It took more than seventy pages, but Hemingway's A Movable Feast finally comes back to the actual method of writing. Hearing about his time betting on horses and lunch with F. Scott Fitzgerald was interesting, but the point of this blog is to delve into the depths of writing. As Hemingway says, "Since I had started to break down all my writing and get rid of all facility and try to make instead of describe, writing had been wonderful to do. But it was very difficult, and I didn't not know how I would ever write anything as long as a novel. It often took me a full morning of work to write a paragraph" (156). Alas, I can relate to the legendary wordsmith. If even one of the most renowned writers has trouble articulating his thoughts into words, then I can feel better about myself. Hemingway is now seen as human. I can relate and just picture him sitting in some cafe twiddling his thumbs and biting a pencil to shreds trying to think of what to say. I was generally doing the same thing before I found this quote. Don't worry though, my parents have properly chastised me about gnawing on the keyboard.
Does this mean that all writer's are this human? I see IB student's blood shot eyes and frazzled hair and think to myself are we really as great as Hemingway? We have to sit down every year and write a full length essay with proper thesis and structure that also applies all of the lessons we have learned in HOA and English. Old Ernesto can't even write a paragraph in one day sometimes! Could it really have changed from writer's taking the longest time to write paragraphs and now we write much more than that on a daily basis? Or is it simply that our papers aren't as good as Hemingway? Obviously, we may not all have the talents that he has. We also don't have to make novels, just essays. However, it is a testament to us that we can hammer out a paragraph in less than five minutes.
Hemingway also has a much harsher grading scale than we do. He probably has the largest pile of scrunched up papers filling all of the adjacent tables in his cafe because he has to write for himself. While we have harsh Swiss evaluators, nothing compares to the crushing disappointment in a paper if you are writing it for yourself and it doesn't live up to your standards. No one has low standards for themselves.
Every time I look over a paper I have written I see all the mistakes in neon highlighter, bright as can be. When we write for Swissies, we never actually write to our best standards. Those scrunched up papers most likely hold the ideas and paragraphs we would be glad to cut and paste into our own works. His own inner writer never tells him it is good enough.
So, while his paragraphs take longer to write, they are quality. IB is a harsh mistress, but it cannot compare to the shrew in each of us telling us to do better. It provides modest comfort that even Hemingway doesn't finish his assignments as quickly as he would like, but I still have to face the fact that I have to read his books with those day long paragraphs instead of the other way around.
Sunday
Into the Ground, Into Fame
A Movable Feast, by Ernest Hemingway can basically be summed up as a broke writer's laments on his fun in Paris during World War 2. In realizing this, I have come to a conclusion: Great writers who are broke in life will make their fame when they're dead. This may seem dreary, having to suffer your whole life broke then only being famous after you are six feet under the earth, but look at all of the great names we know that wrote renowned works that were only cared for after they are dead. Edgar Allen Poe, Emily Dickinson, Franz Kafka, and obviously Hemingway. All are paragons of exemplary writing and are studied by all students in public and private school classrooms across the U.S. Yet, they were broke and sold cheap little stories just to put bread on the table.
What is it about the writer's condition that you must barely survive long enough to create amazing works, then die and wait for those books to become bibles for English teachers. I can't imagine living like that. The sad thing is that writer's aren't the only group that does live that way. Ever heard of "starving artists"? These are people that strive to be like Van Gogh and will spend their time painting instead of eating so that they can die and be remembered the same way.
If Hemingway's book has taught me anything, it has taught me that some people can be so dedicated to their work, they don't even care they won't be around to see it in art galleries and book stores. They just do it to do it. Every other page in this book is about Hemingway writing little dime stories so he doesn't have to starve. Yet he quit his other writing job (higher paying) because it wasn't satisfying writing. That is like a college or NFL football coach deciding to quit and teach Pop Warner just because he wants to coach the younger ones where it is more rewarding. You don't see that dedication every day, and you especially don't see that dedication ever paying off. Hemingway made it happen though, Ill give him credit. To go out on that limb and just hope for the best take heart. I hope I have that much heart some day when it comes for me to make some kind of risk.
What is it about the writer's condition that you must barely survive long enough to create amazing works, then die and wait for those books to become bibles for English teachers. I can't imagine living like that. The sad thing is that writer's aren't the only group that does live that way. Ever heard of "starving artists"? These are people that strive to be like Van Gogh and will spend their time painting instead of eating so that they can die and be remembered the same way.
