Years of life of famous writers. Famous writers

It cannot be denied that the nature of the approaching or imminent changes in the life of human civilization was first felt by those who were ahead of their time - famous writers.

Writers - connectors between the future and the present

Among the infinite number of writers of every era there are those authors who, in addition to the universally recognized merits of artistic prose, generously give humanity a new vision. It was they who, much more convincingly than scientists, formulated new concepts, ideas and, as a result, created an intellectual and emotional argument for the future. They managed to see his challenge in the everyday and ordinary, expose unsightly problems, point out ongoing conflicts, helping to understand future threats and give new hopes.

Great writers of world literature

This list is imperfect. It contains a collection of individual famous writers who can safely be called the greatest writers of all times.

A galaxy of geniuses of poetry and prose

The 19th century was so rich in talent that it managed to give birth to an outstanding galaxy of geniuses in prose and poetry. The most famous writers are N. M. Karamzin, A. S. Griboyedov, A. S. Pushkin, K. F. Ryleev, M. Yu. Lermontov, N. A. Nekrasov, N. V. Gogol, A. A. Fet, I. S. Turgenev, M. E. Saltykov-Shchedrin, G. Chernyshevsky, A. P. Chekhov, F. M. Dostoevsky.

Writers who have had a significant influence on English literature

The famous have created a great many outstanding works, which contained a powerful message, so they have retained their relevance today.

• Thomas More, and translator. Author of many translations from ancient Greek and poems, as well as 280 Latin epigrams.
• Jonathan Swift, a brave publicist and brilliant satirist, poet, is familiar to the general public as the creator of Gulliver's Travels.
• founding father of romantic "sensual" literature in Great Britain. With his three whale novels, he undoubtedly formed a stable foundation for his imperishable world fame.
• founder of English realistic novel, prolific, profound playwright.
• Walter Scott, a comprehensively developed personality, warrior, writer, poet, expert in legal and historical matters, founder historical novel 19th century.

Writers who changed the world

After the horrors of World War II, it seemed to everyone that from now on the world would rest on clear, simple and reasonable principles. Social relations, global policy was based on modernization, progress and positive trends, faith in enlightenment and science. However, since the beginning of the 70s, the idealistic world began to inexorably collapse, and people learned a different reality. Famous writers and the poets who determined the mentality of the new generation bore the brunt of the dramatic changes that ensued.

The soul and mind of modern times

Below is a list of those writers who have defined the soul and mind of our time.

• Marquez (lawyer). Main works: “The General in His Labyrinth”, “Nobody Writes to the Colonel”, “One Hundred Years of Solitude”, “Fallen Leaves” and many others.
• Alexander Solzhenitsyn (teacher of physics and mathematics, famous Russian writer). Main works: " Cancer building", "Red Wheel", "In the First Circle" and the more than provocative "GULAG Archipelago". Famous writers often fell into disgrace with the ruling regime.
• Toni Morrison (editor). Main works: “Favorite”, “Resin Effigy”, “Jazz”, “Love”, “Paradise”.
• Salman Rushdie (philologist). Major works: “Shame”, “Rage”, “Midnight’s Children”, “Shalimar the Clown”, “The Satanic Verses”.
• Milan Kundera (director). Main works: “Ignorance”, “Immortality”, “Slowness”, “Funny Loves” and others.
• Orhan Pamuk (architect). Main works: “Istanbul”, “White Fortress”, “Other Colors”, “ New life", "Snow", "Black Book".
• Michel Houellebecq (environmental engineer). Main works: “Platform”, “ Elementary particles", "Island Opportunity", "Lanzarote".
• JK Rowling (translator). 7 novels about Harry Potter.

• Umberto Eco (philologist). Main works: “Baudolino”, “The Name of the Rose”, “The Island of the Eve”, “Foucault’s Pendulum”.
• Carlos Castaneda (anthropologist). Main works: “The Gift of the Eagle”, “The Power of Silence”, “A Special Reality”, “Tales of Power”, “Inner Fire”, “The Wheel of Time”, “The Second Circle of Power” and others. The category “famous writers” would be deprived without mentioning this outstanding person.

The jury of 'The Top Ten: Writers Pick Their Favorite Books', led by a New York Times columnist, included such famous writers as: Jonathan Franzen, recognized by Times magazine as the best American novelist, author of the novel “The Emperor's Children” Claire Mesud, Joyce Carol Oates, famous American novelist, and many others. Writers have compiled lists of 10 best novels and writers, reviewing 544 titles. The novels were scored from 1 to 10.

Ten greatest writers of all times, according to the total number of points scored:

1. Leo Tolstoy – 327

One of the most widely known Russian writers and thinkers, revered as one of the world's greatest writers. Participant in the defense of Sevastopol.
A writer recognized during his lifetime as the head of Russian literature, whose work marked a new stage in the development of Russian and world realism, becoming a kind of bridge between the traditions of the classic novel of the 19th century and the literature of the 20th century.
The most famous works of Tolstoy are the novels “War and Peace”, “Anna Karenina”, “Resurrection”, the autobiographical trilogy “Childhood”, “Adolescence”, “Youth”, the stories “Cossacks”, “The Death of Ivan Ilyich”, “Kreutzerova” sonata", "Hadji Murat", series of essays " Sevastopol stories", dramas "The Living Corpse" and "The Power of Darkness", autobiographical religious and philosophical works "Confession" and "What is my faith?" and etc.

2. William Shakespeare – 293

English poet and playwright, often considered the greatest writer in the English language and one of the world's best playwrights. Often called the national poet of England. The surviving works, including some written jointly with other authors, consist of 38 plays, 154 sonnets, 4 poems and 3 epitaphs. Shakespeare's plays have been translated into all major languages ​​and are performed more often than the works of other playwrights.
Most of Shakespeare's works were written between 1589 and 1613. His early plays mainly relate to comedies and chronicles, in which Shakespeare excelled significantly. Then a period of tragedies began in his work, including the works “Hamlet”, “King Lear”, “Othello” and “Macbeth”, which are considered among the best in history. English language. At the end of his career, Shakespeare wrote several tragicomedies and also collaborated with other writers.

3. James Joyce – 194

An Irish writer and poet, a representative of modernism, Joyce significantly influenced world culture. He remains one of the most widely read English-language prose writers in our time. In 1998, Modern Library compiled a list of the Modern Library's 100 Best Novels, which included all three of James Joyce's novels: Ulysses (number 1 on the list), A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (number 3), and Finnegans Wake "(number 77). In 1999, Time magazine included the writer in its list of “100 Heroes and Idols of the 20th Century,” saying that Joyce carried out an entire revolution. Ulysses has been called "the demonstration and summing up of the entire modern movement [of modernism]."

4. Vladimir Nabokov – 190

Russian and American writer, poet, translator and entomologist.

Nabokov's works are characterized by complex literary technique, deep analysis emotional state characters combined with an unpredictable, sometimes almost thriller plot. Among the most famous examples of Nabokov’s creativity are the novels “Mashenka”, “The Defense of Luzhin”, “Invitation to Execution”, “The Gift”. The writer gained fame among the general public after the publication of the scandalous novel “Lolita,” which was subsequently adapted into several film adaptations (1962, 1997).

