[Many of us are caught in the following predicament: we have tremendous pent-up wanderlust, but we don’t feel that it’s quite safe enough to travel yet. So, let me present you with some excerpts from my book A Writer’s Paris to help slake some of that wanderlust, while at the same time providing you with lessons of values to writers and all creatives. These essays also connect to my recent book Redesign Your Mind, as they present new ways of thinking about the creative process and the writing life.]
During one visit to Paris, I find myself tasked by a friend with locating a gargoyle suitable for petting. As everyone knows, there is no shortage of gargoyles in Paris. Notre Dame alone has tons of them. But those gargoyles are where they’re supposed to be—high up and out of reach, where they can best perform their function as waterspouts. Finding a gargoyle at petting level is no easy task.
As I go out each day to write, I keep my eyes peeled. After a few days, I begin to see gargoyle mirages—mirages that turn out to be passers-by scowling. If I spoke French, I might ask around (and indeed it would be appealing to inquire of a shopkeeper or a gendarme, “Monsieur, where might I go to pet a gargoyle?”). But I haven’t the French for such a sentence and must rely upon happy accident.
One morning, having just about given up on finding a suitable gargoyle, I stroll over to a small park on the Left Bank just opposite Notre Dame. After writing, I poke about the bins in front of Shakespeare & Company, almost buying but finally passing on various cheap editions of the Romantic poets. I proceed to wander through the warren of alleys where my favorite Greek sandwiches live. Choosing among the hawkers, I buy a sandwich piled high with fries, and amble away from the Seine, looking for a good spot to eat and make a mess.
I spot a friendly park and spend the next hour eating and addressing the question of the day: Are all obsessions dangerous, even the good ones; and, if they are, is it possible that the rewards can still outweigh the risks? Life can’t get much better than a sunny day, a messy sandwich, and a worthy question. I vanish, as writers do. Cathedral bells chime as I make notes for a book with the working title of Beethoven’s Brain.
After I conclude lunch, I turn a corner and come upon a building’s entrance. I have happened upon the Musée de Cluny, Paris’s storehouse of things medieval. My heart begins beating a little faster. Where better to find a stray gargoyle? I pass through an arch and enter a courtyard. There it is!
In the courtyard sits an old well, and sticking straight out at chest level from the well surround is a gargoyle perfect for petting. I am too excited to notice whether it is defecating or picking its nose or doing anything outrageous (as most gargoyles are). I rush back to my studio to report, and learn later that this gargoyle has far exceeded the expectations of the person at whose behest I have been looking. She informs me that it is so right a gargoyle that she has devoted a whole clip of photos to memorializing it.
Read up on gargoyles. They are very Parisian, very medieval, and have lots to say about what you’d be up against if you were a French peasant circa 1600 with aspirations in the arts or sciences. High above you, defecating and dripping snot, a host of spouting gargoyles would be watching your every move.
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