Mendelsohn writes in bed, propped up on lots of pillows with his laptop. He starts by turning on the TV (“I can’t stand to do it alone, that’s the worst part of writing”), favoring Law & Order reruns or CNN. “I trick myself. I’m not writing, I’m just watching TV, and if an opening line happens to occur to me, I’ll write it down,” he explains. “If I think of my lede, I can write the whole piece. I’m in. I know the terrain. If I don’t have that first sentence, I can’t write anything else. I spend a lot of time eating Doritos and procrastinating: Oh, I should plant more lavender. Then there’s the point where my eyes roll back in my head and I’m there; I have no idea the TV is even on.” He shrugs. “I used to be ashamed of it, until a shrink I was seeing said, ‘What’s the problem? It’s not like you’re blocked.’”
“I’m awed by friends who write 1,500 words a day, or 10 pages every morning. It’s idiosyncratic. Whatever works for you. But I hate the icky period, the Doritos period. And people who leave off in midsentence?” Daniel Mendelsohn shudders extravagantly. “This is what comes of being raised by strict, neat parents. I have to get to the end.”
