be an imposing padlock on the door.”
Steinbeck’s writing hut on Long Island, New York, was so
dear to him that he actually gave it a name, Joyous Garde (he even handmade a sign
for it and stuck it above the door outside). Named for Sir Lancelot's castle, the hexagonal structure at
Sag Harbor was inspired by Mark Twain's own garden office and enjoyed marvellous
views over the cove near Bluff Point. The attractive hut with windows in every
wall was built by Steinbeck himelf and he worked in a director's chair inside
which he labelled 'Siege Perilous' – indeed, Joyous Garde had only one
chair so visitors had nowhere to sit down. A large desk took up much of the
room allowing him to spread out papers and books and a bookshelf ran all round
the room over the windows. In this cosy abode, which he initially planned to
call Sanity’s Stepchild, he wrote his travelogue Travels with Charley and his
final novel Winter of Our Discontent.
As well as Joyous Garde, Steinbeck (1902 – 1968) enjoyed the peace
of his writing room in his apartment on the upper East Side of New York which
he described as “a quiet room where nothing ever happens”, so quiet in fact
that he talked about getting a myna bird and teaching it to ask him questions.
He had a sign on the outside of the door which read ‘Buzzard’s Despair’ and on the reverse ‘Tidy Town’ which is how his wife adjusted
it to show she had been in and tidied it while he was out. A keen builder all his
life, he used the same room to build a kayak-like boat.
But whichever writing room he worked in, Steinbeck – who
liked to write rapidly - had one prerequisite. Pencils. And plenty of them.
“I like the feeling of a pencil,” he said, which is
something of an understatement. He used hundreds on each new book, sharpened to
a point which he son Thom called ‘surgical’. “The
pure luxury of long beautiful pencils charges me with energy and invention,”
said Steinbeck.
He was particularly keen on round ones, as he found
hexagonal pencils cut into his fingers. Nevertheless, he wrote with them so
often that he developed a grooved callus on his finger where the pencil rested.
Another requirement was that they be black so that they did not distract him.
Steinbeck also had an electric sharpener of which
he was very fond, calling it his most used and most useful possession. Since he
began each morning with a wooden box of 24 fully sharpened pencils which he
rotated and resharpened during the day, it was certainly a great help. As one
began to blunt after a few lines, it would be placed into a second box to await
resharpening while he picked up a new pencil to continue writing. As the
process continued, the pencils would shorten and once the metal holding the
rubber on the top touched his hand, he would hand them over to his sons.
“For
years I have looked for the perfect pencil. I have found very good ones, but
never the perfect one. And all the time it was not the pencils but me. A pencil
that is all right some days is no good another day.” Had soft writing days and
hard writing days, according to pencils. Sometimes it changed in the middle of
the day. Super soft pencils didn’t use very often as “must feel as delicate as
a rose petal to use them”
Favourite brands included the Blaisdell
Calculator 600, the Eberhard Faber Mongol 480 (actually yellow), the Eberhard
Faber Blackwing 602 (tagline
‘half the pressure, twice the speed’). Bought four
dozen pencils at a time. When the metal of the rubber on the pencil touched his
hand, he discarded it to make way for a new one.
Steinbeck acknowledged that this
love of pencils, what he called his “pencil trifling”, was one of his eccentricities. But he had
others. He wrote his novel East of Eden on the right hand pages of a book (in
pencil, naturally), while using the left hand ones to compose letters to his
friend and editor, Pascal Covici about the progress of the book, as well as
general news, what his family was up to. In fact he started his morning work
with the letter to warm up - Steinbeck explained
he felt the need to ‘have to dawdle a certain amount before I go to work.’
Despite
this low-tech obsession, Steinbeck was actually keen to make use of new
technology, using a Dictaphone to try out dialogue for his novels, and typing
up manuscripts on his olive green Hermes Baby typewriter, one of the earliest
portables. On its case he scratched ‘The Beast Within’.