[Patricia Highsmith] eventually housed three hundred snails in her garden in Suffolk, England, and once arrived at a London cocktail party carrying a gigantic handbag that contained a head of lettuce and a hundred snails—her companions for the evening, she said. When she later moved to France, Highsmith had to get around the prohibition against bringing live snails into the country. So she smuggled them in, making multiple trips across the border with six to ten of the creatures hidden under each breast.

Just one of the many nuggets this book offers. Flaubert would sit in bed for hours upon waking late, ringing a bell to indicate to his mother he was ready for her company. Glenn Gould would talk to folks on the phone for so long they sometimes fell asleep without him noticing. William H. Gass spent a couple hours most mornings wandering around taking photos of waste and filth in the environs, a habit he didn’t think unusual.

While there are many milquetoast entries, the refrain of rising early and writing until lunch becomes almost like the enduring hum of a singing bowl. It becomes like a mantra that encourages you to aspire toward the same productivity. I find reading the routines of artists inspiring for some reason. It’s the same inspiration you see just by being near a bookshelf or creating a list of books to be read, without actually a word of the books.