Sunday, December 29, 2013

Balzac wore a Bowler too: Acquiring a Literary Hat Fetish

I have discovered, along with my unremitting devotion to literary composition, a tendency to accumulate hats at a rather alarming rate. Some of which are bedecked with feathers, and are, I fancy, rather flattering at a rakish angle - others, square and dowdy, droop in unlikely places and for which I hold little affection. Regardless of the limitations of closet space, and the unsuitable hat-climate in which I currently reside, these hats (like Bartholemew Cubbins of Dr. Seuss fame) reappear upon my cranium with accelerating frequency.

For these are, increasingly, the stock and barrel of the literary trade - the multitude of hats which the writer today accumulates, and must, perforce, accustom themselves to wearing. It used to be that we wore one - a signature fedora perhaps - a slightly battered, world-weary cranial piece that had seen us through one novel or another. The writer's hat. Comfortable, softly threadbare in all the right places - so much so that one was little aware of it being worn at all. For hitherto we only required that one - and beneath the broad brim of it we wrote with an impassioned ferocity, emitting the heated angst of life in a fluid conmingling of ink and blood upon the page (to borrow Hemingway's visceral depiction of the process). And then? We finished with a flourish and consigned our work to the trusted realms of publishing - who attended to the tedious tasks of marketing, printing, and distribution, leaving the author to contemplate the formulation of their subsequent literary work...

Now, however, writers of serious intent must accustom themselves to all kinds of cranial adornments - some of which poke and prod in the most uncomfortable of fashions. My grammatical hat, for example, leaves much to be desired, and I have the most unsettling notion that it accentuates, in glaring relief, my literary shortcomings: my comma-phobia, my hyphen-uncertainties, and the nuances that elude specific rules but incorrect usage proclaim "here writes an ignorant one!" So I pore over my Chicago Manual of Style in the vain hope that I can accustom myself to this cranial appendage that seems so instrumental to my success as a writer.

And there are, indeed, so many of them...some of which are more eagerly worn than others. My historian hat has been much in evidence as of late, and conforms beautifully to the curve of bone beneath. For beneath this bowler I spend many an hour perusing diaries, letters, historical treatises that offer an unprecedented glimpse of a time and space which is to become my world, and which will, in fits and starts, facilitate the emergence of a new narrative. Balzac described himself "much more of an historian than a novelist" and I incline to his view - or at least to the extent that my writing is predominately informed upon by my non-fictional explorations. The Human Comedy comprises an immense repository of historical detail, deftly intertwined within the narrative - methods of paper manufacture, fashions and furnishings, political escapades and small-town geography were all conveyed with scrupulous verisimilitude. So Balzac wore a bowler too! I yearn to wear mine with as much panache.

Lately, I have been the reluctant recipient of a helmet (particular to this part of the literary process) - ensnared as I have been by the  intricacies of formatting, caught in the sticky web of preparatory necessities that do little to enthrall the authorial mind. Pinioned in the mire and mesh of hyphen-placement and white-space, margins and trim, font size and style, kerning - and other aesthetic attributes I had, in truth, little desire to master. In the midst of my affliction, beneath the dank confines of metal that has a way of closing in around one's countenance until it seemed it would fasten permanently to the skull like some beast of alien appetite, I despair - would one ever be done?

And then - the marketing hat - an incommodious bonnet that flopped and flipped about one's ears in a most disconcerting manner. For even with the gratifying attention of prodigious publishing firms (of which few of us can boast) one still must market oneself. And there seems a bewildering variety of ways and means in which this must be done in modern society (I stipulate modern because I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time embroiled in the past!) For work completed must henceforth become work advertised, work marketed, work pushed and pulled and shoved (hopefully not to the detriment of said work or sanity of associated author). For bereft of parental attention it will languish and wallow, theoretically available in this medium or that but a forlorn, unrecognized thing consigned to some virtual dark and dusty corner of the cavernous Amazon warehouse ...and precisely how this is to be done - I do not know exactly. Is there a polite manner in which one can market one's work, without forceful brandishment? Without an email deluge? Without unwanted encroachment? It remains a finely tuned balancing act - one that does justice not only to the literary work itself, but maintains a modicum of respect for the author as well as the reader who comprises their audience. My hope is that one acquires a degree of satisfaction in the donning of this particular hat and wearing it well.

 For as much as we might desire to maintain a modest collection of much-beloved hats (one or two might suffice) we are now, more than ever, forced to accumulate and adjust to copious cranial attire. Far more frequently than we might like we must needs don one ill-fitting encumbrance after another as we attempt to master the variety of skills that seem a prerequisite to literary success in this the modern era. And just when it seems the task is done, formatting throws the proverbial wrench in the works - entailing, as it does, wrestling with InDesign and the erroneous snatches of html code that lurk beneath, poised to manifest in some devious fashion, compromising the aesthetic whole of the e-book version. So one must utilize InDesign to maximum effect and pick it apart with minute attention to coding when exporting it for e-publication...and so new tasks manifest and another hat reappears awkwardly perched above the brow.

But perhaps the remedy is to embrace this requisite hat fetish, this acquisition of skills - wear the various hats with as much aplomb as one can muster. For with the wearing of them, they inevitably assume an increased familiarity, become softened with use, much as the rigidity of new leather mellows into suppleness, acquiring a worn patina that is increasingly pleasurable to behold. And the hats themselves become less intrusive as the associated skill-set matures from one of initial bewilderment to well-practiced ease. Ideally. Inevitably the writing fedora (and for some of us the historian's bowler) will remain on a convenient hook, welcome accessories to coveted time - time to write, time to ponder, time to weave gossamer strands of a new narrative, time, in short, 'to murder and create'...and this fluctuating array of headgear? What can we do but make reluctant room in the closet?