5. Fyodor Dostoevsky – 177

One of the most significant and famous Russian writers and thinkers in the world. Dostoevsky's work had a great influence on Russian and world culture. The writer's literary heritage is assessed differently both at home and abroad. In the West, where Dostoevsky's novels have been popular since the early twentieth century, his work has had a significant influence on such generally liberal-minded movements as existentialism, expressionism and surrealism. Many see him as the forerunner of existentialism literary critics. However, abroad Dostoevsky is usually assessed primarily as an outstanding writer and psychologist, while his ideology is ignored or almost completely rejected.

A writer is a person who earns his living through literary work. There are other definitions of this word. Who is a writer? How to become one? The article discusses the opinions of professional writers.

Where do they teach writing?

A person who devotes his life to creativity can certainly be called a prose writer or a poet. But with one amendment: not all writers manage to publish their books. And therefore, not every one of them makes money from their work. There are several definitions for the word “writer.” But most of them are not true.

A writer is a graduate However, not all students who come to this university subsequently become screenwriters, poets, or literary translators. First-year students at the Literary Institute are hammered into their heads with the truth that writing is not a profitable profession. Rather, it is unprofitable. Moreover, for many it becomes a kind of crown of thorns.

Writer's psychotype

There are other definitions of this concept. A writer is a person whose books are published by publishing houses. But graduates of the literary institute and all those who understand classical prose and poetry. After all, being able to create an exciting story does not mean being a writer. What do professional literary critics think about this? Who do they think a real writer is?

Irina Goryunova formulated the meaning of this word as follows: “A writer is a person with a special psychotype of thinking.” According to the literary agent through whose hands the a myriad of brilliant and mediocre manuscripts, a person distinguished by a special poetic streak is capable of writing literary works. In addition, he must have originality of thinking, the ability to create vivid images, and, of course, a plot that captivates readers.

The artist is destiny

What abilities and character traits does a talented writer have? The meaning of this phrase is also given in Goryunova’s book. According to her, a real writer has the ability to completely immerse himself in creative world. He lives the lives of his heroes. This can lead to a mental crisis. Sometimes a writer gets so deeply involved in the created image that it is excruciatingly painful to get out of it. But it's even worse not to do it. Literary activity- the essence, the air, without which a talented writer cannot live.

All of the above applies to authors of works of art. Writing non-fiction books requires a completely different approach. However, in this article we're talking about about representatives of literary prose. And also about those who claim this title.

Writer or graphomaniac?

There are people who cannot help but write. However, their work cannot be called literary. This psychiatric term refers to a painful, uncontrollable passion for creating various kinds of texts. The “works” of graphomaniacs are inexpressive and have a formulaic character. Their creations are of no interest to either critics or readers. Graphomania is a disease. Like other psychiatric illnesses, it is subject to treatment, including medication.

During literature lessons, the teacher gives students the following tasks: “Explain the meaning of the words “talented writer” and “gifted writer””, “Formulate a definition of the concept” piece of art"". When asked who a master of words is, it is customary to answer: “a person who creates works that have high literary value.” However, it should be understood that creative activity begins with the ability to understand and analyze books by other authors, as well as respond adequately to criticism. A sign of graphomania is a belief in one’s own genius.

Writers who don't get published

We have formulated the meaning of the word “writer”. A talented writer is a person whose work is of interest to readers and critics. But there are many cases where books were published posthumously. The gifted writer wrote “on the table.” Perhaps somewhere today there are brilliant novels and stories by an author who never became famous to a wide circle readers.

Who is a writer? Even a schoolchild understands the meaning of the word. “Talented writer” is a term whose meaning we also analyzed. However, not every gifted author is published by publishing houses. And that is precisely why most aspiring authors abandon literary work. Only those remain for whom existence outside of literature is impossible.

Publishing business

If the author has talent and does not suffer from graphomania, this does not mean that his creations will be published. Publishers - commercial organizations. Their activities are aimed at making a profit. Publishing house employees prefer to enter into contracts with authors who create popular prose. Poetry and drama are not in fashion these days. Parents are reluctant to buy works for children by unknown authors, and, accordingly, publishers do not seek to publish them. But even representatives of popular literary trends It's not easy today.

Writing a good novel does not mean becoming famous writer. Firstly, books today are not as in demand as, for example, thirty to forty years ago. Secondly, representatives of the publishing business prefer not to get involved with novice authors.

About how to become famous author, many books have been written. Who is a sought-after writer? The meaning of the phrase is revealed in the works of authors who have passed into the world modern literature. Anne Lamott devoted one of her books to this topic. Below are the American writer's tips for aspiring authors.

Impression of your own work

In the book “Bird by Bird” the author talks about his life and his first steps in literature. Anne Lamott admits that she doesn't always like what she writes. She often rereads manuscripts and is rarely satisfied with the result of her work. All authors are familiar with similar feelings. Anne Lamott says this is normal. And even an experienced writer is dissatisfied with his own creations. It is important not to stop there and continue to work.

Is publishing really that important?

Anne Lamott not only created a book about creative writing. She also teaches literature courses. The creator of the book “Bird by Bird” convinces aspiring authors that it is not so important whether a work is published or not. Of course, every newcomer to the literary world dreams of becoming a famous prose writer. But publication does not play the main role in writing.

It's easier to write the truth

As one of the literary heroes said: “It’s easy and pleasant to tell the truth.” This phrase can also be applied to writing. Anne Lamott in her book convinces readers that creating a true but interesting story is much easier than it might seem. Don't come up with incredible stories. Ordinary everyday life is something that can serve as material for a brilliant book.

What to write about?

Where to start writing? Anne Lamott answers this question. The writer claims that you need to start from childhood. She advises young authors to depict events early years, first impressions, observations. The book “Bird by Bird,” by the way, begins with a depiction of the author’s childhood.

Systematicity

What is inspiration? This is a special state of mind that allows you to create works of art and literature. But it happens that inspiration leaves the author. Should we really expect him to appear? Anne Lamott says you need to write every day. And, preferably, according to a strictly established schedule. Every author, regardless of experience, knows that the first two hours of being at a desk or computer seem to be wasted. It’s not easy to get into the mood of writing right away. But writing texts is work that requires consistency and organization.

Anyone can become a writer

Nikitin outlined the basic techniques that are taught to students at the Higher Literary Courses, refuted the idea that masters of words are born, and deprived the meaning of the phrase “talented writer” of a hint of mystery. According to the Russian author, anyone can learn to write, just like anyone can acquire the skills of playing the violin. Of course, not every musician is Paganini. But Stephen King, who receives huge fees, is not William Shakespeare.

WHY DOES A WRITER WRITE?

Everyone here has their own reasons. For one, art is an escape from reality; for another, it is a way to cope with it. But you can go into hermitage, into madness, into death; win with arms in hand. Why do writers write specifically, realizing their escape or their victories in this particular way? Because behind the different goals of the authors there is a deeper and closer choice, one for everyone.

Let's try to clarify the essence of the choice. It is clear that in itself it forces the writer to be engaged. Any aspect of our perception is accompanied by the consciousness that the reality of the human can be “exposed.” This means that through it we learn that a specific person “is”, or, in other words, the existence of things is expressed through a person. Only our presence in the world multiplies relationships, only we maintain the connection between this tree and this piece of sky; thanks to us, this star, which died millions of years ago, and this crescent moon, and this black river manifest their unity, uniting into a landscape. The speed of our car or plane unites the vast spaces of the earth. Through our every Action, the world reveals a renewed face to us. We realize that existence is transmitted through us, but we also know that we are not its creators. It is enough to turn away from the landscape, and, left without a witness, it will drown in hopeless darkness. If he drowns, it is unlikely that he will be able to find a madman who is ready to believe that he will disappear altogether. It is we who will disappear, and the earth will remain in a state of lethargy until the consciousness of another person awakens it. This is how our inner confidence that we are whistleblowers is joined by the confidence that we have no essence in relation to the exposed object.

