Sunset, Friday, 18 September 2009

William Theodore Van Doren. Stony Point, Albemarle County, Va. Oil on paper, 16 x 20.

So my friend Sarah Bruce was very enthused today about Stephen Fry, writing to me about him and also talking about him on her blog, and of course one of the things she said was (not that she would ever put it like this), ‘OMG am I the last person on earth to discover Stephen Fry?!’ to which I say ‘HAHAHA Sarah! – uh – well, actually, no – I didn’t know a thing about him until I got your e-mail!’

Which is a little bit funny because I now find one of Fry’s literary heroes is the late P.G. Wodehouse, who was one of ‘my’ authors when I worked at Scott Meredith Literary Agency in the early 1970s. I even got to speak with ‘Plum’ – then around 92 years old – on the phone! – a rare sort of thing in a business where we editors who did much of the real work were kept hidden from celebrity clients.

(Norman Mailer presumably never knew I was the only person to read his somewhat inflated manuscript for Marilyn – I was sequestered in a quiet corner for a day to read at top speed and report back so Mr. Meredith could tell Mailer what he thought of the book. Scott told me he told Mailer I had read it but, literature, show business and Scott Meredith being what they were, this was almost certainly not true.)

Anyhow, I digress – my favorite hobby. The British TV series Jeeves and Wooster, in which Mr. Fry co-starred, was of course based on the P.G. Wodehouse Jeeves books and stories.

The Stephen Fry post Sarah particularly wanted me to read had to do with the writing process. Fry says:

Many writers are, like me, fascinated by process. From an early age I wanted to know whether authors worked by morning or night, whether they typed or wrote by hand and if so on what kind of paper, whether they had their backs to the window, drank wine, sat, stood or lay on their backs with their legs in the air.

This set me off on a bit of a rant. Probably much of it is just posturing about things Fry might really agree with, but here, slightly edited, is what I said to Sarah:

I’m in such a funk about what I write ... I can’t tell today where I am on some of the things Fry talks about. I know I don’t find ‘process’ interesting in the least. I pretty much don’t care how anyone writes, just what. Isn’t that interesting (the difference)? That doesn’t mean I won’t spend ungodly amounts of time considering whether to buy a pink notebook or a green one, or both, and if I buy both, which one to write on TODAY – etc., etc. But I’m all about enjoying the results. This is true in painting, too. Process schmocess, I’d be happier if there were none! (Not true, but it sounds really outrageous, doesn’t it?) I become fully engaged in the process of painting – as you’ve seen, I get paint out of my brush by painting stuff out on my shirt, on my hands, my face, I end up with six brushes in one hand and three in the other, I walk away, run back, sit, stand, lie down, kneel, I get completely lost in it but I don't think it’s the interesting part. It’s not what it’s about. This is very unfashionable to say but I like the destination a lot more than the journey, meaning: I really live for the creation. The thing that results from it all. If it’s true, or if it’s right, then I have the pleasure of enjoying it just as much as anyone else. It seems like something apart from myself, something really unexpected – like, wow, how did THAT get here? I still feel that way about some things I did 35 years ago. So for me the creation becomes a sort of permanent talisman, not just a keeper but a keepsake that keeps on keeping on – that nourishes, supports, encourages, inspires me to ... to what? ... to put up with the [expletive deleted] process!