16 comments:

  1. Dearest PJ, this is an excellent commentary on the heady celebration of headdress and the writerly occupation! There is no doubt in my mind that you wear them all with the style and panache becoming of one who exudes excitement, mystery and intrigue associated with a role reserved for the few ascribed to such lofty status: the scribe, the historian, the writer. My hat is off to you, dear PJ, for your wealth of knowledge, skill and talent.

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    1. Dearest Shari - you are indeed too too kind, and despite Chris' valiant attempts to teach me the fine art of doffing, I fear I am the left-footed sort who indubitably trips and falls (and attempts to delude oneself that it is being done gracefully!) But insofar as the hats go - more of a matter of trying to stay optimistic when it can get a little overwhelming...hopefully not a jack of all trades and a master of none...striving for masterhood anyway! Thank you again for your kind thoughts and lovely commentary. You are a wonder my dear, and I am so grateful for your support and literary companionship. Of course in all our various life-occupations we are plagued by this demand for multiple hats are we not? Not only as writers but as parents, as wage-earners ....in many capacities. I suppose the number particular to writing as such simply surprised me. And not all of them aspects I enjoyed particularly. I suppose even more so given the fact that I desperately wanted to wear one and one alone morning noon and night! :)

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  2. Delightful musing PJ, thank you! I thoroughly enjoyed it.

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    1. Thank you Sarah - so pleased you garnered something from it...and thrilled to see you here, and read your lovely comment inscribed on my virtual wall!

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  3. Hats off to your piece, PJ, all of them. Isn't it so? No longer alone in the garret but forced to dance for your next meal. The indignity.

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    1. Indeed! So what is one to do but to practice their tap-dancing?? Lovely to see you here Anthony, thank you for stopping by, and for your delightful comment!

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  4. Terrific read. I love how you ran with the metaphor of wearing different hats. In addition to all the hats above, I'm also wearing the hat of "work-at-home mom," which presents its own challenges!

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    1. Thank you Alyce! I am delighted you stopped by, and that work-at-home-mom is one of mine in the closet also - one of the most blissfully rewarding, excruciatingly frustratingly wonderful headwears in my possession...and one that is a bit of a trump to all others whether we will or no, I think? Lovely to read your comment here, and so happy you enjoyed the musing, thank you Alyce!

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  5. Dear PJ, arriving very late at this post, as usual in these past months, I have found one of the most original analogies between what we wear on our heads and what we carry inside them. Thank you for reminding us of head-wear we not always acknowledge!

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    1. And thank you, dearest Marta, for your staunch support and your always kind words - sending the warmest of hugs your way! PJ

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  6. There is something beautifully poetic about your writing no matter what the subject, even different hats for writers. Everything you write is relatable and in such a unique style.

    It’s been awhile since I’ve come here but you’re never forgotten. You have a special talent that will live on and on.

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    1. Thank you dear Kathleen - I am utterly delighted to see you again, and hope the new year is seeing you in in good fashion. Thank you for your most kind comments regarding my humble offering, and for stopping back in. It warms my heart and continues to be a fruitful source of inspiration for ongoing musings to come!

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  7. PJ, that is the most beautiful way I have every heard the enjoyments and the perils of a writer described. Thank you so much.

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    1. Thank you! For visiting my humble musings and for your very kind words inscribed on the virtual wall - for what joy is there in writing if there are none to share them with? Thank you for enabling this lovely exchange.

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  8. The Hat of the Poet. Your writing is inspiring, so I wrote this piece.

    Some people try as they might to catch a single thread on the tattered fringe of the literary headdress. In time some succeed, but only a few will hold fast to the anticipated dreams of literacy. The feathered plumage of the poetically hatted is deeply impelled into the brain-hold and fights in winds unresponsive to character shamming. The unraveling of such threads intrusted it's embarrassment to it's own regalia. Naked and scared to find words to place a cure within man's extension to life's poverty. All too soon that infrastructure is exposed, the very brim and self-shaking head of self defacement and possesses the delinquency of penmanship that has death of the dream ensnared. Words stand looming like a hammer over such garments. The first step into a dreamed fashion of created life, with pinned and garnished time exposed, ready to dissolve or tarnish the dreamers luster. There they remain shunted, once imagined then found lame in the throat. The head placing pen to paper to clear some devils jealous marks. As some little self made god has hold of such slippery strings that unravels the patterns of hours spent, commencing to find end to all ego. Until warn well, and hat remade, in ways relentless, the talent has to whirl in storms with only the staple of thirst of seeing shore in publication. For poets need to heal. For no rudder is found in garments not chosen wisely and for some the hat has no reflection to distinguish the cause inflicted to such toil. A road where dream-shoes will wear out first and few will ever escape the horizon of adversity.
    *

    Written by the Professor of Heretical Forecasting
    *
    Sponsored by-
    Higher Weirdness THE Magazine
    *
    With Attention of-
    Damon the Attractor.
    *
    In Service of Neewe the Forgettable 
    Mr. Rickey Dale Hicks

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    1. Utterly lovely, Dale! I doff my variety of hats in your general direction, and am grateful indeed, not only for your kind visit, but for the lyrical loveliness with which you decorate my blog walls! Thank you!

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