As someone who has spent nearly 60 years as a professional writer, I am inevitably set in my ways, though capable of changing them radically in a crisis. But I recognise that my ways are not typical, that there is no such thing as a typical writer. Starting early is for me axiomatic (it is 6.45 a.m. as I write these words). It was for Trollope too, who paid his groom an extra sum annually for bringing him a scalding cup of coffee as dawn was breaking. And I, like Trollope, start writing immediately. By contrast, J.B. Priestley told me that he needed anything up to an hour fiddling with the objects on his desk before actually beginning the process of putting words on to paper, though once begun he wrote steadily.
A morning start, however, is beyond many writers. Tom Stoppard, I know, rarely gets going before midday, or even later. But then he can write in the evening, which I hate, and often into the small hours. I read that Honoré de Balzac habitually wrote from midnight until noon the next day. Can one believe this? Twelve hours’ continual writing is an immense physical effort. I certainly cannot do more than eight, and normally, when writing a big book, six hours’ productive writing is as much as I can manage, and the effort leaves me weary. But so much about Balzac would be incredible did not hard evidence exist to prove it true. His record in producing, I think, 92 novels in little over 20 years, was only possible by putting in 12-hour days.
I do not have actual figures for Balzac’s regular output of words, though they could easily be worked out. Trollope knew exactly how many he could do in an hour, and had his watch placed on his desk to check, every quarter, how he was progressing and whether his speed was being kept up.
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