Let's Talk: The Writing Process
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On Thursday evening, I spell-checked and pressed send on our twenty-first book.
I can't even imagine it. Twenty-one. In eleven years. How is that possible?
I'm counting the ten single-subject paperback ultimates, the 500-recipe stand-alone ultimate, the book about how to cook for two in small batches, the know-how science-and-art-of-cooking tome, the on-the-grill-or-in-the-oven pizza book, the big-ass ham book, the book this blog is named after, plus a grilling book for the Cooking Club of America and two cookbooks for celebrities which shall forever go nameless (except to say that one is the Maine maker of some really expensive jams in the U. S. and the other is a cranky psychologist with his own TV show)--and now the first-ever all-goat book (meat, milk, and cheese), out early next year, and this latest, finished just a few days ago, a hysterical romp through 101 cooking and food myths, with twenty-five recipe to illustrate why they're so very wrong: Lobsters Scream When You Boil Them And 100 Other Myths About Food and Cooking.
I'm not counting the many chapters for other books for The Cooking Club of America. Nor am I counting the countless chapters for Weight Watchers Books. (In fact, Bruce is finishing up testing grain recipes for a chapter in an up-coming WW book right now.) And I'm not counting the many features for magazines. (Wait until you see the roast ham one for Fine Cooking in a couple of months!) Nor the column every month on weightwatchers.com. Nor the two articles a month for the weightwatchers men's online site. Nor the corporate work, including recipe development for raft of food boards and manufacturers. And then this blog.
Whew. And yet. . . . I always call us "the hardest-working food writers no one's ever heard of."
I've never talked about our process in creating this much work. Because I've always felt that blather was just too self-indulgent. And maybe that's why we're "the hardest working food writers. . . ." Because I just can't bring myself to natter on endlessly about what we do every day.
I realize that's counter to the modern world. After all, you're supposed to tell-all. All the time. Endlessly. Twitter it. Facebook it. I once had someone ask me about my "daily media habits." I tried to smile, even as I threw up a little in my mouth. I guess I'm old school.
Still, I thought I might be a little self-indulgent today and talk about this writing life. While I lead. And for which I have no recipe anyone can use. Because there's no recipe for writing. I taught it for years on the college level--at UW-Madison and then at Saint Edward's in Austin. And if there's one thing I walked out of my academic life knowing, it was that I really needed to teach a private writing class to each and every student if I wanted to make any difference. There's no way to do teach it on a mass scale. Because there's no recipe.
My life involves a lot of discipline. I bore of the Hollywood image of writers who sit around all day in their robes, drinking coffee. Yes, I'm a freelancer. Yes, I'm in charge of my own life. Nonetheless, I set an alarm every morning. I get up. I make coffee. A latte, actually. Four shots of espresso and a lot of frothed milk in a big bowl. I read the papers and about a zillion political blogs. Did you know I'm a political junky? Probably not, because I just don't drop all that stuff here. Again, too self-indulgent. But if you're ever around some sites, you'll see my incessant commenting in response to posts.
Once I'm done with my coffee and my morning political pot shots, I go into my office and start to work. That's it right there--the blue room beyond our living room. And that's my desk: the little one at the end. It's actually between two windows. I roll the top open, sit down, and lay out my papers or projects for the day.
Most days, Dreydl sleeps next to me. And I write. I don't look out the windows much. I just keep at it. Most of it is crap. It never sees the light of day. But I keep writing. All the time. Not only the cookbooks. I currently have several novels in various stages of not-finished. And I've been working on a screenplay lately. And I've got a few other things--like a tongue-in-cheek book about reading books in bad locations, William Blake in Waco.
When I first met Bruce, we lived in New York--and he was murder on artistic types. If someone said they were an actor, he'd say, "Where do you act?" If they weren't in anything at the moment, he'd ask where they auditioned. If they didn't, he'd ask where they were taking classes. And if they weren't, he'd say, "You're not an actor--you're a waiter." Same with dancers. Same with writers. "Dancers dance," he'd say. "Writers write. Painters paint. Musicians make music. Otherwise, they're just kidding themselves."
Brutal, but true. Bruce is a cook and a knitter. Believe me, he cooks and knits. As I write, I can hear him in the kitchen, rattling pots. If not, he's upstairs knitting. But mostly cooking. That's how we work: he makes the dishes; I write the books.
But most of what he does in the kitchen is drowned out by music. I play lots of loud music as I write. And I go on crazy jags for each project. When I wrote COOKING KNOW-HOW, I was into Stravinsky. Way into Stravinsky. I think Bruce reached a point where he couldn't hear the Rite of Spring again. When I wrote both the ham and the goat book, I was deep into Bach cantatas. I have over 150 of them on my Ipod. I play them at full blower, the speakers right in front of my face on my desk. This time, for the lobsters scream book, I was into Charles Ives. Especially the symphonies. Especially the second. I played it loud and often--usually four or five times a day.
