It has been too long since I’ve posted anything on this site. There are a few things I’d like to post, have been longing to post for weeks, and will post eventually. Currently, I am buried under stacks of papers and books that need reading and the early stages of planning my dissertation and seem to lack motivation so I thought I would share this before attempting to tackle a few more pages.
Dinginess is death to a writer. Filth, discomfort, hunger, cold, trauma and drama, don’t matter a bit. I have had plenty of each and they have only encouraged me, but dinginess, the damp small confines of the mediocre and the gradual corrosion of beauty and light, the compromising and the settling; these things make good work impossible. When Keats was depressed he put on a clean shirt. When Radclyffe Hall was oppressed she ordered new sets of silk underwear from Jermyn Street.
From Jeanette Winterson’s introduction to Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit (first published in 1985, this introduction found in the Vintage edition from 1991).