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Does Alcohol
facilate or hinder
the creative process ? This question
has puzzled discerning minds for a very
long Time
and the relationship between alcohol and creativity has been the focus of research and publication since the mid-twentieth century. Experimental research has been undertaken in only a handful of medical and psychological studies; more numerous biographical accounts of alcoholic creative artists have been popular; and creative artists themselves have produced confessional autobiographical works. This paper surveys particularly the research on writers, and a range of biographies about writers who use alcohol. Then it looks at what writers themselves say about the involvement of alcohol in the creative process.
Experimental
research
Studies
that examine links between alcohol and creativity, published in medical and psychology journals,
have findings which are contradictory and ambiguous (see e.g. Ludwig 1990, Rothenberg 1990, Norlander 1999). They do have catchy
titles, however, considering the pages they occupy: ‘I drink therefore I am:
alcohol and creativity’ in the Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine
(Beveridge & Yorston 1999), or ‘Inebriation
and Inspiration? A Review of the Research on Alcohol and Creativity’ in the
Journal of Creative Behavior (Norlander 1999). And so on.
In the
2012 edition of the Encyclopedia of Creativity, Steven Pritzker summarises
the full range of experimentation regarding alcohol’s influence on creativity
with:
Results
of research using noneminent subjects indicates that
the perception that alcohol influences creativity is greater than any real
benefit to creativity that alcohol may give. (my italics, Pritzker 2012: 392)
In
other words: alcohol’s enhancement of creativity is a myth. Pritzker also
says:
While
many [eminent] creative people have claimed that alcohol helped them, the
truth of this statement in objective terms has not been determined. (Pritzker
2012: 393)
In
other words: science has not yet experimented enough with eminent
writers, musicians or artists using alcohol – and science won’t take their
word for it – so the jury is still out. The Encyclopedia prints a list
of 74 eminent creative people ‘thought to be alcoholic’. Half of them are
writers (Pritzker 2012: 391).
The
most extensive experimental research on alcohol and creative practice was
done in the 1990s by psychologists Torsten Norlander and Roland Gustafson in Sweden (see Figure 1). In several
experiments with Swedish creative practitioners (some of them writers)
Norlander and Gustafson (1996, 1998, etc) used Graham Wallas’s pioneering
1926 model which divided the creative process into four stages of thinking:
(i) preparation; (ii) incubation; (iii) illumination;
and (iv) verification (Wallas 1926: 80).
Figure
1.
Norlander and Gustafson (1993-9): Effect of alcohol on Wallas stages
The
Wallas model attempted to cover a wide variety of creative and problem-solving
situations, and was intended to apply to everyday behaviour as much as to
scientific thinking. It was perhaps most suited to a creative process where a
problem is identified (preparation), it is thought about without much
progress seemingly being made (incubation), the thinker has a
premonition that a solution is on the way, and then it surfaces (illumination),
and finally the new idea is tested and found to apply (verification).
In
their several experiments about the effects of alcohol on the Wallas stages
in creative practitioners, Norlander and Gustafson found that:
Creativity
is enhanced by alcohol during incubation and illumination phases, not
affected during the verification phase, and hampered during the preparation
phase. This suggests that alcohol may not be universally
detrimental to creativity if consumed during certain times. (Smith, Smith & Do 2009: 147, italics added)
This is
a useful point to start from. It suggests that creative thinking may indeed
be enhanced by alcohol, provided that application of the stimulant is
targeted at the incubation and illumination phases, and not at
the preparation and verification stages.
But
Norlander and Gustafson were not working solely with writers. Another
researcher, Anja Koski-Jännes (1985), studied 60 Finnish
authors (one-third of them female) and reported that their descriptions of
their writing process ‘generally fit th[e] pattern’ (Koski-Jännes 1985: 121) of the Wallas model.
Koski-Jännes refined the definitions of the Wallas stages for the writer, and
described them as:
and she
adds
– what
we might call ‘having a wine after work’.
In the
spirit of her ideas ‘generally fitting the [Wallas] pattern’, I have created
Figure 2 to indicate how we might understand Koski-Jännes’s research.
Figure
2.
Koski-Jännes (1985): Effect of alcohol on Writing process stages
Koski-Jännes
sought to assign Wallas stages specifically to a writing process model.
Essentially she found writers saying that Pre-writing, Drafting and
Relaxation are all able to be enhanced by alcohol, but alcohol is detrimental
to ‘actual writing’. These results are different from those of Norlander and
Gustafson. Koski-Jännes found writers indicating it is useful to drink in the
preparation (or pre-writing) stage, but that alcohol in the incubation
stage has no effect, while in the verification stage alcohol is
detrimental.
