I think it should be made quite clear that writers’ suffer for their art. OK, we all know that many of them have by tradition lived in garrets (what is a ‘garret’ by the way, and why do only arty people live in them?). We all know about being down and out (in Paris and London, mainly) and about producing your work from the street as it were, and we all know that the very best writers are drunks, lechers and/or starving/misunderstood/underrated or ignored by their generation (please delete as required).
Now, I regret to say that I don’t run to a mistress, I gave up drink when I had a heart problem and I live in quite a nice house in the countryside and so far the only person who consistently misunderstands me is my agent (oh, and my teenage son).
Hell! Does this mean I am doomed to failure as a scribe?
I’ve been at my desk all day. I’m there most days, either hunched over my lap-top or staring at my rather flashy iMac with two extra screens. The constant stillness, the lousy chair I insist on sitting in for sentimental reasons (complicated story and apparently these blogs have to be PG rated) and the way I bend forward to stare at the screen (well, three screens if we’re going to be pedantic and I’m going to show-off) has led to the most chronic back-ache and also to rather a large gut – both due to a lack of exercise and too many biscuits (sorry, cookies if you come from the great nation of our cousins across the Atlantic).
I was thinking of asking people in this posting if they had any suggestions for easing back pain. Then two thoughts occurred to me:
A) Some of you might suggest I diet and lose the gut, but then bearing in mind that I don’t drink or smoke I’d have no vices left (remember there is no mistress either) and so I couldn’t bear that idea, I must have some life, and…
B) it occurred to me that if you made my back better I wouldn’t be suffering – and if I don’t suffer, I’m not a writer…
Oh, God I’m in pain, I’m really suffering – Oh good, what a relief , I’m an artist!