Longing for a Crash
On “vomit drafts” and other fantasies—plus, our next Book Club pick
Last week, I learned that Kazuo Ishiguro wrote The Remains of the Day in a month.
I was reading a conversation between the novelists Alexander Chee and Mary H.K. Choi, who was talking about her predilection for “vomit drafts”—writing the first draft of a novel in a few months or even as little as five weeks.1
In reply, Chee mentioned that Kazuo Ishiguro does the same thing, and linked to a 2014 essay in which Ishiguro describes how he produced the first draft of The Remains of the Day, his Booker Prize–winning 1989 novel.
In the essay, Ishiguro talks about reaching a point, after the success of his second novel, where he suddenly had so many professional opportunities that he worried he would never find the time and mental space to write a new book.
To combat this situation, he and his wife, Lorna, devised a plan:
I would, for a four-week period, ruthlessly clear my diary and go on what we somewhat mysteriously called a “Crash.” During the Crash, I would do nothing but write from 9am to 10.30pm, Monday through Saturday. I’d get one hour off for lunch and two for dinner. I’d not see, let alone answer, any mail, and would not go near the phone. No one would come to the house. Lorna, despite her own busy schedule, would for this period do my share of the cooking and housework. In this way, so we hoped, I’d not only complete more work quantitively, but reach a mental state in which my fictional world was more real to me than the actual one.
It worked. At the end of the four weeks, Ishiguro “had more or less the entire novel down: though of course a lot more time would be required to write it all up properly, the vital imaginative breakthroughs had all come during the Crash.”
Are you all feeling as dangerously inspired by this idea as I am? Ready to bury your devices in the backyard, neglect all the housework—or dump it on your spouse, sorry honey!—and hurl yourself into a great swelling Crash?
It’s hardly a unique fantasy. Here’s Ali Smith in a 2015 interview:
When I’m working on a novel, that novel acts like a giant hoover and everything gravitates towards it. I become its daily routine—I need tricks to distract myself! To be able to do things like sleep, have baths, eat, do the dishes.
Or here’s Susan Sontag in 1987:
Kafka had a fantasy of setting up shop in the sub-basement of some building, where twice a day somebody would put something to eat outside the door. He said: One cannot be alone enough to write. I think of writing like being in a balloon, a spaceship, a submarine, a closet.
But I don’t think one can simply Crash on demand; timing is everything. Ishiguro notes that before his four-week sprint, he had already done a substantial amount of research, consuming “books by and about British servants, about politics and foreign policy between the wars, many pamphlets and essays from the time.” He continues:
The decision when to start the actual writing of a novel—to begin composing the story itself—always seems to me a crucial one. How much should one know before starting on the prose? It’s damaging to start too early, equally so to start too late. I think with Remains I got lucky: the Crash came just at the right point, when I knew just enough.
I think the Crash fantasy is so appealing to me at this moment because I know that I’m nowhere near this tipping point. My third book has only been out for thirteen weeks. Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to settle on an idea for a new book project, and continually changing my mind about which ideas seem most promising, and feeling unmoored by this process. I dearly wish I could start vomit-drafting my next book into existence but I’m just not there yet.
Though now I wonder: Could the Crash idea be applied to this phase as well? Just as I was working on today’s newsletter, I saw that the documentary filmmaker Penny Lane is doing a 10 Ideas in 10 Days challenge—nothing as extreme as what Ishiguro recommends, but a cool way to quickly generate a new batch of project ideas (or quickly rule out some old ones that have been taking up mental space, which is what I need help with). I’m going to try it out! If you’d like to join me, you can find all the details on Lane’s Substack here.
If you have your own techniques for summoning a Crash—or creating a similar dynamic without fobbing off all the housework on your spouse—please share them in the comments. As always, I’m curious how people manage this most intractable of creative dilemmas. On the one hand: a balloon, a spaceship, a submarine, a closet. On the other: a job, a family, a home, a human body.