In her
system, however, Koski-Jännes does not distinguish between different levels
of written drafts, nor between writing and editing. I have suggested above
that the illumination stage is actually Drafting, because we are aware
how much investigation of the project and insights into it are gained here.
Also, I think verification is more like the later stages of writing,
including editing.
Koski-Jännes
sums up:
The
essential question ... concerns the ability to fully exploit one’s mental
powers. This involves the ability to use one’s conscious and unconscious
processes in a fertile and productive way. The use of alcohol is relevant to
this process – and writers know it. At least on an intuitive level many of
them seem to regulate their drinking behavior in relation to their periods of
creativity. (Koski-Jännes 1985: 69)
Although
Koski-Jännes and Norlander and Gustafson disagree with each other, and didn’t
get the creative stage equivalences quite right for writers, I think they
(and especially those Finnish writers) were usefully close to the mark.
Writers have indeed found ways to utilise alcohol in a targeted fashion as a
stimulant for writing (see below). But there are other and darker dimensions
to drinking as part of creative practice to be dealt with.
Biographical
research
Alongside
the experimental research into alcohol and writing there is
biographical research which dates back to Anne Roe’s 1946 article ‘Alcohol and Creative Work’ (Roe 1946), the first among many accounts which
sought to analyse, and very often sensationalise, the alcoholic creative
artist (see e.g. Goodwin 1988, Dardis 1989, Ludwig 1990, Beveridge &
Yorston 1999). In this kind of study, a biographer gives an account of the
drinking capacity and its consequences for an eminent creative practitioner.
Many studies focus on the life and inebriation of Cheever, Faulkner,
Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Joyce, Lowell, Lowry, Parker, Sexton and so forth.
Among the biographical researchers, American psychiatrist and novelist Arnold
Ludwig (1990) analysed ‘the biographies of 34 well known, heavy drinking,
20th century writers, artists or composers/performers’ and found that alcohol
use
proved
detrimental to productivity in over 75% of the sample, especially in the
latter phases of their drinking careers. However, it appeared to provide
direct benefit for about 9% of the sample, indirect benefit for 50% and no
appreciable effect for 40% at different times in their lives. (Ludwig 1990:
953)
Biographical
research has focused more on the life-long effects of alcohol use and less on
the everyday effect of alcohol in the writing practice. Clearly there are
addictive practices useful to the individual on a daily basis which
accumulate into life-impairing syndromes.
Ludwig
also investigated the relationship the other way around – how writing affects
drinking: he averred that: ‘Creative activity, conversely, can also affect
drinking behavior, leading, for instance, to increased alcohol consumption in
over 30% of the sample’. But he came to no conclusion, instead saying:
‘Because of the complexities of [the relationship between alcohol and
creativity], no simplistic conclusions are possible’ (Ludwig 1990: 953).
The
broader spectrum of biographical research beyond Ludwig has developed a wide
range of theories – many more than the experimental research considered
above. These include, as Pritzker summarises:
This
list from the Encyclopedia of Creativity claims to summarise
biographical research. It is negative, sensationalizing, and quite possibly
correct. It indulges in myth-making while also focusing on apparent truth.
While
Ludwig analysed the written biographies of 34 famous writers without actually
talking to the subjects, Harvard psychiatrist Albert Rothenberg combined
empirical findings with intensive personal interviews to delve deeper into
the cases of a few accomplished writers. His research on American novelist
John Cheever, for example, concluded that alcohol is used ‘to cope with the
anxiety that is generated by the creative process itself’ which ‘involves a
gradual unearthing of unconscious processes’ (Rothenberg 1990: 199, 196).
Rothenberg’s theory is that the writing process provides writers ‘a means of
attaining partial insight into their own unconscious contents’ (196), which
in Cheever’s case ‘intensified his alcoholism and blocked his creativity’
(197).
Rothenberg
opens up an enquiry related significantly to analysis of the writing process.
He turns the writing process back on writers. He asserts that creative
writers write out deep-seated aspects of self, which requires significant
adaptation (e.g. utilizing alcohol) due to confrontation with ‘their own
unconscious contents’. It’s an attractive theory for some creative writers –
those who like the idea of having a deep-seated reason for
writing and drinking at once.
