The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway (June 2018)
Hemingway’s 1952 classic is one of those books I’ve read many times over the years. And yet, I never quite felt like I’d gotten the message after any of those readings. As I started reviewing my notes in preparation for writing about this most recent rereading, I came to a realization I’m allowing myself to have a little too often these days – what’s the point?
Reader, what’s the point of getting the message about this book? Whatever I might have to say about The Old Man and the Sea has likely been said, many times over, by all those who’ve come before me with pen (or laptop) in hand. So, why put myself through the misery of the writing process? Why bother to open a new Word document and stare at the blank screen, the single vertical bar blinking back at me, almost taunting me, as if it were saying – go ahead, try it one more time, hotshot, and see what you can pull out of me…
I’ve come to learn lately that what I feel at the start of the writing process is fear. This fear isn’t there for every form of writing – fear doesn’t grip me when I write an email to friends, for example, or when I’m preparing notes for a work project. The fear comes around only when I’m here on the couch as I try to conjure up something new for TOA. Why this is the case befuddled me for some time – writing is writing, right? – but these days I’m coming closer to understanding where this fear comes from.
I think the element of the unknown always brings out a sense of fear. The unknown is an infinite and invincible opponent. There isn’t a single time I’ve tried to create anything new in writing where I have not felt the shadowy presence of fear at some point – fear of letting an idea slip through my fingers, fear of coming up with nothing at all, fear of learning that there was never anything there to begin with. It takes great courage, I’ve learned, to face the unknown every morning knowing that at the end of the session I might have nothing worth keeping around for the next morning.
It’s helpful, I think, to wake up early and get to work as soon as possible. Like any great opponent, the endless blankness of the new page cannot be beaten, only convinced, but to convince is a time consuming and energy burning task. Each minute of the day that ticks by only saps my initiative to put my lines into the unknown and see what returns they can bring.
We all wake up a little earlier as we get older, I think, because we are all waging battles against one undefeated opponent or another. There is no better example than time, the greatest opponent of all. Like fear, time cannot be beaten, but with a careful and exact process it can be convinced to yield, to give in just a little bit at a time. As many have said, a person can spend an entire day looking for the hour lost in the morning – I can’t think of a better way to avoid embarking on such a futile search than to get up early and put an hour to use as quickly as possible.
On those rare days when a line pulls me further into the page, further than I’ve ever been before, it’s hard to tell if I was lucky or good. It doesn’t really matter, of course, if I fail to take advantage. All that matters in such a moment is whether I’ve been precise with my process. Those who are precise control what is within their power and find it easier to let go when they realize an outcome is out of their hands. Precision makes it possible to take advantage of any good fortune. With precision, it becomes possible for people to know themselves and, finally, overcome the greatest obstacle to creating anything new – worrying about what others think.
