Writerly Words to Live By

I have absolutely no idea who Nicolas Fargues is, but I like what he has to say.

NOVICE: You have none of Pierre Michon’s magisterial language, Echenoz’s elegant reserve, or Houellebecq’s powers of analysis. But if you take great care not to lose sight of who you are, you just might succeed in finding a way.

Don’t “make literature.” Don’t write because that’s what people expect of you now that you’re a “writer.” Don’t write for the beauty of the gesture or the love of art. Beware of fine phrases and well-turned maxims: That’s not your thing. Watch out for words that strike a pose. But do let your memory and your instincts flow—let the most apt words, the words that resemble you most closely, come of their own accord. Call a spade a spade (you do it beautifully, sometimes without even being aware of it). Write while it’s still warm, before distance intervenes, before you allow yourself to be corrupted by your desire to please. And don’t let yourself be misled by what editors, journalists, or readers might expect of novelists in general: style, energy, provocation, audacity. Forget all that, even your own recipes. Empty your mind and let come what comes.

Let necessity come and find the courage to drop it if nothing does (and try to persuade yourself that maybe it isn’t so bad, even if you don’t believe a word of it).

Be alone in order to remain free. Alone in order to keep a clear head. What a privilege, what an incomparable stroke of fortune it is, to know how to listen to yourself.

(Hold on, I’ve just cribbed a bit of Pennac.)

I recommend reading the entire Bookforum piece, which collects short essays from various writers on "words they found particularly suited to their ways of thinking about the novel" (trust me, the essays are livelier than that phrase might lead you to believe), in association with the upcoming International Forum on the Novel in Lyons, France.