In the process of writing Greasepaint Puritan, I learned much about the sequence and circumstances of Bradford Ropes's writing, which encompassed 42nd Street (1932), Stage Mother (1933), Go Into Your Dance (1934), and Mr. Tilley Takes a Walk (1951), as well as several unpublished novels, ranging from biographical to mystery genres.
But the most interesting piece of archival research pertaining to Ropes's writing process itself comes from a hometown newspaper (c. early 1940s), and reveals to what extent dance not only informed the subject matter but the compositional method of his work as a novelist and screenwriter. I quote:
"He has a unique system of 'wooing the muse' as it were, when he is in the throes of writing a novel or scenario. Other novelists have written on ironing boards, atop refrigerators and in subway trains, but Mr. Ropes finds mental refuge in propping one leg over the arm of a chair, the foot stuck straight up, a handkerchief either clenched in his teeth or in his left hand breast pocket---and in front of him his typewriter, at which he picks rapidly with one finger. He is able to sit in that position because he is limber, still the result of his many years as a dancer. His method is not recommended for authors unless they have terpsichorean backgrounds."
One wonders not only which authors wrote atop ironing boards and fridges--but to what extent Ropes's method was a kind of Method, in the Stanislavskian sense, allowing him to access with embodied authenticity and memory the inner lives of his chorus boys and girls, and vaudevillian hoofers?
In thinking about Ropes with his propped-up leg and typewriter pizzicato, I was also inspired to seek out other cases of unusual writers' methods. Ropes joins multiple colorful examples: Ernest Hemingway standing over his typewriter; Jack Kerouac writing the first draft of On the Road on a continuous, 120-foot-long scroll; and Agatha Christie snacking on apples in the bathtub while plotting her books (more at this link). Christie would have likely approved of Victor Hugo's habit of writing in the nude, so as to force himself not to leave the house while wooing the muse.
But the most interesting piece of archival research pertaining to Ropes's writing process itself comes from a hometown newspaper (c. early 1940s), and reveals to what extent dance not only informed the subject matter but the compositional method of his work as a novelist and screenwriter. I quote:
"He has a unique system of 'wooing the muse' as it were, when he is in the throes of writing a novel or scenario. Other novelists have written on ironing boards, atop refrigerators and in subway trains, but Mr. Ropes finds mental refuge in propping one leg over the arm of a chair, the foot stuck straight up, a handkerchief either clenched in his teeth or in his left hand breast pocket---and in front of him his typewriter, at which he picks rapidly with one finger. He is able to sit in that position because he is limber, still the result of his many years as a dancer. His method is not recommended for authors unless they have terpsichorean backgrounds."
One wonders not only which authors wrote atop ironing boards and fridges--but to what extent Ropes's method was a kind of Method, in the Stanislavskian sense, allowing him to access with embodied authenticity and memory the inner lives of his chorus boys and girls, and vaudevillian hoofers?
In thinking about Ropes with his propped-up leg and typewriter pizzicato, I was also inspired to seek out other cases of unusual writers' methods. Ropes joins multiple colorful examples: Ernest Hemingway standing over his typewriter; Jack Kerouac writing the first draft of On the Road on a continuous, 120-foot-long scroll; and Agatha Christie snacking on apples in the bathtub while plotting her books (more at this link). Christie would have likely approved of Victor Hugo's habit of writing in the nude, so as to force himself not to leave the house while wooing the muse.
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