Hemingway. (ernestoic) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-06-19 14:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open |
Who? Hemingway & OPEN
Where? The cafe
When? Wednesday afternoon
What? Getting on with his work
Warnings? Language, maybe talk of war, and he can be rude as hell, so sorry about that.
Status? Open, ongoing.
Since the island had decided to give Hemingway his notes and his typewriter, it seemed obvious what he was meant to be doing. He was meant to be writing. Of course he was- he was a writer, before anything else that he could claim to be, he was a writer.
And from what the people on the island said about his future, he was destined to be a great one. He believed in himself, he believed that his work was worth something, but to know that it endured for so long, that it was considered worth educating people with- he could hardly get his head around it.
But he couldn't think too much on that. If he thought too much about all of the children and teachers who would be going over and over his words- it was overwhelming. And he didn't want to change what he knew to be his truth just because he knew that someday someone might find them important.
So, he did what he would have done if he was back home, with none of this knowledge. He'd gone to the cafe, ordered a coffee, and he'd got to work. The first thing that he needed to do was re-read everything he had down on paper so far. With a pencil in hand, he worked his way through the pages, making little edits every time he noticed a continuity error or poorly phrased sentence.