‘Novelist As A Vocation’ by Haruki Murakami: One day at a time
What makes someone decide to become a writer? For Haruki Murakami, it happened in the middle of a baseball game.
Novelist as a Vocation is part memoir, part writer’s manifesto, a thoughtful book by the Japanese author best known for Norwegian Wood, Kafka on the Shore, and Men Without Women. Here, Murakami doesn’t offer a blueprint for writing. Instead, he shares how he stumbled into the life of a novelist without planning for it and without ever seeing himself in the traditional mould of Japanese literary culture.
He was nearly 30 when the moment arrived, unexpected and unshakable:
“The satisfying crack when the bat met the ball resounded through Jingu Stadium. Scattered applause rose around me. In that instant, and based on no grounds whatsoever, it suddenly struck me: I think I can write a novel.”
Murakami explores the mindset of a novelist. To him, most writers are egoistic, proud, and competitive. Their egoism may be justified; through their imagination, they create entire worlds where characters feel real, relatable, and even transformative.
Although the industry is competitive, it remains open. Anyone is welcome, regardless of their background. There are enough readers in the world who will find a new writer’s voice interesting and worth following. But Murakami warns: “It is not that difficult to write a novel or even two. But it is another thing altogether to keep producing, to live off one’s writing, to survive.”
To prove that anyone with an imagination can become a writer, Murakami shares how he won the Gunzo Prize for New Writers after submitting his first book, Hear the Wind Sing, a novel he says he wrote simply for the sake of writing. For him, a successful novelist must be adventurous, willing to experiment, and guided by curiosity above all else.
One of the recurring messages in the book is that curiosity should lead the way in anything you do. Murakami reflects on the criticism he has received over the years and notes that, regardless of what one does or doesn’t do, people will always have something to say. His response?
“If people are going to say terrible things, then I’m just going to write what I want to write, in the way I want to write it.”
It’s advice worth considering, though I believe context matters. Every writer must decide when to listen and when to stay true to their voice.
Murakami also speaks at length about literary prizes and questions their real value. To him, what matters most is the quality of the work and the satisfaction of readers.
“...there is no basis, again, objectively speaking, for the true value of any prize, from the Oscars to the Nobel, except, of course, in those special cases where criteria are based on numerical assessment…”
While I understand where he’s coming from, I also think prizes can serve a purpose, especially in contexts like Tanzania. With limited access to books and a relatively small number of diverse novelists, awards play a vital role. They encourage more people to write, invest in their stories, and create high-quality literature that readers will want to spend time with. These prizes can help document a nation’s history, identity, and culture through books.
Drawing from his personal experience, Murakami emphasises the importance of physical, emotional, and mental fitness in a writer’s life. He believes that storytelling requires deep dives into the subconscious, a place that can be dark and consuming. Without the right balance, a writer can get stuck in that darkness.
“Writing a novel is lonely work, especially the long ones. Sometimes, I feel like I’m sitting all alone at the bottom of a well. Nobody will help me, and nobody’s there to tap me on the back and tell me I’ve done a great job.”
This is why, for him, staying physically fit is essential. He shares his disciplined routine: waking up early, running for an hour each day, and going to bed early. The rhythm of body and mind, he says, creates the ideal conditions for creativity.
Novelist As A Vocation offers practical lessons rooted in Murakami’s own journey. Fans of his fiction will likely enjoy the personal stories, the gentle self-examination, and the clarifications he provides about his writing life. At times, the book feels repetitive, but it remains a rewarding read, especially for those considering writing as a potential career path.
Because if there’s one clear truth in these pages, it’s this: you don’t need to quit your day job to be a writer. You just need to want to do it. Be curious. Find joy in the process. Be imaginative. And write, not out of desperation but with a kind of faith strong enough to be called delusional.