RELATED ISSUES
From the archive:
WRITERS ON THE VERGE OF A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN
I loved every minute of Colm Tóibín’s recent conversation with Bella Freud, for Freud’s always wonderful Fashion Neurosis podcast, but I especially loved the part where he divulged a secret recipe for unlimited creative energy, given to him by the Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodóvar:
FREUD
I read—I don’t know where I read this—that you’d said that you’d met some people who were experts in cocaine . . . and that as you weren’t a fan, they recommended you try a double espresso with Coca-Cola poured on top. And that you tried this and it really set you on fire teaching your students.TÓIBÍN
Oh, that was Almodóvar actually. Yeah, he told me that this thing really worked. I think he was talking about actors. That you if you gave it to an actress and then turned on the camera—I think that’s what happened. So just after I saw him that time, I was going to teach at the New School. It was a three-hour seminar. And I would do it right before. A double espresso, and—you let it cool. You put sugar into it, let it cool. And then you throw in a full bubbly Coca-Cola and drink it all down like medicine.And you were—it took about an hour—but by the end, I mean, on fire. I became this sort of teacher who couldn’t stop. It’s really true that there was a complaint by the porters because they were closing up the school at ten. I would still be in full flight at ten. I would tell them, just go away for a while and then come back. The poor students had to listen to this.
FREUD
I’m dying to try it.TÓIBÍN
No, it’s really great. It’s not illegal. You don’t feel that you’re somehow compromising so many people with your drug habit. And it’s cheap. Yeah, no, it’s really great.
I’m dying to try it too. Is this what Substack Live is for? To any espresso and/or cola purveyors reading, let me know if you’d like to sponsor this. (I am serious.)
OUR NEXT BOOK CLUB PICK
Last time, I wrote about Vivian Gornick’s The Situation and the Story, a slender manual for writers of personal narrative that contained so much literary and human wisdom that I wanted to re-read almost as soon as I finished. Which got me thinking: Why not do so for the next installment of the Subtle Maneuvers Book Club?
In the book, Gornick succinctly and convincingly explains why persona is everything when it comes to writing—and then shows how this works in a series of essays and memoirs that she excerpts and unpacks. (This part was like watching a writer perform therapy on some of her favorite writers; I was riveted.) I really think it’s essential reading for all writers—but not just writers. Her ideas about drawing forth the right self to tell a particular story are, I think, relevant to all types of creative work.
To take part, simply pick up a copy of The Situation and the Story (here’s the Bookshop link) and start reading. Then paid subscribers are invited to join me on Zoom on Sunday, July 19, at 11 am Pacific / 2pm Eastern time, when we’ll chat more about Gornick’s insights and how they apply to our own work. Really looking forward to this one—hope to see you then!
WORM ZOOM
My virtual coworking club reconvenes next week! We’ll meet on Zoom Monday, July 6th, through Friday, July 10th, from 6–8am Pacific / 9–11am Eastern time each morning.
For those who haven’t taken part before: This is a great, low-pressure way to steal some focus with a community of fellow writers and artists. Come for the full two hours or drop in for however much time you have available—it’s amazing how even this very light form of accountability can galvanize a stretch of new creative work.
And after the Friday session, we’ll have our Worm Salon—an opportunity to chat about what we’ve all been working on and set our creative intentions for the remainder of the month.
Find all the details and join us here:
Thanks for reading! This newsletter comes out every other Tuesday (usually! I’m behind this month)—and you can help keep it coming by upgrading to a paid subscription, buying one of my three books, forwarding this email to a friend, or even just clicking the like button below. 🙏
Choi said that the “vomit draft” technique unfortunately did not work for Pool House, her new novel and her first for adult readers, for which she kept writing the first 15,000 words over and over, and which ultimately took her about five years to get done. Which makes me want to read it! I just ordered a copy.
Please, no 10 ideas in 10 days! Ideas aren’t the problem. Choosing one and running with it is what’s necessary. I’m gonna crawl into a sub-basement and put a moratorium on new ideas.
As a long admirer of his work, I’m grateful he carved out the space. I only hope that he extended the same liberties to his spouse— that she, too, can crash-land on an island of her own intellectual preoccupations.