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208 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1950
INTERVIEWER
Is there anything else you can say to beginning writers?
SIMENON
Writing is considered a profession, and I don’t think it is a profession. I think that everyone who does not need to be a writer, who thinks he can do something else, ought to do something else. Writing is not a profession but a vocation of unhappiness. I don’t think an artist can ever be happy.
INTERVIEWER
Why?
SIMENON
Because, first, I think that if a man has the urge to be an artist, it is because he needs to find himself. Every writer tries to find himself through his characters, through all his writing.
INTERVIEWER
He is writing for himself?
SIMENON
Yes. Certainly.
INTERVIEWER
Are you conscious there will be readers of the novel?
SIMENON
I know that there are many men who have more or less the same problems I have, with more or less intensity, and who will be happy to read the book to find the answer—if the answer can possibly be found.
SIMENON
When I did a commercial novel I didn’t think about that novel except in the hours of writing it. But when I am doing a novel now I don’t see anybody, I don’t speak to anybody, I don’t take a phone call—I live just like a monk. All the day I am one of my characters. I feel what he feels.
INTERVIEWER
You are the same character all the way through the writing of that novel?
SIMENON
Always, because most of my novels show what happens around one character. The other characters are always seen by him. So it is in this character’s skin I have to be. And it’s almost unbearable after five or six days. That is one of the reasons my novels are so short; after eleven days I can’t—it’s impossible. I have to—it’s physical. I am too tired.
INTERVIEWER
I should think so. Especially if you drive the main character to his limit.
SIMENON
Yes, yes.
INTERVIEWER
And you are playing this role with him, you are—
SIMENON
Yes. And it’s awful. That is why, before I start a novel—this may sound foolish here, but it is the truth—generally a few days before the start of a novel I look to see that I don’t have any appointments for eleven days. Then I call the doctor. He takes my blood pressure, he checks everything. And he says, “Okay.”