I’m reading Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast right now. I love Hemingway. Love his honest tone, his crisp prose, his candidness. In many ways, his writing stands in direct contrast to my own; I think that’s why it inspires me. His sentences are so direct and carefully crafted, whereas mine tend to be these long, tangled vines, curling upon themselves and blossoming here and there with flowery turns of phrase. I want to learn from Hemingway, want to learn to write in a way that he could appreciate. Not because I value his voice over my own, but because I think he possessed a skill that few writers can claim these days. A skill worth modeling now and then.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want the purpose of this blog to be. At times I want too much from it, so I’m trying to winnow down my expectations and draft an idea of what my place in this overcrowded arena could look like. It’s beginning to take shape, and I’m beginning to believe in my own ability to create something worthwhile, for both myself and anyone else who happens along. I think, above all, I really want this to be a space where I can cultivate my own expressions, to sort through the chaff of all my ramblings and emerge with something meaningful. That may take some time, but I’m finally beginning to realize that time, if well used, is my greatest tool.