If Hemingway's book has taught me anything, it has taught me that some people can be so dedicated to their work, they don't even care they won't be around to see it in art galleries and book stores. They just do it to do it. Every other page in this book is about Hemingway writing little dime stories so he doesn't have to starve. Yet he quit his other writing job (higher paying) because it wasn't satisfying writing. That is like a college or NFL football coach deciding to quit and teach Pop Warner just because he wants to coach the younger ones where it is more rewarding. You don't see that dedication every day, and you especially don't see that dedication ever paying off. Hemingway made it happen though, Ill give him credit. To go out on that limb and just hope for the best take heart. I hope I have that much heart some day when it comes for me to make some kind of risk.
The Foundation to All
" ' Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know'" (Hemingway 12).
I read this passage while perusing the pages of A Movable Feast by Ernest Hemingway. I've never really thought about how I write a paper when first starting, but that seems to be a good idea. Most of our papers we do in school has to do with that one truth we are writing about. I mean, what is a thesis sentence anyways? It is a TRUE statement that you are attempting to prove in your paper. The only trick that the writer comes across, however, is what is true. After all, the world don't move to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you, may not be right for some (Different Strokes). Truth is truth only to the beholder. I may enjoy football, so my truth could be football is the greatest sport. A Futboller may disagree. If you can find that truth though, you have a granite keystone that you can build your paper around. It is that cement foundation that you can build a structure on. But all buildings need that foundation. Whether it be a thirty story glass marvel of engineering like Hemingway or Dostoyevsky, or the smaller, simple building like most authors, they all have that key foundation holding it up.
All great papers revolve around that one great truth. It's what most writers are searching for, to express. It doesn't always have to be a lesson, but you can find truth in anything you read. Hitler's Mein Kampf is an example of this. His views on superior races is solely his opinion. It is true for him. While, Mao's Little Red Book is all the way from the other side of the spectrum and proclaims what Mao sees as truth. No matter what truth I choose to pursue, it all begins with that one true statement. If it's a good enough method for Hemingway, then it's good enough for me.
I read this passage while perusing the pages of A Movable Feast by Ernest Hemingway. I've never really thought about how I write a paper when first starting, but that seems to be a good idea. Most of our papers we do in school has to do with that one truth we are writing about. I mean, what is a thesis sentence anyways? It is a TRUE statement that you are attempting to prove in your paper. The only trick that the writer comes across, however, is what is true. After all, the world don't move to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you, may not be right for some (Different Strokes). Truth is truth only to the beholder. I may enjoy football, so my truth could be football is the greatest sport. A Futboller may disagree. If you can find that truth though, you have a granite keystone that you can build your paper around. It is that cement foundation that you can build a structure on. But all buildings need that foundation. Whether it be a thirty story glass marvel of engineering like Hemingway or Dostoyevsky, or the smaller, simple building like most authors, they all have that key foundation holding it up.
All great papers revolve around that one great truth. It's what most writers are searching for, to express. It doesn't always have to be a lesson, but you can find truth in anything you read. Hitler's Mein Kampf is an example of this. His views on superior races is solely his opinion. It is true for him. While, Mao's Little Red Book is all the way from the other side of the spectrum and proclaims what Mao sees as truth. No matter what truth I choose to pursue, it all begins with that one true statement. If it's a good enough method for Hemingway, then it's good enough for me.
Tuesday
Krieg in Paree
As an avid reader, I like to be quite varied in books I read. This tends to give me a very large scope and odd tid bits of information. I have actually learned a lot of random facts and come to awe inspiring conclusions based off of things I have read. My expansive reading list has included, Greek Mythology, Norse Mythology, spy novels, analysis of people's reactions, criminal behaviour, sniper novels, biographies of Navy Seals, thrillers, lawyer books, mysteries and occasionally short stories. That may seem diverse but I am a fickle beast that just sees a book and reads it. The connections between books are the most enlightening parts of reading. When you open a book you open a window in your brain, and when you've opened a lot of windows, you have a very well ventilated house. A well ventilated house has plenty of halls leading to rooms with windows in them. I like to spend my time in those hallways redecorating. When I come up with a new idea connecting two ideas from two different books, I get a little too excited.
For instance, I have been reading A Movable Feast, which follows Hemingway through Paris during Dubya Dubya Deuce. While this has been for school, I also was recently reading a fictional story about World War
II and a secret plot to assasinate someone. In this fictional work, Master Sniper, by Stephen Hunter, the main character of Leetz meets a certain burly, moustachioed individual at a party in Paree. Yea. I was happy. I was amazed that two so vastly different works could possibly be related at all.
