2012) that Toni Morrison gave at Princeton University, a schoolchild asked her how she avoids writer’s block. Morrison said, “I don’t avoid it. If something happens, and I can’t do it, I respect the block.” When writers don’t take time off and try to write through a so-called block, she added, the work feels forced, and “it shows.”

Carolyn See in Making a Literary Life (2002) describes her schedule. She writes five days a week, uses Saturdays for chores and housekeeping, and reserves Sundays as a day of rest. See’s success depends upon gaining distance from her work with the minivacation she takes each week. Knowing that weekends are devoted to keeping her life in order and recharging her creative energy helps her focus during the weekdays she sets aside for work.

For relaxation, Amy Hempel, author of the collections Reasons to Live (1985), At the Gates of the Animal Kingdom (1990), and Tumble Home (1997), needs time away from her desk so she can return to her work refreshed and able to maintain the intense concentration the short story form requires. She walks her dogs and takes them to the park. She loves movies, and attends them often—she has a friend who accompanies her to see the latest Korean horror film. A typical day for Hempel “includes around two hours of writing writing, about six miles of dog walking (which also counts as writing), a lot of time on e-mail, a movie, some forensics shows, and CNN to see what I missed.”

A substantial amount of research indicates that most of us would benefit from regularly scheduled relaxation. In a culture that values productivity and views leisure suspiciously, it’s harder to take rest breaks than in one that views time away from work as necessary for the human spirit. Researchers at the Institute of Leisure Studies at the University of Deusto, Spain, have concluded that leisure is essential for creativity: it’s important for rest, replenishment, diversion, personal development, and spirituality. If we spend time away from writing, we’ll find our work more satisfying, we’ll find we’re more inspired when we return to work, we’ll recover more quickly from fatigue from bouts of hard work, and we’ll be able to more easily determine what needs doing.

At the end of June 1938, after completing what he was referring to as Book One of The Grapes of Wrath (1939), John Steinbeck realized how fatigued he was from the intense work of completing that section. “It would be good to have a few days off,” he wrote. “I think I’ll take them.… Why should I rush?” During his break, he saw friends, enjoyed their conversation, and had a high-spirited time dancing madly. During his four days off, Steinbeck conceptualized much of the rest of the novel.

Zadie Smith, author of NW, believes that after writing a draft of a long work, we need a long break before we begin editing. We shouldn’t try to convince ourselves that working constantly is good for us, or good for the work. She urges writers to stop work, put their projects “in a drawer,” and let time pass—a “year or more [off] is ideal—but even three months will do”—before revising. And Ray Bradbury in Zen in the Art of Writing warns us not to work too hard: “Those who try hardest,” he writes, “scare it [the Muse] off into the woods. Those who turn their backs and saunter along, whistling softly between their teeth, hear it treading quietly behind them, lured by a carefully acquired disdain.”

Once I understood how essential leisure is to the creative process, I instituted a few practices that help me strike a balance between writing and the rest of my life. I never work after supper (time for relaxation and family); I almost never work Saturdays (household errands, time for family and friends); I never work Sundays (time for spiritual and emotional renewal). I take a few hours once a week to do something pleasurable—visit a gourmet store, a knitting shop, a museum, a garden; see a movie. My husband and I, sometimes with our family, take two holidays a year. Reluctant as I may be to leave my work, I’ve returned refreshed and with scores of new ideas.

While Junot Díaz, author of the story collection This Is How You Lose Her (2012), was recovering from back surgery, he accepted the fact that he couldn’t write (under the best of circumstances, Díaz takes a long time to write his books). Instead, he said, “I read like crazy while I was laid up; reading for me is proof against anything, but especially pain.” Krys Lee’s Drifting House (2012), a novel about the Korean immigrant experience; Tania James’s Aerogrammes (2012), stories by the author of Atlas of Unknowns (2009); and Ramón Saldívar’s The Borderlands of Culture (2006), about Américo Paredes’s work, in particular, gave him solace.

There will be times when, like Díaz, we can’t write—periods when health challenges, family issues, or emergencies make writing impossible. Then we’re entitled to take an extended leave from our writing. But there will also be times when, like Kingston, Smith, or Morrison, we may decide it’s best for us to step away from our work before returning to our projects. And, like See and Hempel, it’s important for us to understand when, during the week, or during a day, we need to do other things. Learning when not to work is as essential for writers as knowing when we must.