There
are many biographical accounts of alcoholic writers (see e.g. Goodwin 1988,
Dardis 1989, Leonard 1989, Boler 2004, Millier 2009). They tend to pick up on
occasional statements by writers and, like bad drunks, they tend to repeat
each other. I think the most insightful are: Tom Dardis’s The
Thirsty Muse (1989), mainly a study of American male novelists, and Brett
C Millier’s Flawed Light (2009) focused on female American poets. Like
all biographical studies they suffer from being based at times on myth and
hearsay, on the image the subject may wish the biographer to portray, and the
biographer’s own attitudes towards alcoholism. They are, of course, at least
one degree of separation from the subjects they claim to represent.
How, unless you drink as I do, could you hope to
understand…?
– Malcolm Lowry, Under the Volcano (1947) Autobiographical accounts of writerly alcoholism may or may not get closer to the mark. Writers have been reticent to speak about their addictions, but in conducting their own research and analysis, they have made autobiographical statements which, like the scholarly research, are contradictory. Famous drinking writers have said that alcohol facilitates and hinders the writing process. Contemporary Australian writers Frank Moorhouse, Peter Corris and Michael Wilding indicate they have suffered, and benefited, from their relationship with alcohol:
In his
sensitive memoir built around the martini, Frank Moorhouse says:
I find
that drinking and writing don’t mix, except for proof-reading and revising at
the end of the day’s work when I find it changes my focus
and gives me some good results, although I always test these revisions when
sober the next day. (Moorhouse 2005: 31)
During
sessions of writing, Peter Corris says he drinks ‘a sizeable glass of wine,
sometimes two’:
I believe that alcohol releases
certain inhibitions and helps me project myself into my characters,
to imagine actions and scenes I’ve never experienced or to transmute actual
experiences into the material of fiction. (Corris 2012)
Michael
Wilding places drinking and writing in a larger landscape, where history, the
real world, and the inebriated view of the world collide:
Alcohol
was what they served in pubs, and pubs were where I liked to hang out and
talk to people, other writers and filmmakers and editors and girls, as we
used to call them then, and get involved in situations I later wrote about.
And the same with the parties afterwards, more alcohol and things to write
about. Alcohol fuelled the book launches where we used to try and promote our
new books. So alcohol was and undoubtedly is a significant part of the
literary life. But in itself I never found alcohol useful for the process of
writing. Writing when drinking has never seemed to me the
way to go. And if I ever got any good ideas for writing when drunk, I rarely
remembered them. (Wilding 2012)
These
Australian novelists, writing candidly, indicate that alcohol’s positive
relationship with writing is an issue to be considered and placed in context.
They say alcohol ‘changes my focus and gives me some good results’, ‘releases
certain inhibitions and helps me project myself into my characters’, and ‘is
a significant part of the literary life’. They also say that ‘drinking and
writing don’t mix’, and ‘I never found alcohol useful for the process of
writing’.
On
another tack, if we accept that novels contain information
about a writer’s experience and understanding, then the classic works on
writerly alcoholism are Jack London’s John Barleycorn (1913) and Charles R Jackson’s The Lost
Weekend (1944). They present a negative picture of the writer under the
influence. In my opinion, The Lost Weekend is the most exact, and most
terrifying, account. The onslaught of its psychological
detail is hard to read, and harder to deny. Other novels, like Malcolm
Lowry’s Under the Volcano (1947) and Graham Billing’s The Slipway
(1973), are clearly based on the writer’s own
experiences and nuance our understanding of the disaster and attraction of
alcohol. Well-known autobiographical statements about alcohol and writing
include the following:
On the
issue of widening consciousness, of deepening engagement with the world, of
enhanced seeing and feeling the working of things, Stephen King asserts:
‘The
main effect of the grain or the grape ... is that it provides the necessary
sense of newness and freshness, without which creative writing does not
occur.’ (quoted in Goodwin 1988: 187)
And
Scott Fitzgerald says:
‘Drink
heightens feeling… When I drink, it heightens my emotions
and I put it in a story… My stories written when sober are stupid … all
reasoned out, not felt.’ (quoted in Turnbull 2004: 264)
But
John Irving insists:
‘You
know what Lawrence said: “The novel is the highest example of subtle
interrelatedness that man has discovered.” I agree! And just
consider for one second what drinking does to “subtle
interrelatedness”’. (quoted in Winokur 2000: 30)
So,
there are those who say alcohol widens and freshens the writer’s perceptions,
and those who say it dulls them. While seemingly contradictory, the above
three may indicate the use of alcohol at different stages in the
writing process – King at Pre-writing, Fitzgerald at Drafting, Irving at
Editing – suggesting that blanket statements about alcohol’s use in writing
may need to be examined more closely for evidence about targeting its
effects.