But our need to feel in first place in relation to the world is one of the main motives artistic creativity. If I leave it on the canvas or in literary work the image of a sea or a field, which I have exposed, uniting them with each other, ordering them, endowing the diversity of things with unity of spirit, then it will seem that I have produced them. I begin to consider myself more important than my work. But the created object eludes me: I cannot both expose and create at the same time. The object becomes secondary compared to the creative act. Even if this object is perceived by other people as complete, it always seems unfinished to us. We can change a line, some shade, a word. A work is never imposed on the author from the outside. One artist's student asked his teacher, "When should I know the painting is complete?" “When will you be able to look at her in surprise, asking yourself: “And I did this?”

In other words, never. Because this would mean looking at your work through someone else’s eyes and exposing what you yourself created. The more meaning we attach to the creative act, the less we realize the significance of our creation. We create pottery or carpentry products according to ready-made recipes, using long-standing customs; Heidegger’s notorious “Man” works with our hands. In this case, the fruit of our labor may be perceived as alien enough to remain an object for us. But if we ourselves come up with the rules of production, its measures and criteria, if our creative impulse comes from the depths of our hearts, we see only ourselves in our creation. We ourselves came up with the laws by which we judge him; we see in him our own history, our love, our joy. Even just looking at him, without touching him anymore, we do not receive this joy, this love from him, but, on the contrary, we give them to him. The result obtained on canvas or paper will never be objective in our eyes. We know too well exactly how all this is done. This method will be the personal discovery of the creator. This is us, our inspiration, our ingenuity. If we again try to perceive our creation, we create it again, mentally repeating the operations through which we brought it into existence. Every aspect of it is a result for us.

We see that in the process of perception the object is important, and the subject is secondary; the latter awaits his fulfillment in creativity and receives it. Now the object becomes secondary.

Nowhere is this dialectic more clearly visible than in literary creativity. A literary object is a kind of spinning top that exists only while it is spinning. For it to appear, a specific act called reading is necessary, and the top spins as long as the reading lasts. Without reading, only black marks on paper exist. A writer cannot read what he has written, a shoemaker can put on shoes he has made if they fit him, an architect can live in a house he has built. The reading person foresees, expects. He predicts the end of a sentence, the beginning of the next, the next page, they must confirm or refute his assumptions. The reading process consists of many hypotheses, fantasies and awakenings, bright hopes and bitter disappointments. The reader runs ahead of the line into the future, which partly collapses, partly affirms as it approaches the end of the book, it recedes from page to page, like the moving horizon of a literary landscape.

There is no objectivity without expectation, without future, without uncertainty. Thus, literary creativity presupposes a special kind of imaginary reading, which makes genuine reading impossible. As words appear under the pen of the author, he, of course, sees them, but sees them differently than the reader. He knows them even before he writes: his gaze is not intended to awaken the sleeping words that are waiting to be read, but to trace the correct markings of the characters. In fact, this is a purely technical task, and the eye notices only minor mistakes of the writer.

The writer does not predict the future and does not speculate - he plots. Often he searches for himself, waiting for inspiration. However, expecting from himself is not at all the same as expecting from others - if he doubts, he knows that there is no future yet, that it only has to be created on his own. If he doesn't yet know what will happen to his hero, it means he either hasn't thought about it yet or hasn't finally decided. The future for the author is Blank sheet, while for the reader it is two hundred pages of text that separate him from the ending of the book.

Everywhere the writer comes across his knowledge, his will, his plans, in short, against himself. He comes into contact only with his own subjectivity, the object he created is inaccessible to him, he created it for others. When he rereads his book, the job is already done; the phrase will never be a thing in his eyes from beginning to end. The author comes close to the edge of the subjective, but does not cross it. He evaluates the effect of a particular nuance, this or that saying, a successfully used participial phrase, but they will make an impression on others. He can predict this impression, but not experience it.

Proust did not discover that Charles was homosexual; he decided to create him as such before he began writing his multi-volume novel. If a work ever acquires an imaginary objectivity for the author, it is the fault of time. The author is no longer able to feel his brainchild and, of course, would not be able to write it today. This was the case with Rousseau when, in his old age, he re-read The Social Contract.

Therefore, it cannot be said that the writer writes for himself. Here he would have suffered a complete fiasco: by transferring his feelings to paper, he best case scenario would achieve a boring extension of them. The creative act is only one of the moments in the creation of a work. If the author existed on a desert island, he could write as much as he wanted, his creation as an object would never see the light of day. Eventually, he would have to lay down his pen or fall into despair. The process of writing also implies the process of reading; they form a dialectical unity. These two interrelated acts require both an author and a reader. Only their joint Effort will make that extremely concrete and at the same time imaginary object appear, which is the creation of the human spirit. Art can only exist for others and through others.

In fact, reading appears to be a synthesis of perception and creativity; it simultaneously posits the essentiality of both subject and object. An object is significant because it has the property of transcendence, offers its own unique and inimitable structures, and must be perceived. However, the subject is also essential: he must not only expose the work (in other words, make it so that it is an object), but produce it (so that it is in the absolute sense of the word). The reader gets the feeling that he is simultaneously exposing and creating: he exposes by creating, he creates with the help of exposure. In fact, reading is far from being a simple mechanical operation; the effect of printed characters on the reader is similar to the effect of light on photographic film. If he is not focused, tired, dull, superficial, then most of the connections will go unnoticed, he will not be able to “embrace” the object (in the sense in which they say that he “embraces” the flame). The reader will extract words from the darkness that seem to arise by chance. At best, he will see some kind of synthetic form, a partial function of which will be each next: find a “topic”, “plot”, “idea”. Initially, the meaning is not contained in words; on the contrary, it is the meaning that makes it possible to understand the meaning of any word. A literary object is never given in language, although it is realized only through it; on the contrary: in essence it is mute and denies the sounding word.

A hundred thousand words, packed into the lines of a book, can be read one after another in such a way that not the slightest meaning will flow from them. After all, meaning is not the arithmetic sum of words, but their organic unity. The reader must immediately and almost without a guide climb to the heights of silence. He must hold on it the words and phrases he himself has called to new life. Would you say that such a procedure would deserve to be called a secondary invention or a rediscovery? Firstly, such a fiction would be as new and original as the original one. Secondly, and this is the main thing: if the object did not exist before, it is impossible to talk about either secondary invention or rediscovery. If the silence I mean is really the author's goal, then he himself is not aware of it. His silence is full of subjectivity and precedes speech. The object should be considered precisely this absence of words, the undifferentiated silence caused by inspiration, which very soon is realized in the text, and not at all the silence of the reader. Within this object itself there are silences: things that the author does not talk about. With such specific intentions, the meaning cannot be retained outside the object that arises in the process of reading; but it is precisely these intentions that give the object weight and a specific appearance.

It is not enough to say that they are not expressed; they cannot be expressed in principle. That is why they cannot be recognized when reading - they are everywhere and nowhere. All the advantages of “Grand Meaulne”, “Babylonism” of “Armans”, the reliability and realism of Kafka’s mythology - all this is not given in ready-made form, the reader must come up with it, time after time going beyond the boundaries of the text. Of course, the author plays the role of a guide, but he only leads the reader, the milestones on this road are separated by emptiness, we need to connect them, we need to go beyond them.

