Can I Be Writing When I'm Not?

You've all heard the stories of writers who never go a day without writing 8-18 hours. They may take a day off each week, month or year. Likewise, you all know of actors who don't bother with breaks between films. Good for them, for all of them. You read their books and watch their films...and curse your own lack of money and time.

But today let's consider two shining contrary examples. And, at the same time, let's rethink what it means to be working in art. This post is not a poke at Literary Factories or an argument that writers should write fewer books. I've set my sights on one question:

Are some artists actually working when they appear to be idle?



In the last thirty years, Daniel Day-Lewis has starred in 15 films.--with 'down times' ranging from two to five years. Famous for his role preparations, he recharges...considers his options...prepares his acting strategies...and gets into character.



Ira (Rosemary's Baby) Levin wrote seven novels and nine plays. from 1953-1997. Levin took fourteen years after his first book to give us Rosemary's Baby. After Boys From Brazil, he took fifteen years to return with Sliver, the title reflecting the format and length. Call him the Daniel Day-Lewis of the writing business. One can imagine him playing cat-and-mouse with his famous plot twists for as long as he needed to nail them. You don't tell a writer like Levin 'Just sit down and write the book.' He'd roar back, 'Shut up--I am writing!'

And:




Pat Conroy still takes his Southern time: six novels since 1976, with fourteen years between Beach Music and South of Broad, nine years between Prince of Tides and Beach Music. Did he work at his desk eighteen hours a day on these books exclusively? He'd have gone mad if he did. He recharged, planned ahead, and kept his motor running through efforts that pleased and relaxed him: a cookbook, a book of essays on 'military brats', a childhood memoir and a book about playing basketball at The Citadel. Six novels in four decades--but six that could not have been written any other way. Not by him.

Both writers made their fortunes through well-filmed versions of their work. So they could afford to take as long as they liked on their next books. True enough. But do recall: both writers took the years required to write books that brought Hollywood calling. And those years, we can be sure, involved some significant down time.

We all need to shake any shame we may have over down times of our own--and to lose all envy of those who work around the clock. The better we understand the nature of our own process, the more tolerant and patient we are, the more efficiently we will be able to work--yes, even when we're 'idling'.




My own mindset changed last year, After completing Red Champagne, I wanted to begin work immediately on the next Boss MacTavin mystery. But the story line hadn't come clear and my confidence level kept sinking. I spent a full month beating up on myself...while I hustled Red Champagne, paced and brooded, worked on my two blogs and worked out at the gym.

One day, at last, I felt the itch and started taking notes, not a thought in my head about how others work. It's always worked this way for me: notes first, then a detailed outline...then one day I know that I'm ready and start. The key difference for me, this time, was this: I understood that I'd been working, as a writer, all along: in the gym, on my blogs..I'd been working on my new book, in my own way.

Now, I don't have any ambition to 'sell' my style to everyone. My ambition is far simpler: to make clear that there are many ways of working on a book...and that writers who need down time should treat their working idle time with love and respect.

After all, there are saner ambitions than to end up like this:




And let this not be said because you would not take the time:

Literary Factories: The Shocking Conclusion

We begin as we began, with a nod to Russell Blake: thriving proof that lively, entertaining books can be written--on a rolling basis--in only five or six weeks. As illustrated in the second part of this series, Blake is part of a long tradition of ultra-prolific and successful authors. I read his work with real pleasure. And when I was growing up I read with equal pleasure books by well-known writers who also wrote at lightning speed: H. Rider Haggard, Alexander Dumas, Edgar Rice Burroughs, etc.

Today I might not be reading at all if I hadn't started long ago with books that rocked my boat: She, King Solomon's Mines, Tarzan,  etc.

But only books of a certain sort--employing certain formulas--can be written at this speed and on a rolling basis. As readers, almost all of us have other reading hungers--often for the sorts of books that can't be written so quickly, or with no break between. Many top mystery writers tend to limit themselves to one or two books a year. James Lee Burke--a favorite of Russell Blake's--has written twenty Dave Robicheaux mysteries since 1987. The beautiful style, the rich characterization, the intricate plotting--these things all take time.

I hear an objection. A voice from the back: 'Don't even try to tell us that great writing can't be done at lightning speed. You ever heard of Jack Kerouac or Lord Byron?'

An important point, sir. Thank you. I acknowledge that both men wrote quickly and that Byron, in particular, liked to boast that he never revised--that he wrote as the lion leaps and if he missed he'd leap again. That said, let me respond with two points. The shorter first:
1) Byron was an English Lord with a very long inner division: he had literary genius...but believed writing was unmanly and unworthy of his rank. He never achieved his full genius till he discovered a form--in his comic epics--where his offhanded, slapdash style perfectly suited the form and the themes. Even more important: Lord Byron lied through his teeth: I've seen samples of his writing...and they show significant revisions.
2) Kerouac requires a quote from writer Andrea Shea. On the Road is often cited as proof that spontaneous writing is better. But writers lie like bastards. Read:

Legend has it that Kerouac wrote OTR in three weeks, typing almost nonstop on a 120-foot roll of paper. The truth is that the book actually had a much longer, bumpier journey from inspiration to publication, complete with multiple rewrites...'Three weeks' is what Kerouac answered when talk show Steve Allen asked how long it took to write OTR...What JAck should have said was, 'I typed it up in three weeks.'

