I have known very few writers, but those I have known, and whom I respected, confess atonce that they have little idea where they are going when they first set pen to paper. They have acharacter, perhaps two; they are in that condition of eager discomfort which passes forinspiration; all admit radical changes of destination once the joumey has begun; one, to mycertain knowledge, spent nine months on a novel about Kashmir, then reset the whole thing inthe Scottish Highlands. I never heard of anyone making a "skeleton", as we were taught at school.In the breaking and remaking, in the timing, interweaving, beginning afresh, the writer comes todiscern things in his material which were not consciously in his mind when he began.

This organic process, often leading to moments of extraordinary self-discovery, is of anindescribable fascination. A blurred image appears, he adds a brushstroke and another, and it isgone; but something was there, and he will not rest till he has captured it. Sometimes the’ yeastwithin a writer outlives a book he has written. I have heard of writers who read nothing but theirown books, like adolescents they stand before the mirror, and still cannot fathom the exact outlineof the vision before them. For the same reason, writers talk interminably about their own books,winkling out hidden meanings, superimposing new ones, begging response from those aroundthem.

Of course a writer doing this is misunderstood: he might as well try to explain a crime or alove affair. He is also. Incidentally, an unforgivable bore. This temptation to cover the distancebetween himself and the reader, to study his image in the sight of those who do not know him,can be his undoing: he has begun to write to please.

A young English writer made the pertinent observation a year or two back that the talentgoes into the first draft, and the art into the drafts that follow. For this reason also the writer, likeany other artist, has no resting place, no crowd or movement in which he may take comfort, nojudgment from outside which can replace the judgment from within. A writer makes order out ofthe anarchy of his heart; he submits himself to a more ruthless discipline than any critic dreamedof, and when he flirts with fame, he is taking time off from living with himself, from the search forwhat his world contains at its inmost point.

1. The writers that the author is familiar with confess that they would

A. work out the ending of a novel in advance.

B. follow the writing methods learned at school.

C. remodel the main character in writing.

D. make changes to the stories they first construct.

2. According to the passage, the process of writing

A. depends on skillful planning.

B. is predictable and methodological.

C. depends on the writers’ experiences.

D. is disorderly and unsystematic.

3. The word "undoing" in the third paragraph probably suggests

A. success.

B. happiness.

C. failure.

D. sorrow.

4. According to the passage, the writer has no resting place because

A. he is not clear about what he will write at the beginning.

B. he should constantly edit his work to make it perfect.

C. he has to face a lot of responses given by readers.

D. he should add brushstrokes to the appearing blurred images.

5. Which of the following statements about writers is TRUE according to the last paragraph?

A. They have little ideas before they start writing.

B. Their talent goes into all their drafts.

C. It does harm to their writing when they flirt with fame.

D. They try to increase communication with readers.