For some reason, I’ve encountered this phrase a few times this weekend: “The pattern in the carpet”. It refers to a story by Victorian-era author Henry James, a writer whose work has never really caught my attention — at least, not as much as this single expression. The story is about a novelist who dies without conveying to the world the one secret that links all his books together.
For me, the phrase doesn’t seem to require much explanation but opens a lot of interesting trains of thought, particularly in the context of writing. Though similar to searching for shapes in the clouds, seeing a “pattern in the carpet” is a bit more grounded. As writers, we’re constantly looking for a different way of seeing the constructed world around us, tilting our heads one way or another to take it all in from a new angle. And the success comes when you coax others en masse into seeing things in the same manner.
As someone in the midst of a new project, I feel this is a perfect way to describe the task of rewriting; it’s not so much about inventing characters as it is recognizing characters that an audience will respond to: the disapproving parent, the jealous lover, the selfish child, etc. That’s definitely tricky, as you’re banking on the fact that people will share the same general outlook on the world, but have yet to consider a particular way of seeing it. All the while you’ve got to avoid clichés and well-trodden storylines.
And this is why writers drink.
