LAFCADIO HEARN ON THE PROCESS OF WRITING
(An Extract from "The Hearn Exprience")
From a letter from Lafcadio Hearn to Basil Hall Chamberlain dated January 23, 1893:
I do not know your method, and
everybody has his own. But I think I know your difficulty — that it is also my
own in Japan. Composition becomes difficult only when it becomes work — that is
literary labor without a strong inspirational impulse or an emotional feeling
behind it. Now, in Japan, after the first experiences are over — I can’t
imagine anybody having either an inspiration or a strong emotion. The
atmosphere is soporific, gray, without electricity. Therefore, work has to be
forced. I never write without painfully forcing myself to do it.
Now there are two ways of forced work.
The first is to force thought by concentration. This is fatiguing beyond all
expression — and I think injurious. I can’t do it. The second way is to force
the work only, and let the thought develop
itself. This is much less fatiguing, and gives far better results — sometimes
surprising results that are mistaken for inspiration.
I go to work in this way. The subject
is in front of me; I can’t bother even thinking about it. That would tire me
too much. I simply arrange the notes and write down whatever part of the subject
most pleases me first. I write hurriedly without care. Then I put the MS aside
for a day, and do something else more agreeable. Next day, I read over the
pages written, correct, and write them all over again. In the course of doing this,
quite mechanically, new thoughts come up, errors make themselves felt,
improvements are suggested. I stop. Next day, I rewrite the third time. This is
the test time. The result is a great improvement usually — but not perfection.
I then take clean paper, and begin to make the final copy. Usually this has to
be done twice. In the course of four to five re-writings, the whole thought
reshapes itself, and the whole style is changed and fixed. The work has done
itself, developed, grown; it would have been very different had I trusted to
the first thought. But I let the thought define and crystallize itself.
Perhaps you will say this is too much
trouble. I used to think so. But the result is amazing. The average is five
perfect pages a day, with about two or three hours work. By the other method
one or two pages a day are extremely difficult to write. Indeed I do not think
I could write one perfect page a day, by thinking out everything as I write.
The mental strain is too much. The fancy is like a horse that goes well without
whip or spur, and refuses duty if either is used. By petting it and leaving it
free, it surpasses desire. I know when the page is fixed by a sort of focusing it
takes — when the first impression has returned after all corrections more
forcibly than at first felt, and in half the space first occupied. Perhaps you
have done all this in prose, as you must have done it in other work; but if you
have not, you will be astonished at the relief it gives. My whole book was
written thus. Of course it looks like big labor to rewrite every page half a
dozen times. But in reality, it is the least possible labor. To those with whom
writing is almost an automatic exertion, the absolute fatigue is no more than
that of writing a letter. The rest of the work does itself, without your effort. It is like spiritualism. Just move
the pen and the ghosts do the wording, etc. I am writing this only as a letter
to you. It makes so many pages. If I were writing it for print, I would rewrite
it at least five times — with the result of putting the same thoughts much more
forcibly in half the space. Then again, I keep the thing going like a conjurer’s
balls. The first day’s five pages are recopied the second, and another five
written — the third day the first five are again recopied, and another five
written. There is always matter ahead, though, I never recopy more than the
first five, at one time. When these are finished, then I begin the second five.
The average is five per day, 150 pages per month. Another important thing is to
take the most agreeable part of the subject first. Order is of no earthly
consequence, but a great hindrance. The success of this part gives
encouragement, and curiously develops the idea of the relative parts.
Well, perhaps, I have been telling you
something you know more about than I; but comparing notes is always good, and
often a help.