As readers--and as writers--we need to ponder the differing payoffs of books. Writer must be getting something they can't do without, whichever camp they park in: those who can't help spending long months, or years, on their books...and those who can't stop producing in only a couple of months. The first camp may find the payoff in the backbreaking quest for perfection. The second camp may find it in the rolling pleasure brought to thousands on thousands of readers.

I like to mix up my reading: mysteries, histories, literary...and, now and then, a classic like the Aeneid that took Virgil ten years to write.

Not so fast, though, Reb MacRath. It's true Virgil wrote one or two lines a day, then spent the rest of every day fine-tuning and polishing. But it's also true that Virgil was being very well paid--and would end up one of the wealthiest men in all Rome. He had no incentive to finish the book in a year. Furthermore, he had no laptop. And--

Oh, dear, this is so complex. Gotta go now--time to work on my labour of eighteen months...then check out Russell Blake's latest...then read a poem or two by my favorite poet, Auden.

Cheers!

Literary Factories 2: Should a book go full throttle or work on all eights?

Two men I respect have raised good points about speed in the creative process. Russell Blake makes a strong case for turning out novels in 4-6 weeks by working almost round the clock. And his sales figures do seem to bolster his case. Photographer Paul Cotter argues that creative speed is relative to talent, temperament and drive: some brilliant musical albums have taken years to produce while others came about over a wild weekend. And Mozart was said to have heard completed symphonies in his head before he wrote a note.

Agreed. And I'll take the argument further: I enjoy reading pulp fiction that I know was written in days. Further still: long before Russell Blake, there existed a lengthy tradition of popular writers who worked at great speed: from Dumas to Balzac to Dickens, from Agatha Christie to Erle Stanley Gardner. And many of these writers' books are still being read. Other once-famous factories made excellent livings by writing far more.

ROLL CALL
--Ned Buntline, the pen name of Edward Zane Carroll Judson, wrote 400 novels in the 1800s--including one 600 page novel written in 62 hours. He earned the then royal sum of twenty grand a year and lived as a country squire.
--His contemporary, Prentiss Ingram, whipped out two novels a month for a grand total of 600 books. Lived as a Southern gent on $16,000-$18,000 a year.
--Meanwhile, Gilbert Patten went on to write 1,000 novels under the pen name Burt  Burt L. Standish
--Frederick Faust, a.ka Max Brand, outdid them all in the 1920s--publishing 25 million words of fiction under 20 pen names. At least twenty typed pages a day, every day. He could write  a novella in a night, a short story in an hour, a short novel in less than a week. Annual income from his books and film work: $100,000.
--And the list goes on.

But the success they enjoyed raises questions:

1) What exactly do we want from the more prolific writers--sparkling literary style and profound insights into character or consistent excellence in plotting, pacing and visceral fun?
2) Can good writers take too long to write?
3) What might we expect from a book by a writer who works at a much slower pace?
4) Why does Quentin Tarantino spend years on his films when spin-off can be done in months?
5) Could the ideal reading diet be a mixture of factory-style productions and books that  are more custom made?

I read Russell Blake with great pleasure. At the same, I treasure books that took Ira Levin a decade to write.

In part three, we'll explore the benefits of breakneck pace in writing.

Prose and Cons: Literary Factories 1

There's a world of difference between a prolific writer and a literary factory. In fact, there's another world of difference between a literary factory and a literary factory superintendent. The distinctions lie at the heart of this new series, Prose and Cons, whose main theme is writing from a reader's point of view. So, to keep the debut short, let's start with the distinctions--and a thought about the different demands of the three classes of readers.

1) The prolific writer. Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Sue Grafton readily come to mind as present-day examples. Any writer capable of turning out a book each year, or every other year, should have their name on this list. King proved prolific enough, years ago, to have had to resort to a pen name for his surplus novels. But the key points distinguishing prolific writers from factories is: their concern with quality and their abiding conviction that they are serious writers. Readers still expect quality from these writers and are capable of criticizing work not perceived as first-rate.
2) The literary factory. Quantity for this group overshadows quality. The legendary Frederick Faust could be their patron saint. Faust, who wrote as Max Brand and at least eight other names, turned out more than 500 novels and as many shorter stories. Total lifetime output: 25-30 million words. Speed: 12,000 words in a weekend. You'll have names of your own that belong on this list: Edgar Wallace, Isaac Asimov, Erle Stanley Gardner, ebook writer Russell Blake (25 books in 2 years). Some wrote for money, some wrote for fame...and some wrote, I believe, because they could not stop. The process of production, not the quality of the end product, drove them to put out again and again. Variety is welcome by readers as long as it's seen to run true to the brand.
3) The literary factory superintendent. Alexander Dumas caused a fury when his habit of 'farming out' parts of his books became public knowledge. No one minded his having a staff of researchers and assistants. But readers felt duped by his practice of having others write the parts that bored him or were beyond his ken. The Dumas brand, however, proved far stronger than the scandal. And I wonder how many readers today would be alarmed to know the practice still runs strong today. Publishers and agents are silent on the subject while they agree it does exist--and that readers would be shocked if they knew how prevalent it is. James Patterson deserves a good deal of credit for tearing down the Chinese Wall...and listing the names of his 'partners'--aka, employees. Readers of this last group's books want repetitive experience. They don't want a new book from James Patterson in the sense of something different. They want the same book as the last one they read, but with a different cover. Above all, they want the addictive formula: the third person opening that segues to the first person...short chapters...snappy sentences...by-the-numbers characters...etc.

In Part 2 we'll have a look at the likely differences between a novel written in a year and one written in a month.