Stephen King: On Writing. A Memoir of the Craft. NY: Scribner, 2000. 288 pp.
Stephen King has written what might be the funniest book of serious advice ever. Lively and engaging, it’s written in a familiar tone, as if addressed to a struggling young author in need of guidance. After finishing it, I came away with increased respect for the sense of purpose and dedication which the author brings to his craft.
More writers should follow his lead and a) provide a bit of autobiography on how they started out, b) evaluate honestly the work of their colleagues, and c) offer practical examples of good (and less good) writing. When it comes to b), some of the best parts of the book are his analyses of passages from other authors. It is not too surprising to learn that he admires Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett, more so that he has profited from T.S. Eliot and William Carlos Williams. Based on his recommendations, I have added some names to my reading list.
As for c), I would single out three things in particular: Let that first draft sit in the drawer for about six weeks, until your attention has shifted and you are fully absorbed in something else; only then go back and look at it with fresh eyes. When it comes to vocabulary: “Use the first word that comes to your mind, if it is appropriate and colorful. If you hesitate and cogitate, you will come up with another word … but it probably won’t be as good as your first one….” (pg. 118) And he is refreshingly skeptical about writing workshops, based in part on his own experience as a student.
He also offers a tip that I have a minor quibble with. He rightly stresses the importance of closing that door. Telling us to shut out distraction is indeed more important than providing details of what writing implements to use. He also recommends drawing the curtain and turning up the music (in his case, hard rock). This, though, is exactly the reverse of what would work for at least some of us: looking out the window at the distant horizon can provide that brief moment of distraction that you need every now and then. And when it comes to playing continuous, loud music – that only works if you are able to wall it out, or use it as a cocoon. What’s more, such music is likely to annoy everyone else in the house, maybe even the neighbors. If you’re worrying about its effect on them, this will disturb your own concentration. The point is to have a time and a place where you can concentrate. By all means shut out the world, but different individuals will have different ways of doing so. Turning the volume up is not a universal magic pill.
What’s more, sitting in a locked room may be good advice for those who already know what the next word, the next paragraph, the next chapter will bring. The key thing for those fortunate enough to be in such circumstances is to avoid interruption – the unexpected knock on the door, or the phone call that makes you lose your train of thought. But interruption is different from distraction, which can occur spontaneously once that train has reached its destination, or at least a way station. Nor is he entirely consistent with this advice. After hearing him extol the benefits of shutting out the outside world, it’s a bit jarring to read: “I’ve found that any day’s routine interruptions and distractions don’t much hurt a work in progress and may actually help it in some ways.” (pg. 232)
In any case, the hermetically sealed room is not the only option – there is another way. One technique which is rarely recommended but which has worked for me is to take a nap, then go for a solitary walk in the park, carrying something to write with that fits comfortably in the palm of your hand. You may find that ideas and formulations come to you with singular clarity – sentences you won’t need to tinker with later.
Obviously you should run no unnecessary risks. Take sensible precautions. If there is no safe park, stick to roads with sidewalks that are well away from traffic; in a later section of the book, King tells us about the nearly fatal consequences of walking along the edge of a lightly-traveled rural highway in broad daylight. So you might want to consider taking a walk in your backyard or around your house. Or use the treadmill. In any case, make sure the cell phone is turned off.
Here’s a highly illuminating story about a vacation he took in the early 1980s. In a London hotel, he woke up jet-lagged in the middle of the night, went downstairs and asked the concierge if there was a convenient place for him to write. The man led him to an antique cherry-wood desk that had been used decades earlier by none other than Rudyard Kipling. King sat down and began to compose the book that eventually became “Misery.” For King, the point seems to be about finding a good desk in a quiet spot. For me, the point is he woke up in the middle of the night, took a short walk and then found that the ideas and words began to flow. As he says, when the muse speaks to you, it’s like taking down dictation. You just hope you don’t miss anything in the rush.
King later notes that situations for his novels have occurred to him “while showering, while driving, while taking my daily walk.” (pg. 170) Most of us take showers and drive somewhere as a matter of routine, but fewer of us take daily walks. Yet for both novices and veteran authors, this can be an absolutely vital activity. Moreover, here as elsewhere he separates the walking from the writing – but why wait? Get those ideas down right away. Which you can’t do while showering, and shouldn’t do while driving, but both can and should do while out walking.
King discovered the value of this for himself when he got stuck during the composition of The Stand. Though going for walks did not eliminate his writing block immediately, he kept at it until one day the solution came to him in a flash, and he “ran home and jotted it down on paper, the only time I’ve done such a thing, because I was terrified of forgetting.” (pg. 203) Exactly – but again, why run that risk? For those of us who are absent-minded, any delay might be disastrous.
In the end, you should consider Stephen King’s advice very seriously, weigh the alternatives, and decide what works best for you. The point is, there are different ways to clear out the clutter in your life, and provide enough space so that you can hear the muse speak. Some people compose in coffee houses. Others in closed rooms with music blasting. And still others nocturnally and peripatetically.
Updates:
John le Carré reports in his new autobiography (The Pigeon Tunnel, 2016) that he “loves writing on the hoof, in notebooks on walks, in trains and cafés.”
“The good idea comes in the moment of rest. It comes in the shower. It comes when you’re doodling or playing trains with your son. ‘Hamilton’ forced me to double down on being awake to the inspirations of just living my life.” – Lin-Manuel Miranda, creator of “Hamilton” quoted in the NY Times, Jan. 16, 2017.
Al Pacino says that he figured out how he should play Michael Corleone in “The Godfather” as he walked from the Upper West Side to the Village. And back. Every day. Until he knew where he could go with the role.
Montaigne said that interesting thoughts strike him “where I least expect them… on horseback, at table, and in bed; but mostly on horseback, where I am most given to thinking.”
On the day Christopher Dickey died (July 17, 2020), his colleagues at France 24 recalled his advice to read aloud what you write before getting it printed.
Related reviews at this site:
Ben Yagoda, The Sound on the Page, and When You Catch an Adjective, Kill It
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