This blog provides advice to writers on their literary work.
See the end of this post for links on these topics: How can you get the full benefit of workshops? How can you work best with your mentor? What, when, and how should you publish?
Until recently I’d never read Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast, his memoir of expatriate
artists in Paris in the 1920s. It’s a time period that fascinates me, partly
because there was such a hive of English-language literary talent in that
beautiful city during that decade. Hemingway’s recollections include personal anecdotes about Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ezra Pound, and Ford Madox Ford, and others.
Ernest Hemingway
Some of the writing in A Moveable Feast is stunning. Hemingway has the ability to describe
an incident that yanks you right into the experience. His long, breathless
sentences give you the sense that he can’t wait to tell you about what he has
seen. There are wonderful passages where he describes skiing in Austria:
“I remember the smell of the pines and the sleeping
on the mattresses of beech leaves in the woodcutters’ huts and the skiing
through the forest following the tracks of hares and of foxes. In the high
mountains above the tree line I remember following the track of a fox until I
came in sight of him and watching him stand with his right forefoot raised and
then go carefully to stop and then pounce, and the whiteness and the clutter of
a ptarmigan bursting out of the snow and flying away and over the ridge.”
Pure poetry. I also love the passage in the book about a boy who led a small herd of goats through the Latin Quarter each morning, making the rounds
of the alleyways, playing his pipes to advertise his wares. The boy would milk
a goat on demand for a customer, who brought a pail or pot to collect the milk.
There are many sections of this book, though, that
make me wonder why a person would write such negative
observations about his friends in a public work of literature. Hemingway praises the writing of his buddy, F.
Scott Fitzgerald, but he savages Fitzgerald personally. Why write down an
incident where Fitzgerald told Hemingway in a bar that his wife, Zelda
Fitzgerald, thought his penis was too small? Hemingway recounts how he had
Fitzgerald pull down his pants in the bathroom to verify that his anatomy was
adequate, and then took him to the Louvre to compare his parts to the classical
sculptures. Funny, maybe, but so belittling to his friend (in more ways than one!). Not to mention the
tell-all accounts of the drinking binges of F. Scott and Zelda.
The only people Hemingway has much good to say about
are his wife, Hadley, whom he admits to cheating on at the end of the book; his
son, whom he calls by the cute nickname of Mr. Bumby; and Ezra Pound. Hemingway repeatedly describes Pound as a “saint” in A Moveable Feast. It may be true that Pound raised funds to support
the writers he admired, such as T.S. Eliot, but it seems extremely odd to
beatify Pound, who made virulently anti-Semitic radio broadcasts and told U.S.
troops they were fighting on the wrong side in the battle against fascism in
World War II. Since Hemingway compiled the manuscript of A Moveable Feast after the war ended, he couldn’t plead ignorance
of Pound’s actions.
All of these oddities in A Moveable Feast are a strong reminder of the changes that have
taken place since Hemingway’s time. The out-of-control machismo that Hemingway
championed in almost all his writing rings very false now. It makes Hemingway
look like a kind of schoolyard bully wannabe. Not only that, the machismo dates
much of Hemingway’s work. All that makes me wonder what Ernest Hemingway could
have been if he had used his enormous talent with more generosity and compassion.
If you’ve never
tried writing a dramatic monologue, or you’d like to try again, what character
should you pick? Maybe you already know whose voice you’d like to use. In that
case, go for it!
If you don’t know,
or you’re looking for ideas, consider choosing a character you’ve always wanted
to be. I wrote a dramatic monologue the voice of the great African American
singer/dancer/entertainer Josephine Baker because I admire her tremendously. I
also love the setting of her early success—Paris in the 1920s. I wanted to know
what she might sound like talking to a friend in private about her very public
life, so I just made up their conversation, based on research.
Another reason to
choose a persona might be an individual whose life illustrates a particular
point. A good example of this is June Jordan’s “Unemployment Monologue.” The
poem is in the voice of a young Black male who might be standing on a street
corner, talking to someone from a more privileged background. The speaker is
called by different tags, from Herbie Jr. to “Ashamah Kazaam,” a name somewhere
between an Islamic given name and a superhero punch. We get a sense that this
young man is creative and smart, but going nowhere in a society that has no use
for him. He boldly challenges the person he addresses—an interesting stance
for a dramatic monologue.
Another reason for
picking a character for a dramatic monologue might be to choose someone so
different from you that it creates a challenge to put yourself in
that person’s shoes. The difference could be gender, age, class, historical
time period, race, sexual orientation, religion, politics, geographic location, physical abilities, etc. Make sure you are not falling into stereotypes about a group, and that you
are creating a character with the complexity that you hope others see in you. If
you write about someone from a group not your own, consider showing that person
not just at his or her lowest point. Without ignoring the adversity your
persona has to encounter, allow that individual at least a moment of triumph or
connection.
One other
consideration with a dramatic monologue: who is the speaker addressing? Is it a
generalized audience, or an individual the speaker knows? If it’s a specific
person, that can create more depth and/or drama. In Langston Hughes’s “Mother to Son,” for instance, the fact that this speaker is a mother talking to her child makes it
much more moving. In June Jordan’s “Unemployment Monologue,” the young man
addressing a person of relative privilege sets up a dynamic tension. In a sense, even a monologue is a dialogue of sorts, since it is addressed to another or to others.
The best way to avoid becoming a literary dropout is
to keep writing. As all of us know, that’s easier said than done. There are
many elements to keeping the writing flowing. I’ll try to cover several in this
series of blogs.
To begin with, I’ll start with factors that relate
just to the writing itself, and not to circumstances peripherally connected to,
or outside of the writing.
The first suggestion I’d make is to choose
projects that you can complete successfully. I had a terrific student several
years ago, a guy who had a remarkable facility for spontaneous writing. Our
class was studying the surrealist movement at the time. I asked the students to
attempt automatic writing as a learning exercise. Automatic writing is a type
of writing devised by the surrealist group in Paris in the early 1920s as a way
of liberating the subconscious. In automatic writing you don’t edit or look
back at what you’ve already written but compose spontaneously, as if dreaming
onto the page. It’s a great exercise if you’re suffering from writer’s block or
just want to warm up. The student I’m referring to was one of the few I’ve ever
encountered who could create a finished piece of work using automatic writing.
The whole class was amazed at what he created during that in-class exercise,
without editing. If he had lived in Paris in the 1920s, he’d be a legend.
Surrealist group in Paris practices automatic writing
Now, you would think that a person who can compose
literature so fluently would have absolutely no trouble finishing a longer
work. Poof! You sit down, you write, it’s done. But that wasn’t the case. For
his MFA thesis, he attempted to write a sort of modern-day Dante’s Inferno. A worthy project. The task was
almost impossible, though, since the way he set it up, not one of the
characters interacted with anyone but the narrator. Not only that, but we knew
that each story ended with the death of the person recounting it, since all the
characters besides the narrator were ghosts. And there was a talking-head
aspect to the format that killed almost all of the drama.
You should be extremely ambitious in the projects you
pick for yourself as a writer, but don’t choose a project that you can never
finish, or that won’t interest many people even if you do finish it. Stretch
yourself, be daring in your aesthetic choices, do things that no one has
attempted before, but don’t try to climb Mount Denali on rollerskates.