Top Nine Writer’s Rules #3: Marriage

So far in this series of Top Nine Writer’s Rules, great and good authors have offered advice on matters which are fairly straightforward: starting a book, or how to get the inspiration to pick up the pen in the first place.

That all changes this week. There seems little agreement as to the precise effect of the matrimony upon authors. Most, however, seem to agree that writing and marriage do not go together like a horse and carriage.

It’s been difficult to narrow down contributors to this vexed and much-discussed topic  – Cyril Connolly narrowly failed to make the cut, as did Martin Amis  – but here are the top nine rules.

The leading contender for the unwritten tenth rule would appear to be ‘Don’t’. But that decision, as ever, is yours…



‘I seem entirely lacking in that desire to impose oneself that is such a feature of masculine behaviour: by marriage, by “sexual intercourse”. Bothering people. Inflicting oneself on people. I’m devoid of all that, & it leaves a sort of central motiveless vacuum.’


‘The reason why modern poetry is difficult is so the poet’s wife can’t understand it.’



‘I have a wife, a piece of string, a pencil and a knife; what more can a man want on a honeymoon?’



‘Even if my marriage is falling apart and my children are unhappy and my spouse is unhappy, there is still a part of me that says, “God! This is fascinating!”’



‘I believe that all those painters and writers who leave their wives have an idea at the back of their minds that their painting or writing will be the better for it, whereas they only go from bad to worse.’



 ‘Marriage is very difficult if you’re a woman and a writer. No wonder Virginia Woolf committed suicide.’   



‘I think of writing simply in terms of pleasure. It’s the most important thing in my life, making things. Much as I love my husband and my children, I love them because I am the person who makes these things.’



‘The thinker inhabits fictions of purity, of reasoned propositions as sharp as white light. Marriage is about roughage, bills, garbage disposal, and noise. There is something vulgar, almost absurd, in the notion of a Mrs Plato or a Mme. Descartes, or of Wittgenstein on a honeymoon.’



‘Without knowing it I wanted to get into adult fiction, to use all of myself and my experience. Only after my wife and I separated did I feel free.’




  • traceymacleod

    I remember that strange dinner Terence. We all had to sing a song: Bruce Anderson did some anti-Bobby Sands number. The details of his dreadful exchange with Johan Hari escape me, but I remember Simon K being quite gleeful about it all: THIS is the Independent spirit. Sad day today.

    • Terence Blacker

      Yes, I’m surprised by how gloomy it has made me feel. What an odd night that was. Were you there for the wine-throwing incident? I hope you’re well in spite of the February blues. Tx

      • traceymacleod

        I actually think it was Bruce who called Johan fat, but may be wrong. It was so shocking at the time we all just recoiled. I missed the legendary wine-throwing. But I do remember the horror of being made to sing. I think I sang Treasures Untold by Jimmie Rodgers and you knew it. But again, may be wrong.
        Yes, all well here thanks, apart from Indy-related gloom and fretting. Hope all good with you. Harry sends his regards x

        • Terence Blacker

          I certainly remember your Jimmie Rodgers. And you’re probably right about who fatted who. Love to you both. Maybe we could meet up some time on the east coast. x

  • Dominic Newbould

    Perhaps the online Indy will be stronger – and just as quirky as ever…?

    • Terence Blacker

      Somehow I doubt it – and the problem is that everyone’s quirky online. Print is somehow different.