“[A] long time ago you stopped listening except to the answers to your own questions…That’s what dries a writer up (we all dry up. That’s no insult to you in person) not listening. That is where it all comes from. Seeing, listening.
…For Christ sake write and don’t worry about what the boys will…
A bit of history for everyone: Although in 1925 Hemingway was initially delighted to accept a publishing contract with Boni & Liveright, Inc., he was soon pursuaded by his friend F. Scott Fitzgerald that he could make more money from Charles Scribner’s Sons with lucrative submissions to Scribner’s Magazine. Hemingway satirized his early mentor Sherwood Anderson, who was also published by Boni & Liveright, in Torrents of Spring. When Liveright refused to publish this title, Hemingway argued that his contract with them had been broken, and moved to Scribner’s, where he enjoyed a long relationship with editor Maxwell Perkins.
![hannahmiet:
If Hemingway wrote today… on failblog, via Devin Landin. [The real quote: “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.]](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m35k3cISk21qa4g01o1_500.png)
If Hemingway wrote today… on failblog, via Devin Landin. [The real quote: “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.]
Stop-motion inspired by The Old Man and the Sea. (via Dicky Carter)
Clive Owen on CBS, talking about his role as Hemingway in HBO’s “Hemingway and Gellhorn,” premiering in May.
Purrrrr.
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Susan Wrynn, curator of the Hemingway collection at the JFK Library, as quoted by David Haglund in Slate, When Ernest Hemingway Killed his Cat (via moresongsaboutbuildings)
Oh, and the kicker makes the case that if Hem were female, he’d be dubbed a “cat lady,” significantly diminishing his carefully crafted hunt-kill-drink image.
I don’t know if this photo of Hemingway reading the NYT naked is real. But it’s safe for work. The paper is big enough. via awesomepeoplereading and moresongsaboutbuildings.
For all its bravura, Mr. Fairfax’s seafaring almost pales beside his earlier ventures. Footloose and handsome, he was a flesh-and-blood character out of Graham Greene, with more than a dash of Hemingway and Ian Fleming shaken in.
At 9, he settled a dispute with a pistol. At 13, he lit out for the Amazon jungle.
At 20, he attempted suicide-by-jaguar. Afterward he was apprenticed to a pirate. To please his mother, who did not take kindly to his being a pirate, he briefly managed a mink farm, one of the few truly dull entries on his otherwise crackling résumé, which lately included a career as a professional gambler.
(Source: soupsoup)
Ernest Hemingway’s manuscript for “The Battler”
(Source: amandaonwriting)
Really cool old edition of Hemingway’s “Islands In The Stream” I found in a secondhand bookstore today for eight dollars (Australian). When I entered the shop three women and a man that looked well into their seventies/eighties were playing bridge, debating philosophy and literature. The store was packed with old literature and I was amazed I had never been in the store itself, yet had walked past it so many years of my life. The old man was happy to nerd out with me about Faulkner and Hemingway briefly, telling me the store is “perpetually open”. I will definitely be making another visit.
