Perhaps in search or inspiration or simply indulging in procrastination, I recently watched Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris. It seemed fitting considering the film featured many of the writers whose work I have been reading recently.
Maybe because I’m a writer. Maybe because I’m sometimes I’m not sure I’m any good. Maybe because I too also dream of earlier times, namely the 30’s and 40’s when men were men and women were women. Or earlier still of the Tudor era. Either way I could really relate to Owen Wilson’s character.
Fear of success. Fear of failure. Fear to make a move in a game of chance with life. Paralysed by your own unknown potential.
It is the plague of writers and artists alike. But Hemingway was different and Woody completely captured it. Or at least the way I imagine him to be. Everything was so certain. So clear. Including his own feelings on life and writing.
Did anyone else’s hearts beat faster when he came into frame? Mine certainly did. Forget being a groupie for One Direction or any flavour of the month band. I’d be Hemingway’s groupie any day.
When I saw him on-screen it made me think of one of his famous quotes and also one of my most cherished:
How could any modern-day Brad Pitt or equivalent heart-throb compare to Hemingway?
So once the DVD was returned to the rental store I thought to myself, what would Hemingway do?
Write. Of course. And so I did..