“I’m dazzled by your facility. In ten days you’ll have written six stories! I don’t understand it… I’m like one of those old aqueducts: there’s so much rubbish cogging up the banks of my thought that it flows slowly, and only spills from the end of my pen drop by drop.”
In this quote, Gustave Flaubert reflects on his own writing process and compares it to someone else's. He acknowledges the efficiency and speed at which the other person is able to produce stories, contrasting it with his own experience of slow and laborious writing. Flaubert uses a metaphor of an old aqueduct to illustrate how his thoughts are cluttered with "rubbish," hindering the flow of his writing. This quote highlights the differences in writing styles and processes, emphasizing the unique challenges and obstacles that writers may face.
In a world where productivity and output are highly valued, Gustave Flaubert's struggles with writer's block may seem all too familiar to many individuals. The pressure to constantly create and produce can lead to feelings of inadequacy and frustration for those who may experience slower creative processes. Flaubert's analogy of his thoughts being clogged like an old aqueduct resonates with the modern struggle of mental clutter and distraction. In a time where information overload is rampant and attention spans are shrinking, finding ways to clear the mental clutter and increase productivity is more important than ever.
“I’m dazzled by your facility. In ten days you’ll have written six stories! I don’t understand it… I’m like one of those old aqueducts: there’s so much rubbish cogging up the banks of my thought that it flows slowly, and only spills from the end of my pen drop by drop.” - Gustave Flaubert
Having self-awareness about your own writing process is important for growth and improvement. Consider the following questions to reflect on your own writing habits and challenges:
“I envision a style: a style that would be beautiful, that someone will invent some day, ten years or ten centuries from now, one that would be rhythmic as verse, precise as the language of the sciences, undulant, deep-voiced as a cello, tipped with flame: a style that would pierce your idea like a dagger, and on which your thought would sail easily ahead over a smooth surface, like a skiff before a good tail wind.”
“Have you really not noticed, then, that here of all places, in this private, personal solitude that surrounds me, I have turned to you? All the memories of my youth speak to me as I walk, just as the sea shells crunch under my feet on the beach. The crash of every wave awakens far-distant reverberations within me... I hear the rumble of bygone days, and in my mind the whole endless series of old passions surges forward like the billows. I remember my spasms, my sorrows, gusts of desire that whistled like wind in the rigging, and vast vague longings that swirled in the dark like a flock of wild gulls in a stormcloud... On whom should I lean, if not on you? My weary mind turns for refreshment to the thought of you as a dusty traveler might sink onto a soft and grassy bank...”
“Everything measurable passes, everything that can be counted has an end. Only three things are infinite: the sky in its stars, the sea in its drops of water, and the heart in its tears.”
“And so I will take back up my poor life, so plain and so tranquil, where phrases are adventures and the only flowers I gather are metaphors.”
“One day, I shall explode like an artillery shell and all my bits will be found on the writing table.”
“I am an obscure and patient pearl-fisherman who dives into the deepest waters and comes up with empty hands and a blue face. Some fatal attraction draws me down into the abysses of thought, down into those innermost recesses which never cease to fascinate the strong. I shall spend my life gazing at the ocean of art, where others voyage or fight; and from time to time I’ll entertain myself by diving for those green and yellow shells that nobody will want. So I shall keep them for myself and cover the walls of my hut with them.”