Vía Memo Vega me enteré de una lista de reglas para escribir que The Guardian pidió a varios escritores. Hay algunas buenas. Pongo por acá las diez de Margaret Atwood:
Margaret Atwood
1 Take a pencil to write with on aeroplanes. Pens leak. But if the pencil breaks, you can’t sharpen it on the plane, because you can’t take knives with you. Therefore: take two pencils.
2 If both pencils break, you can do a rough sharpening job with a nail file of the metal or glass type.
3 Take something to write on. Paper is good. In a pinch, pieces of wood or your arm will do.
4 If you’re using a computer, always safeguard new text with a memory stick.
5 Do back exercises. Pain is distracting.
6 Hold the reader’s attention. (This is likely to work better if you can hold your own.) But you don’t know who the reader is, so it’s like shooting fish with a slingshot in the dark. What fascinates A will bore the pants off B.
7 You most likely need a thesaurus, a rudimentary grammar book, and a grip on reality. This latter means: there’s no free lunch. Writing is work. It’s also gambling. You don’t get a pension plan. Other people can help you a bit, but essentially you’re on your own. Nobody is making you do this: you chose it, so don’t whine.
8 You can never read your own book with the innocent anticipation that comes with that first delicious page of a new book, because you wrote the thing. You’ve been backstage. You’ve seen how the rabbits were smuggled into the hat. Therefore ask a reading friend or two to look at it before you give it to anyone in the publishing business. This friend should not be someone with whom you have a romantic relationship, unless you want to break up.
9 Don’t sit down in the middle of the woods. If you’re lost in the plot or blocked, retrace your steps to where you went wrong. Then take the other road. And/or change the person. Change the tense. Change the opening page.
10 Prayer might work. Or reading something else. Or a constant visualisation of the holy grail that is the finished, published version of your resplendent book.
Me gustaron, igual que a ti, las reglas de Atwood: son de una redundancia mordaz. Me gustó el pragmatismo sincero de Jeanette Winterson (gran escritora). Y detesté a un autor cuya obra me gusta: Richard Ford. No toleré que alguien se atreviera a decir que para escribir no había que tener hijos… ¡acaba de nacer mi primera y única, Anna! Me sentí insultado, incluso. Pero no dejaré de leer a Ford. Creo que mi regla es una. Bueno: dos reglas. Ignorar las reglas de escritura propuestas por escritores. Y escribir.
David, muchas felicidades por la llegada de Anna, de veras. Coincido con tus dos reglas, pero la verdad que estos decálogos bobos son bastante entretenidos. Y a veces hasta reconfortantes. En cosa de no engolosinarse para no faltar a la segunda regla.
Un abrazo, G.