On the
question of getting the writing going each day, of battling the block and
finding momentum, Kingsley Amis says:
…alcohol
in moderate amounts and at a fairly leisurely speed is valuable to me – at
least I think so. It could be that I could have written
better without it … but it could also be true that I’d have written far less
without it. (Amis 1975)
But
Ring Lardner is more assertive: ‘No one, ever, wrote anything as well after
even one drink as he would have done without it’ (Lardner 1976: 165) and Anthony Burgess adds:
‘“…writers drink when they are ‘blocked’ and drunkenness – being a kind of
substitute for art – makes the block worse”’ (quoted in Winokur 2000: 30).
So, writers disagree about the use of alcohol for getting started, as do the
medical experimenters (see above). Perhaps there are individual differences
here: some like to start hot with a shot, others like to start cold.
On the
matter of rewarding oneself after a good day’s writing by taking a well-earned drink,
two famous writers disagree. Hemingway said in 1935:
When
you work hard all day with your head and know you must work again the next
day what else can change your ideas and make them run on a
different plane like whisky? … Modern life is often a mechanical oppression
and liquor is the only mechanical relief. (Hemingway 1935)
But
Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 1844 advice was: ‘Finish each day
before you begin the next, and interpose a solid wall of sleep between the
two. This you cannot do without temperance’ (Emerson 1982: 320).
These
writers lived in different times and their statements reflect social
attitudinal differences. Emerson was surrounded by the fervour of the
Temperance movement, and Hemingway’s America had just emerged from the
strictures of the Prohibition Era (which he and other writers escaped by living
and writing in Europe). But while ‘modern life’ still drags us down, and we
still find relief by celebrating a good day’s work with alcohol, too hard
partying will always wipe out the next day’s productivity.
On the
idea that alcohol enhances confidence, dis-inhibits and empowers, Faulkner claimed:
‘“When I have one martini, I feel bigger, wiser, taller. When I have the
second, I feel superlative. When I have more, there’s no holding me”’ (quoted
in Blotner 2005: 227). In his generally depressing
autobiographical novel The Lost Weekend (1944), Charles Jackson
asserted the uplifting aspect of pre-inebriation:
It
seemed his perceptions could, at this moment, grasp any problem in the world…
Whole sentences sprang to his mind in dazzling succession, perfectly formed,
ready to be put down. Where was a pencil, paper?… his mind was working keenly
and at the top of its bent, with that hyper-consciousness that
lay just this side of intoxication… He felt reckless and elated, larger than
life. (Jackson 1998: 21, 22, 34)
But
Scott Fitzgerald is attributed with saying: ‘First you take a drink, then the
drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you’ (Fitzgerald 2011: back cover). So, the autobiographical
evidence from writers suggests that confidence and dis-inhibition are matters
to be dealt with at an individual level. One needs to know one’s drinking
capabilities, and work within them.
While there are matching contradictory reports by eminent writers on aspects of writing under the influence, some have put the opposites together in a single statement. These include Charles Bukowski’s account of how alcohol lifts you as writer out of the ‘standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same’ and then ‘throws you against the wall … [as] …a form of suicide where you’re allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day’ (quoted in Wennersten 1974: 49). Succinctly, Bukowski expresses what a powerful friend, and what an enemy, alcohol is to the writer.
Kingsley
Amis, elaborating on his daily process, suggested the contradictory effects
of alcohol in any single day:
And then,
quaking, you sit down at the typewriter. And that’s when a glass of Scotch
can be very useful as a sort of artistic icebreaker … artificial infusion of
a little bit of confidence which is necessary in order to begin at all… [But]
there comes a fairly early point when the stimulating effect turns into an
effect that produces disorder and incoherence. (Amis 1975)
And
drawing together several aspects of writing under the influence, Robert
Lowell said of his writing over a long period of time:
‘I
seemed to connect almost unstopping composition with drinking… [and] I have
looked forward to whatever one gets from drinking, a
stirring and blurring… [But] nothing was written drunk, at least nothing was
perfected and finished’. (quoted in Hamilton 1982: 389)
Lowell
distinguishes at least four aspects of writing here: the ‘stirring’,
which is about motivation as well as new perception; the ‘blurring’,
which is loss of focus but also the unshackling of conventional ideas, the
making of new connections, the noticing of the peripheral; his ‘unstopping
composition’ is the impetus, the hyperactivity, and the lack of control
that alcohol can promote; and finally his ‘nothing perfected’ says
that while booze may enhance your creative flow, it won’t support your
critical capacity: it’s a good exciter but a bad editor. Lowell covers many
bases here: alcohol can be an effective tool for writers, but like any
powerful tool, it must be controlled. What’s good about it, is also bad about
it.
