Thread: Novelist's Shave Kit

Originally Posted by fritz

Well, for sure you forgot the strop(s). And unless you plan on writing a novel in less than a week, a barber's hone or pasted paddle strops. Alum block, and styptic pencil, and bandaids.
And a backup razor. If you take it, you won't need it. But if you don't, Murphy says you'll chip your blade on the faucet the first day and end up growing a beard.

BANDAIDS???

I guess I'm lucky so far, not needed any of those yet!

Originally Posted by fritz

Well, for sure you forgot the strop(s). And unless you plan on writing a novel in less than a week, a barber's hone or pasted paddle strops. Alum block, and styptic pencil, and bandaids.
And a backup razor. If you take it, you won't need it. But if you don't, Murphy says you'll chip your blade on the faucet the first day and end up growing a beard.

lots of novelists grew beards. in fact, a short-cropped beard is kind of the "novelist look"

Your brain and you literacy. Honestly, the rest is superfluous. Personally I'd want to shave but if I didn't have the time, I wouldn't.

Originally Posted by AlanII

Your brain and you literacy. Honestly, the rest is superfluous. Personally I'd want to shave but if I didn't have the time, I wouldn't.

this.
anything else, and you may as well get a mac book pro, and hang out at starbucks while you write

I'd quite like a Mac Book Pro. **** Starbucks though, I can make my own coffee.

Originally Posted by jehan60188

this. anything else, and you may as well get a mac book pro, and hang out at starbucks while you write

Oh, great. You do realise that my entire street is full of young people who "do something with culture", flaunting Macbooks, sipping cappuccino after 11am, and wearing sunglasses last seen on John Holmes? Just thought I'd mention it...

Originally Posted by BeBerlin

Oh, great. You do realise that my entire street is full of young people who "do something with culture", flaunting Macbooks, sipping cappuccino after 11am, and wearing sunglasses last seen on John Holmes? Just thought I'd mention it...

sounds rough. just keep marching to the beat of your own flute, and you'll be ok

Gentlemen,

What profound thoughts from all of you. I appreciate that.

Some reflections:

One of the greatest joys of my life is the time I spend every morning shaving, especially with a straight razor. I think this is partly because of my experience as a U.S. Army combat correspondent in the jungles of Vietnam, where half the time I felt like a slug sporting sandpaper for my handome mug. No more, I say.

Now, whether in Province or Scotland, the great shave comes first.

Although I admire gentlemen with well trimmed and classy beards, I choose not to have one for myself, because I would find life difficult walking around with my face stuck in a bush. A clean shave for this novelist, if you please, gentlemen.

I drink regular coffee, but no deadly sweet boutiques, and I try to avoid Starbucks, because I find its coffee undrinkable. Of course I blend my own coffees. I also blend my own loose teas, which I prepare in a samovar. Now if I were going to Vienna, sitting in Cafe Mozart and drinking those magnificent coffees and savoring those magnificent pastries, that would, indeed, be a treat. But I'm not in Vienna.

I chose not to mention strop and styptic pencil in my novelist's shave kit, because I consider them as the straight razor's regular entourage. Unless, of course, one has a special strop, which I don't. I do have alum block, but I prefer witch hazel.

Should my Thiers-Issard get damaged, heaven forbid, I would find the opportunity as a great excuse to to make a short pilgrimage to, say, London, where I can go nuts at Taylor of Old Bond Street, Truefitt & Hill and Geo F Trumper.

Should that happen, I would take a notebook along and my beloved Pelikan fountain pen. I would find a good pub and fade away with the novel — if I can be dragged away from thos glorious shaving institutions.

Let me see, "It was a cold and rainy day . . ." I say, perhaps another ale before I continue.

Regards,

Obie
obieyadgar.com

It was a cold and rainy London day, he stayed in bed for a hour longer than usual before getting up and shaving. When all was done, coffee drunk, he sidled down to the nearest pub. At the bar, he bumped into an old friend that he had not seen in years. The now near, though never really stranger said,

"Hello, what are you doing at the moment?"

"I'm working on my novel."

"Ahh, neither am I," his old friend replied.

This joke is copyright, Peter Cook. RIP.

Gentlemen,

That's a good joke, and it rings true. Believe me, I've been there many times.

Regards,

Obie