The Sounds not the Silence

or the need for notes

I could never study at the college library. It was a beautiful and ancient place, with lots of dark wood, high ceilings, tall and narrow windows. I have no complaints about the look of it, no complaints about doing research in the heavy reference tomes that were not on loan, no complaints about the smell, the dust, or the light.

I just could not study there because of the silence. It was too damn quiet. An oppressive quiet that was distracting and screamed you are here to study, so get to it!

That’s the fastest way to suck all the motivation and the energy out of me. I guess I’m not the type that thrives under the pressure of silent meditation.

I could not study alone in my room at home either.

The notion that productivity and creativity come from solitary and studious concentration is alien to me.

I would rather sit at the dining room table, or plonk down on the sitting room couch with piles of books, binders, and notepads spread at my feet, with either the TV or the radio on, and conversations buzzing all around me. The noises of life. An acceptable alternative was sprawling on a blanket in the yard. Birds, bees, and ants. The neighbor mowing the lawn. Cars in the street. A baby bawling in the apartment block nearby. It created the perfect background soundtrack.

Today, my writing arrangements are similar.

I have an office—we even bought a funky desk in a junk store for it, and a semi-comfortable swivel chair—but I never work there. True to my teenage and college years, I’m at the dining room table, bundled up in a comfy armchair, or sitting on the back porch with my feet up. My Mac is a laptop after all … it’s designed to be used that way.

And there is never complete silence around me.

I’m hardly alone in my preference for an active setting. Hemingway, Kafka, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Kerouac, Sartre … they all spent a lot of time writing in cafés. Probably drinking something else than coffee.

Movement and sound as a canvas for the imagination.

A variation on white noise. Which brings me to music as writing wallpaper.

I know many writers who have something playing on their sound system of choice when they work. Some do it to set a mood or a tempo that matches what they’re typing or scribbling. Accompanying a road trip scene with Hank Williams. A beach scene with Pet Sounds. A Caribbean spy thriller with the soundtrack of Buena Vista Social Club. Some go as far as creating a set list to go with the plot or the characters. I guess that when one of these songs comes up, years later, they go hey, that’s my book you’re playing!

I’m not that deliberate in my choices. I’ve learned that some kinds of music work well with writing and some don’t. Instrumentals are better than songs, or songs in a language I don’t understand (so I don’t get distracted by the words). Or voices with hypnotic qualities that weave a web in the back of my mind. David Sylvian is a frequent go-to—I’ll play Brilliant Trees and Secrets of the Beehive in a loop. Or I revisit movie/TV soundtracks that are not compilations of popular tunes: Twin Peaks, Dances with Wolves, The Mission … Atmospheric pieces with ample melodies. I also play a few classics of the mild variety, nothing that pounds or brings out the big guns: Chopin’s Nocturnes, Schubert’s Trios, a little Brahms. Jazz is less of a good fit except for Erroll Garner and Stan Getz. This is all a bit theoretical because if I’m under the spell of a wild writing spree, I could have the Rolling Stones rocking full blast and not even notice.

I’m curious to hear what you have going in the background when you read, write, cook, quilt, draw… Or are you among the scholarly that need a complete lack of distraction to let inspiration and peace come to you?

To be completely truthful, I have to mention that despite my preference for having sound and activity around me when I work, if you talk to me when I’m focusing on writing a story, you will be ignored. I’m not being rude, please understand that I simply am not completely THERE.

What I’m reading

Jaded, by Wilson Koewing. A collection of short stories. Each of these very short pieces is to be treasured. I could call it the poetry of modern melancholy but you would think the stories are sad and they are not. They are slightly off balance, full of doubt, and completely of this day and times. Koewing’s characters, and the elusive recurrent and beloved Jade, are uncertain about themselves and life in general. They float more than they walk. They’re also very, very interesting. And the writing is superb.

In a completely different genre, I finished the third installment of DDC Morgan’s Reg Calloway mysteries. This one is called Rope & Canvas (the previous ones were Blood & Cinders, and Pills & Soap), all from UK publisher Fahrenheit Press that consistently delivers exciting books. The Calloway series takes place in post-WWII Britain and the period is rendered to perfection. I could see the movie showing in my head as I was reading. There are bomb craters, rationing tickets, punters and pubs. In Rope & Canvas there’s also a doomed trip to Berlin with spies of various stripes, and daring women on motorcycles. It’s a ton of fun and the dialogue rips.

A Recipe: Dutch Oven Crusty Bread

I found this on the Le Creuset® website. I’ve made it many times and always with great success. The no-knead bread is a breeze and tastes even better dipped in olive oil. I use rapid-rise yeast.

3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon yeast
1 teaspoon salt
1½ cups warm water

Instructions: In a large mixing bowl, whisk together flour, salt and yeast. Add water and stir until a shaggy mixture forms—it will be loose and sticky. Cover bowl with plastic wrap and set aside (not in the fridge) for 12-18 hours.

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Place Dutch oven with a lid in the oven and heat the pot for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, transfer proofed dough onto a heavily floured surface and lightly shape into a round loaf. Place on nonstick parchment paper.

Remove hot pot from oven and lift parchment paper to place rounded dough in the center of the pot. Cover securely and bake for 30 minutes. Remove the lid and bake an additional 10-15 minutes. Place bread on a cooling rack.

And to finish … a real gem!