Reading can be called creativity under the guidance of the author. On the one hand, the object of literature has no other substance than the reader's subjectivity. Raskolnikov’s expectation is my own expectation, which I endow him with; without the reader’s impatience, only boring letters on paper would remain. His hatred for the investigator is my hatred, born of printed pages, and the investigator himself could not exist without it acute feeling, which I feed to him through Raskolnikov. Hatred gives him both soul and flesh.

On the other hand, words are a kind of trap that serve to excite feelings and reflect them back in our direction. Every word is a road to transcendence, it shapes our feelings, provides them with labels, attributes them to a literary hero who undertakes to experience them for us and has no other substance than someone else’s, borrowed passions. The word gives the characters goals, perspectives, and horizons.

Everything for him has been done for the reader and he still has to do it himself. A book exists at the level of reading ability: while a person reads, he creates, it seems to him that he could follow further, create something deeper. For this reason, the book seems to him to be an inexhaustible, dense thing. Before us is the production of properties, standing out from our subjectivity, they freeze before our eyes into material, dense objects. This process somewhat reminds us of the “rational intuition” that Kant endowed with the Divine Mind in his philosophy.

If creativity is destined to find completion only in the process of reading, if the artist is forced to entrust to another the completion of what he started, if he can become the main thing in his work only through the reader’s consciousness, then every book is a call. To write means to appeal to the reader, who must translate into the realm of objective existence the revelation carried out through language. If you ask the question what exactly the writer is calling for, the answer will be simple. We do not see in the book sufficient grounds for the appearance of an aesthetic object; there is only a desire to create it. These foundations are also lacking in the author’s consciousness. Subjectivity, from which he cannot escape, does not provide the prerequisites for the transition to objectivity. That is why the birth of a work of art is a fundamentally new event and cannot be explained based on previous material.

Reading is guided creativity, the absolute beginning. It is carried out at the free will of the reader as a manifestation of his freedom in pure form. Thus, the writer appeals to the freedom of the reader, who should become a co-author of his work. It may be objected to me that any tool of labor is addressed to this freedom, and in this regard there is no need to single out a work of art. A tool of labor is an objectified sketch of the action it performs. But it remains at the level of a hypothetical imperative: I can use a hammer to knock down a box or annoy a neighbor. “The hammer itself does not address my freedom, does not put me before it. It simply wants to serve it, replacing my free creativity with standard methods of handling the tool.

The book does not serve my freedom - it presupposes it. Human freedom cannot be appealed to by coercion, seduction or begging. The only way to gain freedom is to first acknowledge it, then trust it, and finally demand action from it in its own name, that is, in the name of your trust in it. A book differs from a tool of labor - it is not a means to achieve a certain goal, it itself is offered as a goal for the free will of the reader. The concept of “purposiveness without a goal” developed by Kant cannot be applied to a work of art. It assumes that the aesthetic object represents only the appearance of a goal. It cares only about free and ordered imagination. It misses that the spectator's and reader's imagination has not only an ordering, but also a creative function; it is not engaged in games, it is called upon to complete the object, even beyond the limiting lines drawn by the artist’s hand.

Like other faculties of the human spirit, the imagination is not able to enjoy itself; it is always directed to the outside world, always involved in the creative process. Purpose without purpose could exist if there were obvious organization in the object, indicating a definite intention, even if unknown to us. Having defined the aesthetically beautiful in this way, it is possible - this is precisely Kant's goal - to bring beauty in art and nature to a single denominator. After all, a flower, for example, has such symmetry, such harmony of colors, such perfect contours that the temptation immediately arises to find some goal towards which all its properties are directed, to see in their synthesis only a means of achieving this goal. But this is where a mistake awaits us: natural beauty is incomparable with beauty in art. A work of art has no purpose, in this we share Kant's point of view. It does not have it precisely for the reason that it itself represents the goal. Kant's formula ignores the call emanating from every painting, statue, book. Kant believes that a work exists first of all as a fact, and then it is perceived. In reality, it exists only when it is seen - at first it is only a pure call, only a demand to exist. It is not a tool capable of existing only for an indefinite purpose.

The work appears as a problem that needs to be solved, and this immediately rises to the level of an ultimatum imperative. It is in your power to leave this book lying on the table. But if you open it, you take responsibility for it. For freedom is felt not in free subjective action, but in a creative act caused by an imperative. This is a transcendent and at the same time voluntarily perceived imperative. It is precisely this absolute goal, taken upon itself by freedom itself, that is what we call value. A work of art can be considered valuable because it is an imperative.

When in my work I call on the reader to finish the work I have started, then, without a doubt, I consider this as pure freedom, creative power, active position; I can never appeal to his passivity, that is, try to influence him, to immediately evoke in him such emotions as fear, desire or anger. Of course, there are authors who strive precisely for this, concerned with the desire to evoke such emotions in the reader. This is because such emotions are predictable, controllable, and the writer has proven means at his disposal to evoke them. This is what writers are often accused of. This was the case in antiquity with Euripides, who brought children onto the stage.

In passion, freedom is separated: drowning in details, it forgets about its main task - creating an absolute goal. Now a book is nothing more than a means to arouse hatred or desire. The writer's task is not to shock the reader; then he will find himself in contradiction with himself. If he intends to demand, he only needs to offer the reader a problem to solve. So we have come to the purely demonstrative nature of a work of art as its most important feature. Some aesthetic distance is simply necessary for the reader. This is what Gautier so stupidly confused with “art for art’s sake,” and the Parnassians with the detachment of the artist. We are only talking about forethought. Genet more accurately called this the author's courtesy to the reader. But one should not think that the writer is turning to some kind of abstract, conceptual freedom. The aesthetic object is created anew through the senses. If it is touching, then we see it only through tears; if it is funny, then we realize it through laughter. Both of these feelings are of a special kind - their basis is freedom, they are perceived. I still don’t fully believe in the story that I voluntarily decided to consider true. This is the Passion in the Christian sense of the word. Here is freedom, which has put itself in a passive position in order to obtain a certain transcendental result through this sacrifice. The reader becomes gullible, he plunges into credulity, and it - although accompanied all the time by the consciousness that he is free - ultimately envelops him like a dream. Sometimes the author is forced to choose: “Either they believe in your story, and this is undesirable, or they don’t believe it, then it’s funny.”

But this approach is completely wrong, because aesthetic consciousness includes faith - according to a generally accepted agreement, according to a given oath. Faith, which is based on loyalty to myself and the author, on my constantly repeating choice. I can wake up at any moment and I know it, but I don’t want it. Reading is voluntary sleep. As you can see, the feelings inherent in the very depths of this imaginary faith are simply modulations of my freedom. They do not absorb or cover her, but appear before her only in the form she chooses. I have already said, Raskolnikov would have remained only a shadow without the mixture of sympathy and disgust that I feel for him. This is what makes him live. But due to the contradictory nature of imaginary objects, it is not his actions that evoke these feelings in me, but my indignation, my respect, that make his actions lasting and vital.

