I must report that on a walk back on Monday…
…during which we ended up in the nearby 200 acre Potton Wood…
…there was no sign in it of Winnie.😂
Silliness aside, the friends and their hound left us on Tuesday. It was then, well, back to it…
The finish is even now more coming into sight.
Yesterday, taking a break, I was going through some of my favorite Ernest Hemingway biography, Hemingway: A Life Without Consequences, by James Mellow:
At one point, I had a chuckle at the now legendary writer’s problems over one of his novels. Last year, I wrote a post about that book – the only Hemingway novel I’ve also read cover to cover. For that May 2018 post, I had also focused on these two paragraphs:
I happened yesterday to find myself reading of some reactions (the underlines for this post are mine also) from some of those real people who saw themselves fictionalized by Hemingway in that 1926 novel, The Sun Also Rises:
I thought responses like those are in their ways a tribute to an author. Writing can as we know be a “bloody” business, too. Writers do have to get their material from somewhere… and from someones; characters are not conjured up out of thin air.
Hemingway’s problem – if one may term it that – was this: he wrote of friends and acquaintances who spotted themselves pretty easily in his fiction; and he had to have anticipated that they would. Reportedly Loeb wanted “to shoot” him. And Duff’s bar observation that she “never had slept with the bloody bull fighter” is a classic.
Indeed, seeing that, I reflected as well on how so much happens in bars:
Would anyone out there want to shoot me? Of course, I’d rather not actually be shot. But in figurative writing terms… I suppose if no one would want to shoot you, it is possible you are doing writing wrong.😂
Have a good day, wherever you are. 🙂