I am a manic blog hopper. Literary blogs to me are what caffeine and Doritos are to the junk food-addicted masses. They keep me company in the throes of insomnia, provide a getaway during a wasted work hour, and generally keep me informed about literary goings-on when I’m entrenched in my own not-always-current stacks.

On a recent afternoon of surfing, I ran across mention of Diane Ackerman’s 1989 essay for the New York Times Review of Books titled, “Oh Muse! You Do Make Things Difficult!” I’ve long been a fan of the minutiae of my favorite writers’ lives, spending long hours in my car sampling Garrison Keillor’s “The Writer’s Almanac” radio spot via podcast or reading memoirs of my favorite authors’ early writing lives—Paul Auster’s Hand to Mouth comes to mind. I frequently recall outrageous bits that my professors shared with me in college and pass them along to my students. Incidents involving T.S. Eliot’s rocky marriage to Vivienne Haigh Wood—I still think that episode with the melted chocolate had to be the real thing. Or maybe Sherwood Anderson’s nude, manic fit of writing that produced Winesburg, Ohio.

In any event, it seems authors are among the most colorful of artistic characters. Alongside painters, artists are a wily, unusual bunch just as likely to cut off an ear or snort a nose full of coke. It’s a crass generalization, I realize, but there’s something romantic about the artistic temperament. Indulge me.

Having done more than my share of author interviews in the last few years, I have to wonder, are writers becoming more normal? Out of a handful of writers including Cathleen Schine, Louis Theroux, Sara Gruen, and Audrey Niffenegger, no one confessed any odd writing habits or rituals.

However, I tend to think there’s more to the truth than what is spoken. In Ackerman’s piece, she recalls a phone conversation with William Gass in which she prodded him about his writing process. She began by asking about the beginning of his day, and as if it were nothing, he mentioned spending several hours each morning photographing, “'the rusty, derelict, overlooked, downtrodden parts of the city. Filth and decay mainly.” Upon Ackerman’s further questioning about whether or not he found it unusual that he should devote several hours a day to photographing rubbish and refuse, Gass simply replied, “Not for me.”

What is unusual to one reader or writer is not at all unusual to another. I certainly don’t think all writers are out running amok, acting crazy, or harming themselves, but there is a great deal of interest, for me, in what others consider “normal.” I imagine one writer might focus his thoughts with a well-chosen cigar, another might prefer to frolic naked in the daisies or douse herself in warm honey. All in the name of writing that one perfect masterpiece. I have to wonder, if I could glance behind my favorite authors’ closed doors—into Paul Auster’s studio complete with typewriter, Siri Hustvedt’s prim, organized white office—what would I see?

Likewise, as a reader and writer, I realize that I have habits that might translate into strangeness for a majority of general onlookers. Perhaps, when I’m writing, my endless pacing, staring into the refrigerator, and self-talk would disturb the amiable passerby. Some might think me lazy for spending days in my pajamas, lying prone on my stomach, reading feverishly through a favorite tome when I’m deeply in the throes of a bookish affair. Crying nonetheless, if it’s a really great read.

One incident which illustrates my  reading addiction’s oddness to the general public came in 2004 when I was working at a local city library. The Friends of the Library held their annual sale, and since I was working, I got to go pick over the goods ahead of the cluster of avid bibliophiles gathering at the doors. When I finished browsing, I emerged from the sale with four bags of books—hardbacks, paperbacks, classics, trash—all for the bargain price of fourteen dollars. While I was enamored of my own good fortune, a library co-worker had the gall to say, “Don’t you have a life? What kind of life is it if you’re holed up with your nose in a book?” Obviously, I found her company somewhat distasteful after the incident, but it really drove home to me how wholly odd readers can appear to non-readers.

You see, readers themselves can be an obsessive lot. Just ask the 400 unread books in my house. I think the habit is called “hoarding” by most psychologists. In fact, I’m pretty sure I could do without furniture entirely, but without books? No way. That’s just crazy. Each reader has his or her habit that borders on the obsessive, the sadistic, or the downright mad. Some of us have to receive the mad genius of our favorite writers in an equally mad and obsessive way. Certainly it’s another generalization. There are a number of “normal” writers out there, and just as many normal readers, but if we really stopped to think and analyze our daily lives would we find habits better suited to Diane Ackerman’s interests? A tidbit worth broadcasting on “The Writer’s Almanac?” Methinks as program entitled “The Reader’s Alamanac” should transmit readers’ greatest obsessions and rituals far and wide.

The next time you wander into the bookstore or sidle up to your writing desk, take a few minutes to ruminate on your own habits, and wallow in the craziness of a literary lifestyle. I guarantee it’s interesting to someone, even if it’s completely normal to you.


Andi is a recovering university academic employed by the North Carolina community college system as an English instructor. While she decided to forego a Ph.D. and career as a professor, she fills in all the free time her current position affords her with editing literary publications, reviewing, freelancing, and blogging. Her work can be found in the journal, Multi-Ethnic Literature of the United States (MELUS), and Altar Magazine as well as online in various venues such as PopMatters.com. She is a member of the National Book Critics Circle (NBCC), and writes fiction. Her turn-ons include new books and gelato, while her turn-offs are reality television and washing dishes. She can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it