Personal
research
In my
personal research while writing with and without alcohol, I examined my own
writing process and observed that, put simply, my brain seems to work in two
ways: sometimes alcohol helps; sometimes it doesn’t. I was relieved to find,
upon further investigation, that psychologists in the area of Creativity have two key concepts: divergent and convergent thinking.
Divergent thinking is ‘the ability to generate a variety of associations,
ideas, and problem solutions’ (Russ & Christian 2012: 238). It is ‘the
kind of thinking that results in numerous ideas … as opposed to convergent
thinking, which leads to one correct solution’ (Sánchez-Ruiz 2012: 384). Convergent thinking
homes in on the answer to a problem (such as how to make this sentence work
best) and divergent thinking vistas out to contemplation of the possibilities
in the territory surrounding the problem (such as what other ideas might I
include in my work).
Analysing
my own writing process, I would say I use both techniques at different times
(see Figure 3): I use divergent thinking when I am searching around
for material, making connections, considering fiction options, imagining plot
traces or character traits, and applying the fiction writer’s ‘what if’
scenarios to the world of my experience. But I use convergent thinking
when I make decisions to go ahead with choices among the options, and
especially I use the pointed reasoning of convergent thinking while editing.
Figure
3.
Krauth (2012): Effect of moderate alcohol on Writing process stages
Figure
3 expresses my analysis of my writing process while responding to the terms
set up by Norlander and Gustafson, Koski-Jännes, and others mentioned above.
I have found that alcohol is definitely helpful in pre-writing, definitely
disastrous when finally editing, and useful in targeted ways at other times
when planning and drafting. And what do I mean by ‘helpful’ or ‘useful’?:
When I come back to the manuscript later while sober, I know the project has
been advanced by the work I did while drinking.
It
seems to me that alcohol is not necessarily a hindrance for divergent
thought. Alcohol’s dis-inhibiting effect can free you from walking the
straight line of conventional understanding; it can loosen you and liberate
you, which is useful at times in the inspiration, planning and drafting
stages. And for this (as writers have said) you need to know how to reach and
maintain a particular cruising speed of inebriation; you need to stay in
control. I have experienced this cruising. I value it as much as I suspect
it.
Alcohol
is good, and partially good, it seems, all the way up to editing. But when
the time comes to nail the writing down, sobriety has the last word. Editing
overlaps into aspects of the later stages of planning and drafting, and there
alcohol is suspect. Clearly it’s unwise to send off a manuscript finally
completed while drunk. I have found Alcohol good to dance with in the Tavern
of Intense Creative Production, but I wouldn’t take her to the Office of
Final Editing.
Conclusion:
on drinking in a targeted fashion
There
are times in the writing process which don’t matter as much as other times
do; there are negotiable times. You know you will come back to this idea and
change it, you will return to this bit and that bit and edit them. But in the
meantime, you want the flow to keep going, you want to produce, you want that
outline, that draft, those words on the page, almost anything, it doesn’t
matter what turns up … you want to see what might be there, you want the
investigation to continue. You will come back later and decide whether that
session of planning or drafting was worthwhile or not. Alcohol may assist
here, experienced writers say, for those who want to use it
Writers
who lost control under alcohol seemingly lost the capacity to bring a sober
editing eye to their alcohol-fueled creativity. They lost the ability to see
the difference between the divergent and convergent thinking stages in their
writing process. It must be devastating to lose access to the sober you.
There needs always to be an operational control room in the alcoholic
writer’s brain in charge of strategy – in charge of targeting alcohol use
towards the parts of the process where it is useful. As one-time drunkard
Stephen King said: ‘“A writer who drinks carefully is probably a better
writer…”’ (quoted in Goodwin 187).
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Associate
Professor Nigel Krauth is head of the writing program at Griffith University,
Gold Coast, Australia. He has published four novels (two of them national
award winners), three teenage novels, along with stories, essays, articles
and reviews. His research investigates creative writing processes and the
teaching of creative writing. He is the cofounding editor of TEXT: Journal of writing and
writing courses, which is currently in its 16th year of publication.
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Friday, 20 December 2013
Alcohol and the writing process
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