It turns out that the object never dominates the mental life of the reader. But no other external reality can cause them. Their constant source is freedom, that is, they are caused by generosity. By generosity I mean a mental movement that has freedom as its beginning and goal. It turns out that reading is a manifestation of generosity. The writer demands from the reader not the manifestation of abstract freedom, but the complete surrender of his personality. He needs all her passions, prejudices, sympathies, sexual temperament, her scale of values. Personality is given generously, it is completely imbued with freedom, which permeates it through and through and transforms the darkest masses of its feelings. Just as activity becomes passivity in order to more successfully create an object, so passivity turns into action. The reading person finds himself at the greatest height. This is why even the most insensitive people can shed tears over stories of imagined misfortunes. They just became for a minute what they would have been if they had not always hidden their freedom from themselves.

We see that the author writes to appeal to the freedom of the readers. Without her, his work cannot exist. But this is not enough for him; he demands that his readers return to him the trust that he placed in them. The reader must recognize his creative freedom and, for his part, turn to it. Here another dialectical paradox of reading appears: the more free we are, the more we recognize the freedom of another. The more he expects from us, the more we expect from him.

When a landscape pleases me, I am well aware that it was not me who created it. But I also know that the relationships that arose under my gaze between trees, foliage, earth, grass would not have existed at all without me. I cannot understand the purposefulness I see in the combination of colors, harmony of shapes and movements caused by the wind. But, she is, she is here, before my eyes. Finally, it is in my power to make things exist only if things already exist, but if I believe in God, I cannot allow any transition, other than verbal, between the universal providence of God and specific type the one I'm looking at. It is impossible to believe that he created the landscape so that I would like it, or that he created me so that I would enjoy the landscape. This would be to take the question for the answer. Is this blue and green combined consciously? How do I know this? The idea of ​​the universal cannot guarantee any personal desire, especially in our case. Green color grass is explained by biological laws, specific factors, geographical conditions, and the blueness of the water is explained by the depth of the river, the structure of the soil, and the speed of the flow. It would have been possible to consciously choose these colors only in hindsight. Here is a meeting of two causal series, which, at first glance, seems to be an accident. Targeting remains problematic even in the best of circumstances. All relationships proposed here are just hypotheses. No goal is perceived by us as an imperative, because no goal is revealed to us as a goal set for itself by its creator.

The beauty of nature never directly addresses our freedom. More precisely, in the totality of foliage, forms and movements there is an apparent order, and therefore an illusion of a call that seems to demand this freedom, but immediately fades away under our gaze. As soon as we look at this order, the call disappears; we can, at will, combine this color with another or a third, establish a connection between tree and water, tree and sky, or tree, sky and water. My freedom turns into my whim: as new connections are established, I move further and further from the imaginary objectivity that calls to me: I dream of certain motives, vaguely inspired by things. The reality of nature is already just an excuse for dreams.

Sometimes I am deeply upset by the fact that this momentarily conscious order was not offered to me by anyone, and therefore cannot claim to be the truth. Then I record my fantasy, transfer it to canvas, to the pages of a book. At this moment I turn into a mediating link between aimless goal nature, and the views of other people. I give it to them, thanks to this transfer, it becomes human.

Here art can be considered an act of giving a gift, and this gift alone already ensures metamorphosis. Something similar to the transfer of title and power occurs during matronimacy, when the mother herself is not the bearer of the name, but remains an obligatory intermediary between uncle and nephew. If I grab an illusion on the fly, if I hand it over to others, having freed it and changed my mind again, they can accept the gift with complete trust - the illusion has become intentional. The author, of course, remains on the border of the subjective and objective and is unable to appreciate the objective order of the gift.

On the contrary, the reader becomes increasingly safe. No matter how far he went, the author went even further. No matter how he correlates the elements of books with each other - chapters, pages, words - he has a guarantee that they were written and arranged by the author in a certain way. He may even convince himself, like Descartes, that there is a hidden order in the arrangement of unrelated elements. The Creator was ahead of him here too, because the most beautiful disorder is artistic effects, which still represent a kind of orderliness. The reading process contains induction, interpolation, extrapolation. The basis of all these operations lies in the author's will, just as scientific induction was once considered to lie in the divine will.

From first to last page we are led by an unknown, unobtrusive force. This does not mean that it is easy for us to decipher the artist's intentions. I have already said that we can only guess about them, here it plays big role reader experience. But our discoveries are supported by the firm belief that the beauties we see in the book are never the result of just an encounter. Only a tree and the sky are combined by chance in nature. In the novel, it’s the other way around: the characters go somewhere and end up in such and such a prison. If they walk through this particular garden, we are immediately dealing with a coincidence of independent causal series (the hero was in a certain state of mind caused by a series of psychological or social events; but at the same time he was heading to a specific place, and the layout of the city led him to this park), and with the manifestation of deeper conditioning. After all, the park was brought to life in order to correspond to a certain state of mind, in order to express this state through things, and to do this in the most striking way. And the state of mind itself arose in connection with the landscape. Here the causal connection is only apparent, it can be called “uncaused causation”, and the deep reality is conditioning.

But if I have full confidence in the sequence of ends disguised as a sequence of causes, then this means that when I open the book, I mean: the object is born of human freedom. If I had assumed that the artist painted in a fit of passion and driven by it, then my confidence would immediately evaporate. In this case, maintaining the sequence of causes by the sequence of goals would lead to nothing, because the latter is determined by psychological causation, and then the work of art would return to the chain of determinism. Of course, when I read, I fully admit that the author could have been excited by it, and I assume that the first sketch of the work was born to him under the influence of passion. But the very decision to write assumes that the author has moved away from his passions, that he will make his subordinate emotions free, as I do in the process of reading. All this means that he will be in a position of generosity.

In a word, reading is a kind of agreement on generosity between the author and the reader. Both trust each other, both count on each other, and make the same demands on each other as they place on themselves. Such trust in itself is generosity: nothing makes the author believe that the reader will use his freedom, just as nothing makes the reader believe that the author will use his. Both are completely free to choose a solution. Therefore, a dialectical movement back and forth becomes possible: when I read, I expect something; if my expectations are justified, then what I read allows me to expect even more, and this means demanding from the author that he make even greater demands on me. And vice versa: the author's expectation is that I raise the level of my expectations even higher. It turns out that the manifestation of my freedom causes the manifestation of the freedom of another.

In this case, it does not matter what type of art the aesthetic object belongs to: “realistic” (or pretending to be) or “formalistic”. In any case, natural relationships are disrupted. It is only the tree in the foreground of Cezanne's painting that, at first glance, seems to be a product of causal relationships. But here causality is just an illusion. Of course, it is present in the form of proportions while we look at the picture. But it is supported by deep conditioning: if the tree is located exactly here, it is because the rest of the picture determined the appearance in the foreground of just such a shape and such colors. Thus, through extraordinary causality, our gaze sees conditionality as the deep structure of an object, and behind it human freedom is visible as its source and original basis. Vermeer's realism is so frank that at first it seems photographic to us. But if we really consider the tangibility of matter in his paintings, the relief of pink brick walls, the rich blue of a honeysuckle branch, the shimmering gloom of his interiors, the slightly orange tint of the skin on the faces of his characters, reminiscent of the polished stone of a crypt, then the resulting pleasure suddenly brings to our consciousness that everything this is due not so much to shapes or colors as to his material imagination. Forms convey the substance and the very flesh of things. Communicating with this reality is probably the closest we can get to absolute creativity.

Indeed, in the very passivity of matter we recognize the bottomless freedom of man.