We always may see allusions to other books with comparisons to famous characters or even deep meaningful quotes. Not having that character at a party (Drunk off his moustache by the way) who is about to get in a fight with the main character over a girl. That's like having Obama make a guest appearance on an episode of Law and Order as the cracked out murder suspect. Trippy right?
Cumpenati
I am the common man's pianist
For instance, I have been reading A Movable Feast, which follows Hemingway through Paris during Dubya Dubya Deuce. While this has been for school, I also was recently reading a fictional story about World War
II and a secret plot to assasinate someone. In this fictional work, Master Sniper, by Stephen Hunter, the main character of Leetz meets a certain burly, moustachioed individual at a party in Paree. Yea. I was happy. I was amazed that two so vastly different works could possibly be related at all.
We always may see allusions to other books with comparisons to famous characters or even deep meaningful quotes. Not having that character at a party (Drunk off his moustache by the way) who is about to get in a fight with the main character over a girl. That's like having Obama make a guest appearance on an episode of Law and Order as the cracked out murder suspect. Trippy right?
Cumpenati
I am the common man's pianist
Thursday
Hemingway the Painter
While most children will grown up into full fledged teenagers with eyes to the future and mature minds that process the deeper meaning of texts and philosophizing about the truths of life, I am straddling the wall of mental development. I can write a internal assessment and key passage analysis yet also laugh at a children's television program. I know big words like scintillating and deleterious, but I usually opt for the juvenile terms like interesting and bad. It's adequate to say that I don't want to fully grow up. When I read a book, I want to imagine all of the characters and scenery and what is happening in the story. The author paints a picture that my simple mind can comprehend. This is why I hate authors who are dreary and all about "internalizing" and "thoughts". I am the standard man who enjoys books with booms, bangs and cars. Fortunately, I have grown up enough to not need pictures on every couple of pages. My mind adds in the illustrations. My favorite authors are the kind that utilize sensory imagery and descriptive details.
My boy, Ernest, paints a perfect picture of what's happening. When he's at the track, I can imagine the track and the panting horses and the dimunitve jockeys and the hustle and bustle of betting. When he describes the cafe, I can smell the coffe beans grinding and the cigarillo's sweet smoke that some Frenchmana is casually taking a drag of outside. I see the steam rising off the cappucino cup Ernest is sipping on slowly. When he talks about the bike racing, I can see ther racers, "in their ponderous leather suits, to shelter the riders who followed them from the air resistance, the riders in their lighter crash helmets bent low over their handlebars their legs turning the huge gear sprockets and the small front wheels touching the roler behind the machine that gave them shelter to ride in, and the duels that were more exciting than anything, the put-puting of the motorcycles and the riders elbow to elbow and wheel to wheel up and down and around at deadly speed until o ne man could not hold the pave and broke away and the solid wall of air that he had been sheltered against hit him" (Hemingway 65).
...Wow! Can you feel the excitement and the tension? The wall of wind hitting him seems to me like a brick wall he hits and fights. Hemingway is a painter of images in my head, he's directing the movie of the film in my mind and he's branding my brain.
Cominany pedata
My boy, Ernest, paints a perfect picture of what's happening. When he's at the track, I can imagine the track and the panting horses and the dimunitve jockeys and the hustle and bustle of betting. When he describes the cafe, I can smell the coffe beans grinding and the cigarillo's sweet smoke that some Frenchmana is casually taking a drag of outside. I see the steam rising off the cappucino cup Ernest is sipping on slowly. When he talks about the bike racing, I can see ther racers, "in their ponderous leather suits, to shelter the riders who followed them from the air resistance, the riders in their lighter crash helmets bent low over their handlebars their legs turning the huge gear sprockets and the small front wheels touching the roler behind the machine that gave them shelter to ride in, and the duels that were more exciting than anything, the put-puting of the motorcycles and the riders elbow to elbow and wheel to wheel up and down and around at deadly speed until o ne man could not hold the pave and broke away and the solid wall of air that he had been sheltered against hit him" (Hemingway 65).
...Wow! Can you feel the excitement and the tension? The wall of wind hitting him seems to me like a brick wall he hits and fights. Hemingway is a painter of images in my head, he's directing the movie of the film in my mind and he's branding my brain.
Cominany pedata
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