On Writing and Watches

This old Eternamatic Kontiki 20 has been on more adventures than I likely ever will. Guess I’ll have to make some up.

I’ve taken a brief hiatus from writing about watches to focus on finishing my next novel, one which is a departure from anything I’ve written before both in content and style. It takes a degree of discipline and forethought that I’m frankly not used to in my more free-form narrative approach. While the focus of my writing has shifted away from watches (at least temporarily), that hardly means they are gone. In fact, I have a specific and peculiar part of the ritual for writing which intersects with my love of watches. I thought it might be fun to muse on that ritual here, and give a little more insight than anyone probably wants into my creative process.

I’m not laying claim to the idea of a “writing watch,” or creation as a ritual, be it art, music, or writing. I’d be far from the first person to propose watches for specific use cases. Dive watches, chronographs, dress watches, all are far more tailored to their uses than what I’m talking about. I’ve written before that I view watches as talismanic, and that’s really what I’m getting at here.

I fall short of the stereotype of a writer. Sure, I occasionally indulge in a Scotch when I write, but I’m not locked away in a drafty garret writing in a drunken fever. I like a nice, quiet space with some music that suits the mood or, more recently, a white noise machine or app. A comfy chair helps. A cup of hot coffee helps even more.

Where does the watch come in? That talismanic quality I mentioned helps me create a sense of time and place, and even helps create the feeling that a story is unfolding (unwinding?) before me.

The compass bezel of the ivory Seiko Alpinist encourages me to get lost in the story, because it’ll always be there to help guide me home.

Sure, there are physical attributes that make a watch an ideal writing partner. I prefer a watch that is light and unobtrusive, which means I tend toward smaller, often vintage pieces or dress watches. You might think a timing bezel would be helpful for timing my productivity, but I rarely do that. As I write this, I’m wearing a Tudor Black Bay 36. It’s beautiful but it doesn’t distract.

More important than the physical specifications of the watch is the vibe. Look, I’m a storyteller, so I like watches that tell a story of their own. Maybe it’s a watch with a special memory attached to it, like the 1965 Tissot Seastar my wife had engraved for my first father’s day. The name can be evocative, the design can allude to something meaningful. Maybe the brand has a particularly storied history, even if it’s a short one. Even the acquisition of a watch can be part of the story. Obviously, a vintage watch with its battle scars and a life that might have started long before mine is an ideal companion.

Writing is a solitary endeavor for the most part, but for someone who forms a close bond with a watch, wearing the right one can be like having a friend along for the journey. It can even help unlock the creativity that can be so elusive. Far from just ticking away the time, perhaps the watch is whispering its own story to me as I write.

There’s nothing particularly unusual about connecting watches to a special activity, any more than a person who always wears their lucky jersey when their team plays, or having a favorite purse, jacket, or outfit. After all, people talk about “special occasion” watches or watches worn for a given activity all the time. That said, I’ve never heard anyone admit to this specific habit of mine, and the act of choosing a watch for the feelings it brings while writing.

Now, it must be said there is a downside to this ritual, because occasionally (read: often) I will get distracted by the little mechanical shiny thing on my wrist. Especially when I’m editing. Editing is the worst.