"When I start getting close to the end of a novel, something registers in the back of my mind for the next novel, so that I usually don't write, or take notes. And I certainly don't begin. I just allow things to percolate for a while"
About this Quote
Russo’s craft talk is quietly anti-hustle: the moment a book is nearing its finish line, he refuses the modern reflex to “capture” the next idea before it evaporates. That refusal is the point. He’s describing a mental handoff, where the conscious, managerial part of the writer steps back so the deeper machinery can start sorting the next story without being bossed around.
The key verb is “registers,” not “arrives.” Inspiration isn’t a thunderbolt; it’s a faint notification at the edge of attention. Russo’s subtext is that forcing it into outlines and note cards too early can flatten it into a premise instead of a lived world. By “certainly” not beginning, he’s also protecting the current novel’s ending from being contaminated by impatience. Endings demand moral clarity; new projects tempt you with novelty. His discipline is to finish the emotional accounting before shopping for a new debt.
“Percolate” signals patience with ambiguity. It’s a coffee-maker metaphor, yes, but it’s also about extraction: time and pressure pulling flavor out of raw material. In the context of Russo’s reputation for character-driven realism, this makes sense. His novels aren’t puzzles to be engineered; they’re communities of people whose motives have to reveal themselves gradually. The intent isn’t mysticism about the muse, but a method: trust the subconscious to do messy, inefficient work that planning can’t shortcut.
It’s also a statement of identity. Russo positions the writer less as a content producer and more as an observer with boundaries, someone willing to wait until an idea has earned the right to be written.
The key verb is “registers,” not “arrives.” Inspiration isn’t a thunderbolt; it’s a faint notification at the edge of attention. Russo’s subtext is that forcing it into outlines and note cards too early can flatten it into a premise instead of a lived world. By “certainly” not beginning, he’s also protecting the current novel’s ending from being contaminated by impatience. Endings demand moral clarity; new projects tempt you with novelty. His discipline is to finish the emotional accounting before shopping for a new debt.
“Percolate” signals patience with ambiguity. It’s a coffee-maker metaphor, yes, but it’s also about extraction: time and pressure pulling flavor out of raw material. In the context of Russo’s reputation for character-driven realism, this makes sense. His novels aren’t puzzles to be engineered; they’re communities of people whose motives have to reveal themselves gradually. The intent isn’t mysticism about the muse, but a method: trust the subconscious to do messy, inefficient work that planning can’t shortcut.
It’s also a statement of identity. Russo positions the writer less as a content producer and more as an observer with boundaries, someone willing to wait until an idea has earned the right to be written.
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
More Quotes by Richard
Add to List



