I almost named this blog 'Simpkin's Mice' instead of 'Marc is not here.' I have a strong sense of affinity for the housekeeping methods of The Tailor of Gloucester's cat. Simpkin's stash of mice for future consumption corresponds nicely to my collection of random "This is fascinating!" ideas. The blog, I thought, could be my kitchen dresser full of inverted teacups, bowls, and basins, trapping various ideas for later investigation.I decided against the name, in the end, for two reasons. First, while the stashing image fits, the mouse/idea equation doesn't. (Ponder the Simpkin/me equation at your own risk). I am too fond of Beatrix Potter's story to regret the escape of the mice...and that effectively subverts the parallel to writing exercise. Second, the mental image of Peter Rabbit pastels and tea-cup blog decor was intellectually revolting. (Such a shame! Potter's stories and images are well worth mature reflection. I even put Tom Kitten in a lecture once.)
All this serves to introduce my latest batch of ideas for future pursuit, which are multiplying out of control and thus in need of crockery-constraint. I want to sort out several bits around the theme of what it takes to write. I've been mulling over this for a while. The most recent spark was trying to compose a post around Virginia Woolf's "opinion upon one minor point - a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction." (A Room of One's Own, 1929) Trying to figure out when that statement first grabbed my attention would be a project in itself; I don't think it struck me when I first read the book in 2007. However, I became particularly interested in it about a year ago when I realized that it wasn't true of the 17th C woman writer I had been studying intensively. Woolf's thesis is missing crucial elements such as audience and motivation. Indeed, it's fascinating how much Woolf's reconstruction of 17th C women writers, starting with the mythological Judith Shakespeare, missed the factors that not only allowed but impelled women (oh...and men!) to write in that period.
That's under one tea cup. Under another is George Orwell's corresponding statement in The Road to Wigan Pier (1937), which I happened on last night: "[T]o write books you need not only comfort and solitude...you also need peace of mind" (Ch. 5). Like Woolf's remark, I find this entirely convincing in its original context, but as soon as I take it into the 17th C it falls apart. John Bunyan writing The Pilgrim's Progress in prison, for example, totally refutes it.
So it looks like I'm pursuing two different angles here. One is why Woolf's and Orwell's statements are so convincing in the present. The other is how, and then why, the 17th C is different. The practical application, aside from my ongoing 17th C research, is thinking about the author-audience connection that's inherent in writing and lecturing. Why is it that thinking about audience cripples my creative impulse? I know all too well that missing my audience ultimately stymies my creative output. Tom Kitten only baffles students who haven't read Beatrix Potter!