As you can see, creativity is not only the creation of a drawn, sculpted or written object. Just as we see things against the background of the world, so the objects represented by art appear before us against the background of the universe. In the background of Fabrizio's adventures one can see Italy in 1820, Austria and France, and the star-studded sky addressed by Abbot Blanes, and, finally, the entire earth. If an artist paints a field or a vase of flowers, then his painting becomes a window open to the world. Along the red path running in the rye, we go much further than Van Gogh wrote in his painting. We are already moving through different rye fields, under different skies, all the way to the river that flows into the sea. Our path continues indefinitely, to the other end of the world, in the thickness of the earth, which determines the existence of fields and finitude. So, through the succession of produced or reproduced objects, the creative act wants to embrace the whole world. Every picture, every book contains the entirety of the event; each of them gives the freedom of the viewer this completeness. For this is how we see the ultimate goal of art. Absorb the whole world, showing it as it is, but this must be done as if its source is human freedom. At the same time, the creation of the author becomes an objective reality only in the eyes of the beholder. This occurs through participation in the ritual of spectacle, especially reading.

Now we can better answer the question just posed. The writer appeals to the freedom of other people, so that they, through the mutual presentation of their demands, provide man with the fullness of being and return humanity to the universe.

But if we want to know more, we must remember that the writer, like all other artists, wants to convey to his readers a certain feeling, which is called aesthetic pleasure and which I personally would call aesthetic joy. Only this joy indicates that the work is completed. This means that we must consider this feeling in the light of our previous considerations.

This aesthetic pleasure or joy, which is denied to the creator while he creates, is accessible only to the aesthetic consciousness of the viewer, for us this is the reader. This is a complex feeling, its components are interdependent and inseparable. At first it coincides with the recognition of a transcendent and absolute goal, which is momentarily pushed aside by a series of utilitarian means-ends and means-ends. For example, by appeal or, which is the same thing, by value. My concrete understanding of this value necessarily occurs against the background of the awareness of my freedom. And freedom is revealed to oneself through a transcendental demand. This perception of freedom itself is joy. This part of non-aesthetic consciousness contains another part. Let me remind you that reading is creativity, and my freedom opens up to itself not only as pure independence, but also as creative activity. This means that it is not limited by its own laws, but feels itself to be part of the object. At this level, a purely aesthetic phenomenon appears, that is, a creativity in which the created object appears before its creator as an object. This is the only case when the creator enjoys the created object. This is the word "enjoyment" related to a specific awareness readable work, suggests quite clearly that we are faced with the deep structure of aesthetic joy. This is the pleasure received from the consciousness of one’s leadership in relation to an object that is recognized as the main one; I would call this part of aesthetic consciousness a feeling of security. It is this that imparts the highest tranquility to the strongest aesthetic feelings. It is the product of a strict harmony of the subjective and objective. But, in its essence, the aesthetic object is the external world, since creativity is directed towards it through imaginary worlds. Aesthetic joy is caused by the understanding that peace is a value, or a burden, offered to human freedom.

This is what I call an aesthetic change in human thoughts. As a rule, we see the world as the horizon of our situation, as an infinite distance separating us from ourselves, as a unity of obstacles and tools of action. But we never perceive the world as a demand addressed to our freedom. It turns out that aesthetic joy comes from the consciousness that I am absorbing into myself something that is basically not me. I transform the given into an imperative, and the fact into value. The world, my burden, is the main and voluntarily taken function of my freedom. It consists in giving life to that unique and absolute object, which is the universe. Thirdly, the elements considered contain a certain agreement between human freedoms. On the one hand, reading is a trusting and demanding recognition of the freedom of the writer, and on the other hand, aesthetic pleasure received in the aspect of value carries an absolute demand in relation to the other. This is a requirement that any person, to the extent of his freedom, experience the same pleasure from reading the same book. Thus, all of humanity finds itself in a state of maximum freedom, supporting the existence of a world that is both its world and the “external” world. Aesthetic joy brings conditioned consciousness. This is consciousness that creates an image of the world in its entirety, a world that already exists and at the same time should be, as a world completely ours and completely alien. He is all the more ours the more alien he is. And unconditioned consciousness actually contains a harmonious set of human freedoms, since it creates an object from the trust of everyone and the demands of everyone. To write means both to expose the world and at the same time to offer it as a burden for the generosity of the reader. This means using someone else's consciousness to achieve your leadership in the totality of being. This means wanting this leadership to be implemented through intermediaries. On the other hand, real world It reveals itself only before action, and you can feel yourself in it only by taking a step towards it in order to change it. The novelist's world would not have enough relief and vitality if the reader did not discover it in the process of a movement changing this world. We have often seen that the intensity of the life of an object in a story is determined not by the number of lengthy descriptions of it, but by the complexity of its connections with other characters. It will seem more real to us the more often it is manipulated, picked up, and put in place. In short, the more often the characters will subjugate him on the way to their goals. Everything is exactly the same for the world of the novel, that is, for the totality of people and things. For its maximum verisimilitude, it is necessary that the revelation - the creativity through which the reader discovers this world - becomes, as it were, participation in the action. In other words, the more you want the world of a novel, the more alive it is. The mistake of realism was that it believed that reality is revealed to contemplation and that it is therefore possible to create an unbiased picture of it. How can this be if perception itself is biased, if even the name of an object is already its change? How can a writer who aspires to be a leader in the created world want to be involved in the injustices that exist in this world? However, it has to. But if he agrees to become the creator of injustices, then only on condition of their destruction. In relation to the reader, we can say that if he creates an unjust world and maintains its existence, then he cannot escape responsibility for this. And the author uses all his art to force the reader to create what he has exposed, that is, to include him in creativity. Therefore, both bear responsibility for the world of the novel. This happens because it is supported by the joint efforts of two freedoms and that the author tried to merge with humanity through the reader. It is necessary that this world be presented in its deepest essence, viewed from all sides and supported by freedom. This freedom has as its goal universal human freedom. If the world of the novel is not the City of final goals that it should be, let it at least become a stage on the way to this City. It is necessary to judge him and portray him not as a force hanging over us and threatening to destroy us, but from the point of view of how close he is to this City of Goals. A work of art should always look magnanimous, no matter how angry and desperate the humanity represented in it may be. Of course, the point is not that this generosity manifests itself in edifying advice and virtuous characters. It doesn't have to be intentional either. Good feelings alone cannot make a good book. But generosity must be the essence of the book, the fabric from which people and things are made. This does not depend on the plot - there should be an organic lightness in the work, reminding us that a work of art is not at all a natural grace, but a demand and a gift. And if this world is presented to me along with its injustices, it is not so that I dispassionately examine them. This is done so that my indignation breathes life into them, exposes and recreates it all, preserving the nature of injustices as evils to be destroyed. The writer's world is exposed to its very essence only through the reader's perception of it, the reader's indignation or admiration. His generous love is a vow to imitate, and his generous indignation is a vow to change. Despite the fact that literature and morality are completely different things, behind the aesthetic imperative we always feel a moral imperative.

The writer, by the very fact that he began to do this, recognizes the freedom of the reader, and the reader, by the very fact that he began to read, recognizes the freedom of the writer. This suggests that, from any point of view, a work of art is essentially an act of trust in the sphere of human freedom. Both the reader and the author recognize this freedom in each other, only to demand its manifestation. This means that a work of art can be defined as a mental representation of the world to the extent required by human freedom.

