When Ernest Hemingway killed himself with a shotgun in 1961 just shy of 62 years old, he did it because he saw the spiritual progression of those two numbers and because he had too much success in life, said Marcus as we paused outside a barber shop on the Avenue of Saints just down from the cathedral.
"In their cars people looked like flies trapped in jars." -" just watched the stoplight paint its child green." Love these! you sure tell a good story, Victor.
Loved this Victor. I've read it three times now. Papa Hemingway is an enigma. Are we facing life with courage and dignity? Or death. Different color hat.
My ultimate compliment: I wish I had written this.
What a splendid light touch. The facing it alone thing came up in a conversation today. "The facing it alone thing" makes it sound glib and harmless, but I had to use a skipover phrase because it's haunted my afternoon. It feels like a coincidence (ie. fate) that I read this now. I feel a little bolder, sturdier as a result. Thank you.
Well thanks, Victor, for putting a longing to re-read The Sun Also Rises into my head. Seriously lovely story, every bit of it. The world is what we make it? "Isn't it pretty to think so".
Life and Death of Ernest Hemingway
"In their cars people looked like flies trapped in jars." -" just watched the stoplight paint its child green." Love these! you sure tell a good story, Victor.
Loved this Victor. I've read it three times now. Papa Hemingway is an enigma. Are we facing life with courage and dignity? Or death. Different color hat.
My ultimate compliment: I wish I had written this.
Yep, totally echoing Bill above!! Right on
Cool vibe, love the dialogue. Nice work!
What a splendid light touch. The facing it alone thing came up in a conversation today. "The facing it alone thing" makes it sound glib and harmless, but I had to use a skipover phrase because it's haunted my afternoon. It feels like a coincidence (ie. fate) that I read this now. I feel a little bolder, sturdier as a result. Thank you.
Well thanks, Victor, for putting a longing to re-read The Sun Also Rises into my head. Seriously lovely story, every bit of it. The world is what we make it? "Isn't it pretty to think so".
Hello Victor! Thanks for the word tapestry! This is what I have taken in my loot bag:
"The sun down smashed the sky. In their cars people looked like flies trapped in jars."
" ... just watched the stoplight paint its child green"
"And the rebel juice leaked out of him long ago"
"Marcus blatted a skeptical warbled note. Look around, he said. This is the real world. A frying pan."
"Do we face eternity alone? ... Found it in Hemingway’s shrapnel wounds, his bloody knee."
Did I tell you I am a word thief?