In the Shadow of Victor Hugo

I set aside this whole morning to write. I took the day off and planned that I wouldn’t do any other chores first, such as shopping or going to the library. I would save my morning energy — my few brilliant moments — for the writing.

Don’t skim down to the bottom. Stay with me here. Everything has its reason.

This week I read that Victor Hugo used to get up and write, solidly, from 8:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. each day. He rested, then started again and would work from 4:00 p.m. until 8:00 p.m. At 11:00 p.m. he would put in some social time with friends. Finally, he would go to bed at 1:00 a.m. or so, apparently needing only a few skimpy hours of sleep each night.

Needless to say, I was impressed by this. Hence my determination to spend one whole morning writing.

Well, at 6:00 the cat came into the bedroom, reached his paw under the blanket, and successfully tickled me awake with his sharp claws — plus the loud cat commentary. But I didn’t get up. It was too early. Period.

At 8:00, having had a nice sleep, I thought I would get up. First, I lay in bed for a while, justifying this by thinking some more about the comic novel I am planning in my head. This sort of counted, I thought. I read another book recently in which the author said it was all right — even necessary — for an author to ruminate. To cogitate, meditate, and dream.

After a while, I got up.

Then I had breakfast and a cup of coffee. I read the paper, including some long but good articles. I then left the kitchen in a mess, because how else was I going to get down to writing? Next, I went and had a bath. While I was there, I thought I’d better give myself a pedicure, because when else are you going to do it, if not on the weekend? Surely a pedicure is just part of proper grooming.

After I made the bed and tidied up the bedroom, I went back to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee to take downstairs to the office, where I would be writing. While I was waiting for the water to boil, I thought I would tidy up the dishes. I also decided to clean up the burned-on black stuff in the bottom of a pan by boiling water and washing soda in it while I was at it. I had to go downstairs to get the washing soda, and while I was down there, I thought I would get a can of tomatoes to make some chili for lunch — vegetarian chili. Vegetarianism is my latest kick. I have been vegetarian for four days now.

Back upstairs, I tidied up the dishes and made the vegetarian chili with this and that, using up some of last week’s vegetables, along with some lightly sautéed chopped onion and garlic and a can of red kidney beans. I got the burned-on pan pretty well cleaned up. I thought that surely could count for something.

I thought I’d better phone my mom, so I did that. Then my sister called. Long distance, and not at the cheap time, either.

By now it was well after 11 o’clock. I used my discipline to not clean up the dog’s muddy tracks, take out the recycling, or water the plants. At home, everywhere I look, there is a job to be done. I held back.

I have found this phenomenon in other aspects of life. I go downtown to the office on a Sunday afternoon to get a particular job done. Usually, it is something that seems hard — some job that I think I can’t get done unless I have four clear hours with absolutely no interruptions. Some job like drafting. I get to the office and find that, time after time, I will tidy up the magazines, write personal letters, reorganize drawers and the office kitchen, attend to the plants, dictate mundane correspondence — just tons of stuff — anything but the thing I went there to do.

The thing about procrastination is that it allows you to get a lot of stuff done that you wouldn’t otherwise get done.

In this way, it is like having company. Having company causes you to get the house tidied up and things fixed. In extreme cases, it can even lead to house renovations. The unexpected beneficial byproducts.

Now I’m down here ready to start on the comic novel. But I’m starting to get hungry for lunch. That chili is beginning to smell good. Maybe I should just go up and have an early lunch. That way I will be able to make a good start on the writing this afternoon.

But I’ll tell you what I’m going to work on. I’m going to work on a good story about my writing habits, just in case I get famous.

Because I’m suspicious about that story about Victor Hugo. Maybe he did that once. Maybe he did that twice. But every day? I doubt it.

Do you know of anything he wrote besides that one book? Me neither.

So I think he made that up — that every day, all day, no sleeping thing. I think he was just in his room drinking, reading the paper, and staring at his bills.