Writing: A Lonely Life

[Paul Whybrow]

Here's another excellent inspirational poster from the talented Gavin Aung Than and his Zen Pencils site:

ZEN PENCILS » 214. ERNEST HEMINGWAY: A lonely life

 

[Matnov]

Wish I had it in me to live in the Hemingway style. I tried for enough years and managed to do everything but the writing .

I must confess I am not one for mixing with other writers much (Litopia is the beginning, middle and end of my involvement with the wider creative world), mainly because my single foray into a creative writing class was not a positive one and I found myself deliberately trying to wind up both the person teaching it and my fellow students because of what I perceived as their all round pretentiousness and general addiction to their own particular brands of bullshit. But I have enough self-awareness now to realise that this predilection for trying to get under the skin of my fellow writers is more a reflection of my many, and varied, chips that I carry on both shoulders.

Oddly enough I am more than content with my own company, and my own little slice of heaven is an empty house, a pot of tea and a blank screen for me to fill up with my own brand of creativity/bullshit. But only for an hour or two. Then I need others around me otherwise the desire to start bingeing like good old Ernie offers me a return to the bad old days. Other people are good for my mental and physical well being.

 

[Paul Whybrow]

Wish I had it in me to live in the Hemingway style. I tried for enough years and managed to do everything but the writing .

I must confess I am not one for mixing with other writers much (Litopia is the beginning, middle and end of my involvement with the wider creative world), mainly because my single foray into a creative writing class was not a positive one and I found myself deliberately trying to wind up both the person teaching it and my fellow students because of what I perceived as their all round pretentiousness and general addiction to their own particular brands of bullshit. But I have enough self-awareness now to realise that this predilection for trying to get under the skin of my fellow writers is more a reflection of my many, and varied, chips that I carry on both shoulders.

Oddly enough I am more than content with my own company, and my own little slice of heaven is an empty house, a pot of tea and a blank screen for me to fill up with my own brand of creativity/bullshit. But only for an hour or two. Then I need others around me otherwise the desire to start bingeing like good old Ernie offers me a return to the bad old days. Other people are good for my mental and physical well being.

I'm inclined to agree with you, Matnov. I've become very focused on living through my writing, believing what Rainer Maria Rilke said:

 

[Matnov]

Not sure I could 'live' through my writing. I would starve to death rather rapidly. I always remember something from 'On Writing' by Stephen King where he talks about buying this wonderful desk and sitting behind it, smashed out of his mind for 6 years. He sobers up and then buys another, smaller one, which he places under the eaves. He ends the passage with this...

" It starts with this: Put your desk in the corner, and every time you sit down there to write, remind yourself why it isn't in the middle of the room. Life isn't a support system for art. It's the other way around."

Now I am as far away from Mr King in terms of talent and success as can be imagined but this so works for me.

 

[Patricia D]

I don't live through my writing, nor do I want to, but I'd hate to have to live without it.