From this, first of all, it follows that there is no black literature. No matter how gloomy the world is painted, this is done so that free people can experience their freedom in front of it. Therefore, there are only good and bad novels. A bad romance is one that flatters to please, while a good one is a demand and an act of trust. What is important here is that the only aspect in which the artist can offer peace to the reader's freedoms, which he intended to realize all at once, is a world in which as much freedom as possible can be introduced.

It is impossible to imagine that an impulse of generosity caused by a writer could cause injustice. Likewise, the reader will not exercise his freedom to read a work that accepts or simply refuses to condemn the enslavement of man by man. It is possible that a black American will write a good novel. Even if he has hatred for whites, then through this hatred he will only demand freedom for his race. He will invite me to take a position of generosity, and when I have experienced what seems like pure freedom, I will not be able to bear being classed with the white race of oppressors. Having spoken out against the white race and against myself, since I am a part of it, I appeal to all liberties to demand the liberation of the colored people. But at the same time, no one can even imagine that it is possible to write a good novel in defense of anti-Semitism. After all, it cannot be expected that at the moment when I feel the inextricable connection of my freedom with the freedom of all other people, I will freely agree with the enslavement of some of them. Therefore, for any writer, essayist, pamphleteer, satirist or novelist, whether he speaks only of personal problems or denounces the social regime, for the writer as a free person appealing to free people, there is only one single theme - freedom.

If this is so, then any attempt to enslave readers threatens the very essence of art. Fascism is capable of arousing the sympathy of the blacksmith as a person, but he will not necessarily serve fascism with his craft. But a writer serves both as a person and as an artist, moreover, as a craft to a much greater extent than private life. I have observed writers who before the war glorified fascism with all their hearts and who turned out to be fruitless precisely when the Nazis showered them with honors. Here I mean, first of all, Drieux la Rochelle. He was completely sincerely mistaken and proved it. Having headed the magazine inspired by the fascists, he immediately began to reprimand, scold, and condemn his compatriots. There was no answer because people were not free to do so. He was dejected because he no longer felt for his readers. Despite his persistence, there was not a single sign that he was understood: no hatred, no anger, nothing. Apparently, he was confused and, increasingly losing his composure, began to complain bitterly about the Germans. The articles were good, they became sarcastic. Finally, he began beating his chest. Silence. No response. Only the corrupt newspapermen, whom he despised, raised their voices. He left, returned to the magazine, again turned to people - and again to emptiness. Finally, he fell silent; the silence of others forced him to do so. Previously, he demanded the enslavement of these people, but in his madness he thought that they would agree to this, which means it would be free. The people were enslaved. As a person he could congratulate himself on this, but as a writer he could not bear it. At that time, others—fortunately, the majority—understood that creative freedom also presupposed civil freedom. They don't write for slaves. The art of prose can coexist only with one regime in which it makes sense - with democracy. When one is in danger, the other is also in danger. And then you need to protect not only with a pen. The day will come when the pen must be put down and the writer must take up arms. No matter how you get there, no matter what your beliefs, literature challenges you. To write simply means to desire freedom in this way. Once you decide to do this, whether by force or by your own free will, you are engaged.

Engaged in what? – you will be surprised. The answer is simple: defend freedom. Should one become a guardian of ideals, like Bend's cleric, to the point of treason, or should one defend concrete everyday freedom, becoming a participant in political and social struggle? This question is inextricably linked with another that seems obvious, but is never asked: “For whom does the writer write?”

“A writer who waits for the perfect confluence of circumstances will die without writing a line.”

Any entrepreneur or startup sooner or later faces the problem of creating a daily routine. Today we will tell you about prosaic details Everyday life great writers of the last two centuries.

Perhaps, having learned about how the geniuses of this world organized their creative work, you will finally understand whether it is worth sacrificing everything to achieve your goal or is it enough to devote a few hours a day to it?

Ray Bradbury (1920 - 2012), famous American writer, classic of science fiction, whose stories, novels, and novels formed the basis for many film adaptations, theatrical productions And musical compositions, in a 2010 interview with the literary magazine Paris Review, talks about his routine like this:

“Ever since I was 12 years old, I have always been drawn to the typewriter. I never worried about my routine because it was always determined by new ideas that suddenly popped into my head. They seemed to be telling me: immediately sit down at the typewriter and finish what you started.

I can work anywhere. When I lived with my parents in a small house in Los Angeles, I wrote in the living room to the sound of the radio and my parents' endless chatter. Later, when I started writing Fahrenheit 451, I went to the Lawrence Powell Library at the University of California, Los Angeles, where you could type for 30 minutes by putting 10 cents in a typewriter.”

The daily routine of the American writer Joan Didion, who became famous for her collections of essays “Toddling Towards Bethlehem” (1968) and “The White Album” (1979), included a certain “incubation period of gestating ideas”:

“Before dinner, I spend an hour completely alone. I need this time to take stock last day, think about your plans for the coming day and take a little break from work. When I'm really busy, I very rarely leave the house and never invite guests to dinner, because I risk losing this precious hour.

If I never have the opportunity to spend at least some time alone with myself, the next day is unlikely to be productive, since I will have neither inspiration nor mood.

Also, when work on another book is nearing completion, I have to sleep in the same room with her. That is why, in order to finish this or that work, I always go home to Sacramento. Nobody cares about me there - I wake up and start typing.”

Alvin Brooks White (1899 - 1985), American writer and publicist, in a 1968 interview with the Paris Review, talks about the role and responsibility of the writer to society and the conditions in which he likes to work:

“A writer must devote himself entirely to what excites his imagination and makes his heart beat faster. I feel that I have a responsibility to my readers, since sooner or later my works become public knowledge. Every writer must be truthful, interesting and scrupulous, and not deceitful, boring and careless. It should encourage and inspire its readers, and not awaken in them apathy and indifference. After all, writers don’t just talk about life—they give it a unique form.

I never listen to music when I write - I can’t concentrate on my work enough to not notice the musical accompaniment. But, on the other hand, the influence of standard irritants has practically no effect on my productivity.

To get to any corner of my house—the kitchen, basement, or bathroom—you have to go through the living room. It's a bright, cozy room and, despite the eternal carnival that goes on there, I often use it for work.

I've never been annoyed when a maid carelessly brushed the legs of my typewriter with a carpet brush. Moreover, it never distracted me from work. This only happened when the girl was damn attractive or terribly clumsy.

Praise the Lord, my wife never built protective barriers around me. My family members never gave much thought to the fact that I was a man of my word and created as much noise and fuss as they pleased. If I got tired of all this, I could retire to any other room.

A writer who waits for the perfect confluence of circumstances will die without writing a single line.”

American poet and writer Jack Kerouac (1922 - 1969) talks about his daily rituals and writing superstitions like this:

“I had one little ritual: I would write by candlelight and, before starting to work, I would kneel down and pray... (this habit was borrowed from a French film about George Frideric Handel).

My superstitions? I do not trust full moon. Besides, I'm obsessed with the number 9, despite the fact that everyone around me tirelessly insists that people born under the sign of Pisces should revere the number seven. For example, I touch the floor with my thumb 9 times right leg standing on his head in the bathroom. By the way, this is much more difficult than yoga, this is a real sports achievement. Believe me: I know everything about balance... well, or almost everything.

Every day I pray to Jesus to keep me sane and energetic so that I can help my family: my paralyzed mother, my beloved wife and the ever-present cats.”

In 1977, American writer Susan Sontag (1933 - 2004) wrote the following entry in her diary:

“I’ll start tomorrow - if not today.

