Such a great piece, I really enjoyed this. The conflict between my writing and the rest of life is constant for me, and it’s always interesting to read about how former great authors have handled it. I think there’s an inherent self-centeredness in the ability to write something true, but to what end? What does it cost us in the other aspects of life? And is it really worth it? I guess that’s a question each writer has to answer for themselves. Maybe those that find the art within the lines of daily life are the truly lucky ones.
Thank you, Eleanor, for reading and for commenting. I'm curious what answer you've come to for your own writing-life/daily-life balance? I'm being nosey because I think I've found the answer every six months or so, and it always turns out to be precisely the opposite of whatever I thought the answer was last time...
Very much the same for me, Matthew, but I wonder if that’s exactly it: Constant re-evaluation of habit. For myself, I’ve never been able to find a writing practice that sticks. I liked the quote in your essay about how it’s like working in an emergency room, and I’m the emergency. Yep. That is exactly my writing balance! That is to say, no comfortable balance. I always wanted to be one of those highly organized and scheduled writers, but it just doesn’t work for me. My habit changes as I do, and part of the craft for me is learning to stay available to that. It’s uncomfortable, but I’ve determined that writing is not a place of comfort or consistency in my life. It’s one of discovery and excitement.
Snap. It's the same for me too. There's something attractive about the idea of being "the kind of writer who [insert specific ritual/notebook/etc. here]", but I'm making peace with winging it and reinventing how I write with each thing I write.
It's interesting. I've only read one Philip Roth, Portnoy, of course, and that was decades ago. But I'm intrigued by the whole "should I hibernate and write, or just go out and live my life?" Or is it possible to balance and do both? Maybe Hannah Pittard has worked it out?
And now I have to thank you again, because I hadn't heard of Hannah Pittard, and looking her up, I've immediately bought a copy of her first novel which looks like all kinds of my-sort-of-thing. As for the question of whether work/art can be balanced with living life, my current philosophy is "I sure hope so". If you figure it out, let me know the secret please.
Thanks so much, Rayna. I really appreciate it. Volumes seems having a bit of a downward tick in subscribers the last few days, which is a bummer no matter how zen I try to be about it, so having readers like you actually reading and engaging really means everything.
Fantastic piece! “We don’t go anywhere! We don’t do anything! We don’t see anyone!” is my favorite part. So many ways to come at this question. One's first instinct could be to talk about money and privilege. Kafka worked as an insurance agent. Burroughs lived off an allowance from his family. Beckett begrudgingly worked as a teacher to support himself until he made enough to quit. But that's about work/life not love/life. Personally, I married an artist and we never wanted kids so that protected my time to pursue as many crazy projects as I can imagine. Art was always the primary thing for me, for us (although she quit making the last few years). But sometimes the pressure of the calling, which includes reading novels in German and now trying to write in German, is so great I decide it's too much and become a beach bum for months.
Thank you, it means a lot that you read it. Actually, that's one thing Roth doesn't address in the novel and I didn't address in my essay — that when you happen (occasionally, wonderfully) to get something back from readers so you know your solitary work ended up meaningfully reaching others, questions of whether it was worth it to have said no to life while you wrote are quieted, at least for a blissful moment.
Such a great piece, I really enjoyed this. The conflict between my writing and the rest of life is constant for me, and it’s always interesting to read about how former great authors have handled it. I think there’s an inherent self-centeredness in the ability to write something true, but to what end? What does it cost us in the other aspects of life? And is it really worth it? I guess that’s a question each writer has to answer for themselves. Maybe those that find the art within the lines of daily life are the truly lucky ones.
Thank you, Eleanor, for reading and for commenting. I'm curious what answer you've come to for your own writing-life/daily-life balance? I'm being nosey because I think I've found the answer every six months or so, and it always turns out to be precisely the opposite of whatever I thought the answer was last time...
Very much the same for me, Matthew, but I wonder if that’s exactly it: Constant re-evaluation of habit. For myself, I’ve never been able to find a writing practice that sticks. I liked the quote in your essay about how it’s like working in an emergency room, and I’m the emergency. Yep. That is exactly my writing balance! That is to say, no comfortable balance. I always wanted to be one of those highly organized and scheduled writers, but it just doesn’t work for me. My habit changes as I do, and part of the craft for me is learning to stay available to that. It’s uncomfortable, but I’ve determined that writing is not a place of comfort or consistency in my life. It’s one of discovery and excitement.
Snap. It's the same for me too. There's something attractive about the idea of being "the kind of writer who [insert specific ritual/notebook/etc. here]", but I'm making peace with winging it and reinventing how I write with each thing I write.
It's interesting. I've only read one Philip Roth, Portnoy, of course, and that was decades ago. But I'm intrigued by the whole "should I hibernate and write, or just go out and live my life?" Or is it possible to balance and do both? Maybe Hannah Pittard has worked it out?
And now I have to thank you again, because I hadn't heard of Hannah Pittard, and looking her up, I've immediately bought a copy of her first novel which looks like all kinds of my-sort-of-thing. As for the question of whether work/art can be balanced with living life, my current philosophy is "I sure hope so". If you figure it out, let me know the secret please.
Very enjoyable reading. Thank you.
Thanks so much, Rayna. I really appreciate it. Volumes seems having a bit of a downward tick in subscribers the last few days, which is a bummer no matter how zen I try to be about it, so having readers like you actually reading and engaging really means everything.
Fantastic piece! “We don’t go anywhere! We don’t do anything! We don’t see anyone!” is my favorite part. So many ways to come at this question. One's first instinct could be to talk about money and privilege. Kafka worked as an insurance agent. Burroughs lived off an allowance from his family. Beckett begrudgingly worked as a teacher to support himself until he made enough to quit. But that's about work/life not love/life. Personally, I married an artist and we never wanted kids so that protected my time to pursue as many crazy projects as I can imagine. Art was always the primary thing for me, for us (although she quit making the last few years). But sometimes the pressure of the calling, which includes reading novels in German and now trying to write in German, is so great I decide it's too much and become a beach bum for months.
Thank you, it means a lot that you read it. Actually, that's one thing Roth doesn't address in the novel and I didn't address in my essay — that when you happen (occasionally, wonderfully) to get something back from readers so you know your solitary work ended up meaningfully reaching others, questions of whether it was worth it to have said no to life while you wrote are quieted, at least for a blissful moment.