Weighing in on this question for the Guardian are authors A.L. Kennedy, Amit Chaudhuri, Hari Kunzru, John Banville, Will Self, Joyce Carol Oates, Geoff Dyer, Ronan Bennett, and Julie Myerson.
I identify most with Hari Kunzru’s take; yes to the freak-out and self-disgust but also the “spinning words like plates…”:
I get great pleasure from writing, but not always, or even usually. Writing a novel is largely an exercise in psychological discipline – trying to balance your project on your chin while negotiating a minefield of depression and freak-out. Beginning is daunting; being in the middle makes you feel like Sisyphus; ending sometimes comes with the disappointment that this finite collection of words is all that remains of your infinitely rich idea. Along the way, there are the pitfalls of self-disgust, boredom, disorientation and a lingering sense of inadequacy, occasionally alternating with episodes of hysterical self-congratulation as you fleetingly believe you’ve nailed that particular sentence and are surely destined to join the ranks of the immortals, only to be confronted the next morning with an appalling farrago of clichés that no sane human could read without vomiting. But when you’re in the zone, spinning words like plates, there’s a deep sense of satisfaction and, yes, enjoyment…
Go here to read more.
Colm Toíbín's newest novel, Brooklyn, will publish this May.
A
separate Guardian article reveals that Colm Toíbín doesn’t “enjoy” writing, but he does like the money it earns him, and he gets at least a fleeting rush from selling foreign rights:
In an interview with fellow novelist MJ Hyland, Toíbín said he took no enjoyment from writing his books – or from reading good reviews – and that the best thing about being a writer was financial success.
“Oh there’s no pleasure. Except that I don’t have to work for anyone who bullies me,” he said in response to Hyland’s question about how writing makes him feel.
“I write with a sort of grim determination to deal with things that are hidden and difficult and this means, I think, that pleasure is out of the question. I would associate this with narcissism anyway and I would disapprove of it.”
Oh, I didn’t realise you already had this up — sorry for forwarding it to you!
I generally find both extremes of the does-writing-make-you-happy debate pretty annoying. I’m willing to concede that the extremes MUST be true for some people, but I still find it annoying to hear those people expound upon either the unremitting misery that writing entails or the spontaneous, playing-in-mud joy that it brings to their lives. Like you, I most identify with Hari Kunzru’s relationship to his work, though Joyce Carol Oates’s was also fresh and interesting to read. I’m slightly shocked by Amit Chaudhuri’s fantasy of being a corporate worker — I mean, really?!? I am thankful EVERY SINGLE DAY that I’m not one. But more horrifying still is Colm Toibin’s take. Pleasure is not the same as narcissism. And what’s up with an Irishman disapproving of pleasure?!? It sounds positively puritan.
Preeta – no “sorry” required, and never hesitate to forward any links to me. I’m usually dreadfully behind on Google Reader.
I’m trying to decide if I’m more annoyed by Will Self’s response (I mistrust such perpetual glee) or by Toibin’s (Hooey to say taking pleasure from doing something well is narcissistic — yet I see his point that we’re not required to enjoy our neuroses.) What’s most obnoxious is the judgment implicit in both such responses — that if your pen isn’t moved by utter joy or obsessed misery, you’re an inferior sort of scribe.
Hari, Geoff, and Julie look pretty happy; the rest are just furious! I also liked that earlier post about Gary Shteyngart’s take on the hardships of writing a novel. I related to the killer combo of boredom and stress. Best to be funny when talking about how miserable it makes you.
Oh, dear Hari Kunzru, I am feeling more than “disappointment that this finite collection of words is all that remains of [my] infinitely rich idea.”
Disappointment is an understatement. Self-loathing and despair, perhaps more accurate…
Banville (via Beckett) has a nice way of putting things with his “all one can hope to do is ‘fail better’” – and that’s a beautiful Irish bit of humor with the dentist at the end.