On Hemingway, Memoirs and Writing What You Know
I hate Hemingway.
As a former English teacher, this profession borders on blasphemous.
I hate the fact that he was an alcoholic misogynist who got to drink away his book royalties in a Parisian cafe while I’m on my third cup of coffee hunched over the only spot in the dining room not covered in playdoh at 3 a.m.- which is the only time it’s actually quiet enough to get thoughts on paper.
I also happen to hate his writing style and had trouble finishing every single book he had ever written. I’m sure, by now, you’ve noticed my penchant for compound sentences; a love that clearly Mr. Hemingway did not share. His simple sentence structure is what made him famous, after all; clear, short and to the point in an elegant way that a simple A-line dress never quite goes out of style. It’s classy, easily comprehensible, and never looked good on my more than just one-hour glass frame.
It’s almost hilarious, then, to consider that I repeat to myself one of his quotes nearly every single morning. I wake up, shuffle droopy-eyed to the french press and mumble over the noise of the kettle,
“Write what you know. Write what you know.”
This is a paraphrase, which only consoles me slightly as it’s not a direct quote verbatim. But, it’s a quiet comfort just the same to a writer who has always struggled with the notion of being, “too transparent”. I never could grasp what should be kept close to the vest and what should be shared as a method of helping others. I think part of that is the innate belief that I’m not actually an expert in anything, so any advice I would give should be taken very lightly indeed- or preferably, not at all. I don’t write to give advice.
I would pass on a self-help book any day in favor of someone’s story. Their memoir. Don’t give me the four steps to success- tell me about the nights you didn’t believe in yourself until one moment when you just, did. I want to hear that. I want to hear how people overcame- or didn’t. I want to hear about the crazy uncles and the hair-brained schemes that never got off the ground and the times you went to go check your children’s breathing in their sleep long after they were infants because you were convinced something as precious as human life should never have been entrusted to someone who routinely forgets to put deodorant on.
I want to live in other people’s stories because that’s where I find humanity. More so, I believe they all have value. Even if you think you can’t relate to them. Even if their life’s work is a complete mystery to you; or perhaps, something you don’t even agree with. Hence, I call this odd little ritual of channeling Mr. Hemingway the Hemingway Theory.
My husband reads, “The Sun Also Rises” every summer, while we are vacationing in New England. It’s the same old paperback, creased and breaking. I’m already tired of hearing quotes about bullfighting. About the complex nuances of Brett’s character. But he is inexhaustible in his dedication to this story. And I have always been reluctant to admit it, but I understand.
Hemingway has always written what he knew- and I believe it’s all of our greatest desires to be known. Truly, known. And loved anyway.
In 2022, I have written quite a bit. I have written for myself, and I have written for others. I began making the slow transition of tip-toeing into possibly writing for a living. I will begin 2023 as not a writer or a teacher or a million other things I could attach my identity to like a leach but as someone who writes and sometimes gets paid to do it. I am looking forward to the growth that brings.
I wanted to take just a moment to thank you for joining me here, as I’ve followed Hemingway’s advice. I’ve written what I know. And what I know is this:
Food is a unifer with a deep history in connection and it’s my favorite way to love people. Parenting is a ride everyone paid too much for and not enough. Re-evaluating the faith of your childhood is a strange new world that is both freeing and frightening, often at the same time. Admitting you were wrong on so many levels gets easier and easier the more you do it. Music is the only thing that saves me, each and every time. And writing stories- mine and yours- and getting to share them has been my greatest joy. I hope I get to do it forever.
What’s Nourshing Me:
My littlest had the flu this week and gave it to me- my steadfast and superhero MIL made chicken soup and meals to last the week and it has nourished me in all the ways.
If I could identify authors I love who have most influenced my own writing they would be: Anne Lamott, Madeline L’Engle, Elizabeth Gilbert and Kate DiCamillo. I’m currently reading, “The Beatryce Prophecy” and there is such a sacredness about it. “The Magician’s Elephant” is by far my favorite middle reader of all time with, “The Girl Who Drank The Moon” coming in as a close second. (I’ll be doing write-ups and lists in the future about my favorite works organized by age group if you’re interested). If you can’t remember the last time you picked up a middle reader, its time.
Writer’s don’t often experience feeling, “seen” and I’m so thankful for a few shout outs and interviews this month that made me feel validated in what I do. You can read my interview at Canvas Rebel here. Also a huge thanks to Brooke Turbyfill for a shout out in her newsletter. If you’re a fellow writer, she’s for sure worth a subscription here.
This is what’s for dinner tonight and it’s been the only thing that has inspired me to change out of my pajamas for three days. https://www.halfbakedharvest.com/braised-garlic-butter-meatballs/
I broke out of my typical wheelhouse and spoke about something deeply personal over on Insta this week. It seemed to resonate with (too many) women. I’ll be unpacking that and most likely writing more about it. Thank you to all who were vulnerable in responding. If you missed it, you can read it here.
I wish I could squeeze each one of you who are still with me, alongside me. The internet gets a bad reputation- and most of those accusations hold weight. I feel them, too. But I am also deeply grateful for what it’s afforded me- the ability to connect with those I may never had met otherwise. The opportunity to share something that might make you feel a little less alone. The deepening of friendships already established. And the great platform of responsibility I get to access by eating my words publically, in a way that I hope, will bring freedom to someone else.
Happy Holidays.
I *also* am an English major who hates Hemingway. And on some days Steinbeck, but don’t tell anyone. 😂 So much of this resonates, as usual. Thank you for putting it all out there.