Writers spend a lot of time worrying about the wrong things. Font choice. Notebook brands. Whether drinking coffee after noon is a moral failure. Nutrition occasionally wanders into the discussion.
Fruit, we are told, is good for us. Sensible. Clean. Full of vitamins and virtue. But if fruit is going to earn a place on an author’s desk, it needs to do more than look reassuring in a bowl. It needs to suit the work.
The banana is often recommended, and for good reason. It’s quiet, self-contained, and doesn’t drip on to the manuscript. It provides steady energy and can be eaten one-handed while staring accusingly at a sentence that refuses to behave. The downside is that it ripens with alarming speed, much like an idea you meant to deal with later.
The apple has a long literary pedigree. It keeps doctors away, apparently, and offers a satisfying crunch when a paragraph finally lands. Unfortunately, apples are noisy. Biting into one during a moment of concentration feels like punctuation you didn’t ask for. Also, once sliced, they brown — a visual reminder of time passing, which no writer needs.
Berries are fashionable and full of antioxidants, which sounds promising. They are also treacherous. Blueberries stain fingers, pages and occasionally reputations. Raspberries demand commitment and napkins. Strawberries drip. These are fruits for people whose workspaces are already under control.
The orange is optimistic but impractical. Peeling one mid-session guarantees sticky fingers and an interruption that feels longer than it is. The smell lingers, which is pleasant, but it also encourages wandering thoughts about childhood lunches and holidays — both dangerous distractions.
In truth, the best fruit for authors is the one that doesn’t interrupt the work, doesn’t demand attention and doesn’t make a mess. Something modest. Something forgiving. Something that understands the difference between nourishment and ceremony.
Which brings me to my own habits.
My favourite fruit remains chocolate. I know it isn’t a fruit in the botanical sense, but it begins as a bean, which feels close enough when you’re on a deadline. It requires no preparation, improves morale instantly, and never judges you for rewriting the same paragraph four times.
Furthermore, a packet of Tim Tams can last a whole page.
JOHN MARTIN 