A Writer's Diary

1. The Diary as a vital tool for practice and capturing life.

I believe that during the past year I can trace some increase of ease in my professional writing which I attribute to my casual half hours after tea.

A writer's laboratory. The diary serves as a crucial space for Virginia Woolf to practice her craft, experiment with style, and capture fleeting observations without the pressure of formal publication. It's a place where she can write freely, loosen her "ligaments," and make "direct and instant shots" at her subject, believing this casual writing improves her professional work.

Sweeping up life. Beyond practice, the diary is a capacious "hold-all" for the raw material of life – impressions of people, places, conversations, and daily events. She flings in "odds and ends" haphazardly, trusting that later, this collection will coalesce and refine itself, providing a transparent mould to reflect the light of her life, distinct from her more conscious fiction.

A confidante and record. It functions as a "kindly blankfaced old confidante," a place to vent frustrations, record moods, and track her own development over years. She imagines her future self reading these pages, finding diamonds in the dustheap and perhaps building memoirs from the accumulated record of her thoughts and experiences.

2. Writing is a constant battle against self-doubt and external judgment.

Unpraised, I find it hard to start writing in the morning; but the dejection lasts only 30 minutes, and once I start I forget all about it.

The sting of criticism. Woolf is acutely sensitive to reviews and opinions, experiencing intense swings between elation from praise and deep dejection from blame. Even a single negative comment, especially from someone she respects like E.M. Forster or a perceived "snub" from a young critic, can momentarily "rub out all the pleasure" of positive feedback.

Facing the critics. She anticipates criticism for her experimental style, expecting to be called "mad," "disconnected," "obscure," or "affected." She notes the different tones of reviewers – the "gentlemanly, kindly, timid" Times Literary Supplement versus the "sarcasm" and "sneers" of others – and grapples with how much to let these external voices penetrate her creative process.

Developing resilience. Despite the pain, she recognizes the need to face criticism and even values it for spurring her on. She aims for indifference, reminding herself that her "central fact remains stable, which is the fact of my own pleasure in the art," and that she writes "what I like writing and there's an end on it."

3. Physical and mental states profoundly impact the creative flow.

My mind turned by anxiety, or other cause, from its scrutiny of blank paper, is like a lost child—wandering the house, sitting on the bottom step to cry.

The body's tyranny. Woolf frequently notes how physical ailments, headaches, fatigue, or even minor discomforts like rheumatism or a cold can completely halt her writing process and plunge her into states of misery and impotence. Her brain feels "jaded," "numb," or "tight like a ball of string."

Illness as fertile ground. Paradoxically, these periods of physical constraint or illness can also be creatively fertile. Lying in bed, unable to work or engage with the external world, her mind sometimes becomes a "chrysalis," leading to sudden bursts of ideas or a clearer vision for a book, as experienced before writing A Room of One's Own or The Waves.

Managing energy. She learns to manage her energy, recognizing that intense writing requires careful husbanding of her physical and mental resources. She notes the need for "gentle exercise in the air" and reading "good literature" to "rock oneself back into writing" after a break or illness, contrasting this with the draining effect of social engagements.

4. Finding the unique form and method is an arduous, experimental process.

The design is so queer and so masterful. I'm always having to wrench my substance to fit it.

Experimentation is key. Woolf views writing as a continuous process of groping, experimenting, and discovering new forms. She is constantly seeking an "elastic shape" that can hold everything she wants to convey, moving away from traditional narrative structures towards something more fluid and encompassing.

Discovering method. Her breakthroughs often come unexpectedly, like hitting upon the "tunnelling process" in Mrs. Dalloway or the "play-poem" idea for The Waves. These discoveries are not conscious applications of theory but emerge from a state of "misery" and persistent effort, like touching a "hidden spring."

The struggle for form. Despite moments of "dashing fluency," the process is often a "devil of a struggle," requiring immense effort to fit her substance to the demanding design. She notes the difficulty of maintaining unity, balancing different layers of reality, and ensuring that her experimental methods don't result in books that are "thin," "disjointed," or "incoherent."

5. Observing and reflecting on other writers sharpens one's own craft.

I remember that was my feeling about War and Peace... Its directness, its reality. Yet he's against photographic realism.

Learning from masters. Woolf engages deeply with the works of other writers, both contemporary and classic, using her reading as a spur for her own thinking and writing. She analyzes their techniques, strengths, and weaknesses, comparing her own methods and aspirations to theirs.

Critical insights. Her diary is filled with sharp, often critical, observations on writers like Joyce ("illiterate, underbred"), Conrad ("stiff melodrama"), Hardy ("perfectly aware of everything"), and James ("overreaches himself"). She admires qualities like "beautiful prose," "intellectuality," "vitality," and the ability to capture "reality," while disliking "superficial smartness," "pretentiousness," and "preaching."

