In conversations about literature, we often speak of ‘material’ as the stuff of experience that must be discovered and refined into art, as in: “The poet found her material traipsing through the backwoods of her youth.” In truth, though, a writer’s material needs are few: a pen or pencil, a notebook, perhaps a computer. Coffee, tea, or booze sometimes seem to help. And snacks are often essential, as is a warm, quiet room. Compared to a painter’s studio, with its tubes and tubs, its canvases and rags and brushes, a writer’s desk is spare. . . .