It's not always classical. Sometime, I'll tell you about my Cowboy Junkies phase. THAT was painful. (And I still love them. I've got their latest CD and I don't want to play it, am saving it for just the right moment.) Or about my Indigo Girls phase. (Not really all that long ago. I think I missed their heyday.) Or my All American Rejects phase. (Still sort of going on.) Or get this: my Rascal Flatts phase.
I'm also into the new crop of torch singers, people like Jane Monheit and Patricia Barber. But I don't write to their singing. I find them too all-consuming. (Bach and Ives are not??) I save those women until later in the day, when I crack open a bottle of wine.
Because that's how it ends. I scrape back my chair sometime in the late afternoon when my brain hurts. I get a sore cortex. I kid you not. I sometimes wander into the living room and practice the piano for a while. Mostly Ravel. But I have been toying with some Shostakovich lately--the preludes and fugues, particularly. And then I go down to the basement, pick out a bottle of wine, and settle in with a book on the deck or by the fire in the winter.
And that's it. That doesn't sound like much to write about. It sounds rather boring. And like work. Which it is. And so I don't post about it--until now. Don't get me wrong. I love what I do. But it's a matter of discipline and, well, courage. Because it takes guts to sit down at a desk every day and hope someone eventually will notice your words. Some days, I can't do it. Those, I garden. I'm sort of proud of the flowers: I want them to be overgrown craziness, as you can see. But if I'm not motivated to go outside, I draw a bath and hunker down with a novel. But most days I write, Dreydl asleep by my side. That's the life. It doesn't seem that exciting. It just seems very contented.
Reader Comments (10)
As a would-be novelist myself, I actually found this post a treat to read. I'm always interested in other writer's methods and habits. It's the discipline thing that I need to get down myself. Two finished novels in the process of editing and a third on the go means realistically there's more than I can chew--but maybe not if I apply myself a little more rigorously. Imagine.
And a routine. I guess that was pretty evident from the post. A ridiculously set routine. I know that sounds banal as all get out, but the routine is key to the whole thing. FOR ME. I don't know what works for other people. When I taught writing, it was all about doing psychoanalysis, as it were, on my students, trying to understand the best way to develop a process for them.
But good luck with two novels in edit. Wow. That's ridiculously impressive.
Mark
(Did I mention letting go is brutal?)
Thanks for sharing this. I think anyone who writes to any extent daydreams about what it would be like to do it as a full-time job. I know I do, so I found this fascinating to read. Depending upon the day and the mood, this sounds either totally idyllic or extremely daunting. Which maybe it is in real life too?
Nice to get a glimpse at your day to day! Someone once told me that writers have to write, even if no-one ever reads their work. The process of creating is unstoppable. :)
The best thing about writing is having written. When it's done and it's good, nothing feels better. But then there's little time for being self-congratulatory, because you've got to start writing the next thing.
Totally enjoyed this post. Thanks for breaking out of your routine (which is also awesome, by the way) and giving us this special treat.
Thanks for letting us in on your life a little bit. I too am a political junkie. That's what brought my husband and I together. (besides other things of course! lol)
I have to work by a schedule too, otherwise I'd spend all day being quite busy, but accomplishing nothing! Just wanted to say congratulations on number 21. Not as thrilling, I am assuming, as number 1 was, but still just as satisfactory.
Looking forward to more posts like this one.
Mark--
Perhaps you're already familiar, but Twyla Tharp wrote "The Creative Habit" which, in essence, boiled down to creating the habit of routine. Eventually it becomes unconscious and that's how you do your day and and day out work when there's no 9-5 yolk around your neck. Stephen King talks about writing every day so you stay on the ball. Every snippet of writing advice I've ever really heard of suggests it. There's something to be said for individuality, and there's something to be said for efficiency and what works. Just my two cents.
As for my bunking you in with these two heavy-weights, feel free to take it as the obsequious compliment that it is ;)
-Nik
Nik: Tharp and King? Well, yes, that's illustrious company for sure. But there is something about creativity and ritual. I'm going to try to tease that out further in a future post.
Jessica: I've been amazed at how many people commented on this post, on the traffic on the site over this post, and on the many more who have emailed me. I assumed it would get a big zip but I thought I'd give it a shot and just talk about the process. I find it odd. But again, old school maybe.
M.
I can't address the writing part but I can comment on music to create by!! Spyro Gyra - grouped all the best of together - uplifting. Mark O'Connor - he's all over the place with his music - ones with YoYo Ma are great and I'm playing his String Quartets Nos. 2 & 3 quite a bit. His Hot Swing Trio CDs are good moving music. And then there's the standby when nothing else will work - Bach Cello Suites by YoYo Ma. I enjoy reading about other people's creative process, you never know what may turn up and work for yourself. Can't wait to try the new recipe! :)