Defining her own position. By engaging critically with others, she clarifies her own artistic goals and values. She contrasts her approach with that of realists like Bennett or traditionalists like Galsworthy, defining her pursuit of a more internal, poetic, and experimental form of fiction.

6. The creative process requires intense focus, often conflicting with social life.

Directly one gets to work one is like a person walking, who has seen the country stretching out before.

Immersion and flow. When deeply engaged in writing, Woolf enters a state of intense concentration and flow, where her mind is entirely absorbed by the world she is creating. This state is described as a "magic bubble," a "whirlwind," or a "dream," where ideas rush in and time seems to disappear.

Conflict with the external. This immersive state is fragile and easily disrupted by social interactions, visitors, or the demands of daily life. She feels "dissipated," "harassed," or "jangled" by interruptions, which pull her out of her creative current and make it difficult to regain focus.

Seeking solitude. She often craves solitude and quiet, especially at her country home in Rodmell, to protect this fragile creative state. She notes how seeing people, even friends, can "take the edge off life" or leave her feeling "tired in the head," contrasting the "easy natural poses" of solitude with the effort required in company.

7. Fame and public reception are distracting but reveal truths about oneself and others.

The bore is meeting people who say the usual things. But on the whole I see what I'm aiming at; what I feel is that this time I've had a fair chance and done my best; so that I can be philosophic and lay the blame on God.

The mixed blessing of success. While initially pleased by positive reviews and sales, Woolf quickly finds fame to be a "nuisance" and "vulgar." The need to discuss her books, read reviews, and meet people who offer "usual things" distracts her from the more profound pleasure of writing itself.

Observing reactions. She keenly observes how others react to her success, noting potential envy from friends or the different ways people express praise. She sees public reception as a "temperature chart" for her books, but also as a reflection of the critics and the literary world itself, often finding it superficial or conventional.

Indifference as a goal. She strives for indifference to both praise and blame, aiming to be "perfectly content" and to care "less than I have ever cared." This detachment allows her to maintain her focus on her own artistic vision and to see the public response as something external, separate from the intrinsic value of her work.

8. Writing provides a sense of vitality, purpose, and connection to reality.

The central fact remains stable, which is the fact of my own pleasure in the art.

A source of energy. Despite the difficulties and self-doubt, the act of writing is a fundamental source of energy and vitality for Woolf. It makes her feel "alive," "braced," "round," and "combative," contrasting sharply with periods of idleness or depression.

Finding reality. Writing is also her primary way of engaging with and understanding "reality." She seeks to capture the "essence of reality," the "singing of the real world," through her words, feeling that her mind is "fertilised" and "energised" when it is working.

Mobilizing her being. Through writing, she feels she has "mobilised my being," learning to give complete outcome to everything she feels or thinks. This process provides a sense of purpose and fulfillment, making her feel "better company, more of a human being."

9. The pursuit of a unique voice involves breaking conventional molds.

I think I am better pleased so far than I have ever been. Morgan, Lytton, Bunny, Violet, Logan, Philip, have all written enthusiastically. But I want to be quit of all this.

Seeking originality. Woolf is driven by a desire to find her own voice and create something entirely new in fiction. She rejects conventional forms and methods, constantly experimenting to express her unique vision of consciousness and reality.

Breaking molds. She consciously seeks to "break my moulds" with each new book, moving from the more traditional Night and Day to the experimental Jacob's Room, Mrs. Dalloway, and The Waves. This involves challenging narrative conventions, exploring different perspectives, and combining elements of prose, poetry, and drama.

The risk of failure. This pursuit of originality comes with the risk of being misunderstood or dismissed. She anticipates that her experimental books may be seen as "mad," "disconnected," or "failures," but the excitement of exploring new territory outweighs the fear of not being understood by a wide audience.

10. Personal experiences and relationships are the raw material, but require transmutation.

I think I have just done what I meant; of course I have altered the scheme considerably; but my feeling is that I have insisted upon saying, by hook or by crook, certain things I meant to say.

Life as material. Woolf draws heavily on her own life, experiences, and relationships as the source material for her fiction. Characters are often inspired by real people (her parents in To the Lighthouse, Vita Sackville-West in Orlando), and scenes reflect her observations of social life, places, and personal emotions.

Transmuting reality. However, this material must be transformed through the creative process. She doesn't simply transcribe reality but seeks to "saturate every atom," to make the "deadness" transparent, and to combine facts with vision. This involves selecting, compressing, and shaping the raw material to fit her artistic design.

The difficulty of directness. She notes the challenge of directly incorporating personal experiences or emotions, sometimes finding them "too personal" or "out of key" until she finds the right artistic method to transmute them. The goal is to convey the "true reality" not by simply reporting facts, but by digging deep and finding the underlying pattern or meaning.

Last updated: May 10, 2025