First of all I’d like to make a confession: I feel a great envy towards Ernest Hemingway. Being honest, who does not? – Probably only those ones who don’t know him at all. Or know him only as a writer. Or – what even worse – know him only as an author of “The Old Man and The Sea”.
Of course, “The Old Man and The Sea” is a great masterpiece of American and World literature; the Nobel Prizes in Literature are given just for outstanding works, if you didn’t know. But do you really think that a man who during about 40 years woke up at 6 o’clock or so for writing could write only 1 masterpiece in his life?
But anyway – the fact is that the role of a writer for Hemingway was just secondary. What was the first one? Oh, actually there are plenty of them: a traveller, a soldier, a war reporter, a hunter, a fan of bullfighting, a skier, a lover, a Parisian party-goer, a gourmet, an amateur boxer, a wine drinker and Cuban cigar smoker, a fisher man and “the eyes” of American army in Caribbean during WWII… The list isn’t full yet even now. Sometimes he was just a “can-kicker” as you can see below…
Why the entire world went crazy about his modest-style texts in his novels and short stories? Because all of them were full of real life – truthful, bright, sometimes cruel (very often actually, but this is the way real life goes), but at the same time so real and so heady, as a nice sip of Rum. All of them were soaked with emotions and striving for never ending adventure. All of them always contain something we lack in our lives, or something we forget, giving out all our time to so “important and necessary” everyday routine.
Even if we could take the life of this outstanding man, divide it on 10 parts and give each part to 10 different other people, each of those people would feel they lived life full of adventures.
It’s just a wonder – how 1 man could make so much? Maybe he knew some secret how to appreciate every second of his life?
Whatever he did – went for a crazy bar-crawling with Fitzgerald and his wife, hunting in Africa or fishing in Cuba – every morning he woke up at 6 or even earlier for writing. He could have a breakfast with champagne, but anyway – he sat and wrote.
“I like writing in the morning hours” – he wrote – “I write every morning as soon after first light as possible. There’s no one to disturb you and it’s cool or cold when you come to your work and you warm as you write”.
He loved to work when he was alone, when none was around except for 1 old friend who was ticking quietly on his wrist, reminding that life goes on and every second maters. That friend was probably the closest one to Hemingway.
A movable feast – his Rolex Oyster Perpetual around his wrist, which always accompanied him like an old buddy. Maybe he even tried to stop his master when his hand was tend to grad cold metal barrel of the shotgun that frosty morning of July the 2-th, 1961. But if only it could stop him then…