Loose Leaf Notes

“The words seem to be pronounced in my head, but with no one speaking them.” Amy Lowell

My mother and I have an ongoing conversation through the clipped newspaper articles we send each other. It’s the only comfortable way we can “talk” about politics because our views are so vastly different. She also sends me clippings about writers like me who have written family stories. Last week she sent one from the Patriot Ledger on Isabelle Allende’s latest book, The Sum of Our Days.

Did you know that Allende starts all her books on January 8, the date she wrote her first book, House of Spirits? For me, that small fact was the most intriguing part of the full page newspaper interview. Do writers have certain rituals like sports players before a big game? Do they wear lucky socks at the typewriter or say a favorite prayer or mantra before starting a novel? My curiosity sent me to the computer to hunt down some answers.

Isabelle Allende is a fine writer, but it was Diane Ackerman’s name I wrote down on piece of paper for my next trip to the library or bookstore. Described by the New York Times as an “intellectual sensualist,” she has written a poetic exploration of the mind, a natural history of the garden, poetry, children’s literature, and more. My google search for “habits of writers” hit the jackpot when I came across her essay for the New York Times, “O Muse! You Do Make Things Difficult!” It was adapted from her book A Natural History of the Senses and the entire eight page print out dealt with quirky habits of writers and the things they do to coax the muse.

Certain music, certain food; it’s all true. Some writers like to write in the nude, while walking or while smoking a cigar. One writer cited liked to climb out on the limb of a tree. Others, like me, don’t need much of a push; on most days I just fall out of bed and start writing. For political commentaries, I use my mother as an imaginary silent audience, knowing that an opposing view is an opportunity to better clarify my own.

According to Ackerman, the nineteenth century French writer Stendhal read two or three pages of the French civil code every morning before working on his book, The Charter House of Parma – in order to set the right tone. Willa Cather liked to read the Bible to stimulate writing. Ben Franklin wrote in the bath. Alexandre Dumas wrote his non-fiction on rose-colored paper, his fiction on blue, and his poetry on yellow.

My favorite example of a writing habit, described by Ackerman, was one of 16th century German poet Friedrich Schiller. He kept rotten apples in his desk and inhaled their pungent aroma when searching for just the right word. As someone who is in the habit of cocking my head slightly back and squinting my eyes when looking for the right word while writing, Schiller’s habit doesn’t seem at all odd to me, especially considering that researchers have discovered that the smell of spiced apples “has a powerful effect on people and can even stave of a panic attack,” Ackerman reports.

Writers tend to be an eccentric lot. Anyone who spends hours at a time fiddling with a line or sentence with no promise or fame or gain could also be someone who lies in a coffin before beginning a day’s writing, as Edith Sitwell was reported to do.

Ackerman ended her article with a lovely description of her own muse. “My muse is male, has the radiant silver complexion of the moon and never speaks to me directly,” she wrote.

Up until reading Ackerman’s description of her muse I hadn’t thought much about what my muse might look like, but I’m sure I’ll be paying more attention now. This is what I know so far: My muse likes the moon, to be steeped in its indirect light. She speaks to me directly in an authoritative voice.

But sometimes my muse can be as fickle as a well fed cat. When too quiet for too long, I write a formal complaint, usually in the form of a poem, such as this one, titled “Lost: the Muse.”

Loyal but shy
Last seen on Friday
Her middle name is moon
but she answers to music
She sounds like the ocean
with a shell to your ear
and can sometimes be viewed
at the Rocky Knob look-out
She’s never been married
She talks in her sleep
Call 745-2554
if you know where she is

Then I cock my head, squint my eyes, and wait for the call.
How about you?