Every day I will wake up no later than 8 o'clock in the morning. (This rule can be broken once a week).

I will only have breakfast in the company of Roger [ostrich]. (This rule can be broken once a week).

I will write notes in my diary regularly. (Example: Lichtenberg's notes).

I will warn people not to call in the morning, or I will simply not pick up the phone.

I will answer emails once a week. (Possibly on Fridays).”

Twenty years later, in an interview with the Paris Review, Sontag spoke about her routine in more detail:

“I write with a felt-tip pen or pencil on a loose-leaf pad of yellow lined paper, and then type my scribbles on a typewriter, editing the text as I go. About five years ago everything was exactly like this. Then a computer appeared in my life, and the need to retype the entire manuscript disappeared. But I still make certain adjustments by hand, after printing out the almost completed work.

I write in spurts: only when I feel that something has ripened in my head. good idea, worthy of being on paper. But when the work goes on full swing, I can’t do anything else: I don’t leave the house, I forget to eat and I hardly sleep. I understand perfectly well that this is not the most disciplined and responsible approach to work, but I can’t help it - I’m interested in too many other things.”

In 1932, while working on his novel Tropic of Cancer, Henry Miller (1891 - 1980) created a creative daily routine that helped him complete the work.

“Morning: if you’re not in the mood, write and sort your notes. In any other case, get to work.

Day: Work on a specific part of the material. Don't let yourself be distracted. Write until you finish this part.

Evening: Meet friends and read books. Take a walk in unknown places: on foot if it’s raining outside, by bike if it’s dry. Write if you are in the mood. Draw if you feel tired and empty.

Note: Leave some time for an unplanned trip to the museum, creating a new sketch, or going on a bike ride. Sketch everywhere: in cafes, on trains or on the street. Watch fewer movies! Visit the library once a week."

In her 1965 interview with the literary publication Paris Review, French writer Simone de Beauvoir (1908 - 1986) dispels the myth of the “martyr genius”:

“For as long as I can remember, I have always been eager to get to work. I usually start writing around 10 am. I meet my friends at about one o'clock, return home at 5 pm and work until 9. I have never had any difficulty getting myself to write in the afternoon.

If the work is going well, I spend 15-30 minutes reading through the texts I wrote the day before and making some adjustments. This helps me catch a lost thread. Only after this can I continue writing.”

Ernest Hemingway (1899 - 1961), famous American writer, laureate Nobel Prize in literature, he wrote his works while standing. The typewriter was at the level of his chest, to the left of it was a stack of paper, from which the writer took out a sheet, put it on the reading board and began to write by hand. He typed the text right away only when the stories came very easily to him. Hemingway approached his craft with equal parts inspiration and pragmatism:

“When working on another book or story, I start writing at first light, when no one can disturb you. At this time, it is still a little cool outside, and you warm up while working. You write no further than the moment when you still have strength left in you, and you know exactly what will happen next - then you stop and live with it until tomorrow.

You start, say, at 6 a.m. and continue writing until noon. When you stop, you feel empty, but at the same time full of feelings, as if you were making love with your loved one. Nothing can hurt you, nothing matters. You're just waiting to get back to work. Waiting for the next day is probably the hardest thing you have to deal with.”

Don DeLillo, a renowned American postmodernist writer, described his routine in a 1993 interview with the Paris Review:

“I work in the mornings on a manual typewriter. I write for 4 hours and then go for a run - it helps me get rid of the shackles literary world and return to the real one. Trees, birds and light rain are a pretty good interlude. After that I work for another 2-3 hours. No food, coffee or cigarettes (I quit smoking many years ago). There is absolute silence and calm all around.

The writer goes to extreme measures in order to achieve a state of loneliness, and then finds hundreds of ways to squander it: watch passers-by or read a few random titles in the dictionary. To break this spell, I look at a photograph of Borges - a wonderful photograph that he once sent me Irish writer Colm Toibin. Even though I've read Borges, I don't know anything about how this man works. But it seems to me that the photograph shows a writer who is not wasting his time. So, he is my guide to the world of art and magic.”

In his book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Haruki Murakami talks about how he became a running writer and how his life changed after that:

“When I'm in the mood to write, I wake up at 4 am and work for 5-6 hours. In the afternoon I run 10 kilometers or swim 1500 meters (sometimes I do both), then I read a little and listen to music. I go to bed at 9 pm. I follow this routine religiously because I believe that repeating it over and over again is a kind of hypnosis—I hypnotize myself to find calm.”

In a 2011 interview with the Paris Review, William Gibson, an American science fiction writer, described his routine as follows:

“When I'm writing a book, I usually wake up at 7 a.m., have a cup of coffee, check my email, and spend some time short review news. I take a Pilates class three times a week, get home around 10, and try to start writing. If absolutely nothing happens, I give myself permission to take a break and go mow the lawn.

It must be said that in most cases, a little effort on yourself is enough to start working. I break for lunch, come back, work for a couple more hours, and then usually sleep. “Quiet time” is the key to my productivity.

As work on the book progresses, I write longer and longer: if at the beginning I work 5-6 hours a day, then when I finish the work, I write for 12 hours, 7 days a week.”

Famous American writer, poet and activist for civil rights Maya Angelou (1928 - 2014) talks about her routine like this:

“I write in the morning. Around noon I take a shower, because writing, as you know, is very hard work and requires a double bath. After that I go shopping. In public, I prefer to play the role of a sensible person: “Good morning. OK, thank you. How are you?". Back home, I cook dinner.

After clearing everything off the table, I reread what I wrote this morning. More often than not, 7 of the 9 pages written end up in the trash. Probably the hardest thing about being a writer is admitting that what you created doesn’t make any impression.

I've been working with my editor since 1967. He asked me the same question hundreds of times: “Why do you use a semicolon instead of a colon?” And I answered hundreds of times: “I will never talk to you again!” Goodbye. Thanks for all. I'm leaving". Then she calmed down, re-read the text, thought about his proposal and sent him a telegram: “Okay, you’re right. But that doesn't mean anything. Don’t you dare mention this again, otherwise I’ll stop talking to you!”

Two years ago he invited me to stay with him in the Hamptons. I sat at the end of the dinner table and told one of the guests the story of the dozens of insulting telegrams I had written. At some point, a voice came from the other end of the table: “And I saved them all.” Brutus!

But I still remain of my opinion: correcting the text before the editor sees it is simply necessary.”

Our selection will be completed by an example of the routine of the American satirist Kurt Vonnegut (1922 - 2007), who became famous for such works as “Breakfast of Champions”, “Sirens of Titan”, “Cat’s Cradle”, “Farce, or Down with Loneliness”. In a letter to his wife (1965), Vonnegut wrote:

“My sleep, hunger and desire to work plan the day themselves. To be honest, I am very glad that they saved me from having to think about all this nonsense.

Here's the routine they developed: I wake up at 5:30 and immediately start writing, have breakfast at 8:00 sharp, and go back to work. At 10:00 I go for a walk, then I go to the nearest pool and swim for half an hour. Returning home at 11:45, I read my email and have lunch. In the afternoon I work at school: teaching or preparing for lessons.

I come home at 5:30 pm, cook dinner, read and listen to jazz. Yesterday my time and body decided that I should go to the cinema. I watched The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. This is a heartbreaking film, especially for a middle-aged man. But it’s okay: I love it when my heart is broken.”