Feed the Beast, Seymour

I used to think that journalism was a dying trade, killed off by the Internet. But you know what? I've decided that the Interwebs need writers now more than ever. It's like a new era of pulp fiction.

As I recently discovered, pulp fiction got its name from the extremely low-rent paper used to print the penny magazines and scandalous tabloid newspapers in the early part of the 20th century.
More importantly, the appetite for these publications was voracious and to fill each magazine required 65,000 words per issue. So if there were 150 or so of those mags printed weekly, biweekly, or monthly, the math would add up to over 195 million words needed each year just to keep the public happy. Know who used to feed that beast in the Depression? Ernest Hemingway.
Now take a spin around your favorite websites. Would you go back if they weren't updated regularly? Of course not. There's a new form of pulp fiction in town. It's a beast that continually needs to be fed, and it will take a lot more than 195 million words to keep this monster happy.
The only problem is, you get paid peanuts for online work. Because anyone with a keyboard and a blog is now seen as a serious journalist, writers are a dime a dozen. The value of the written word has been taken down to the lowest common denominator.
As the monster Internet keeps growing, my only hope is that better writing will still stand out, and that the best among the writers will be valued for their talent. After all, not every painter is a Picasso, and not every singer is a Cee Lo.
Meanwhile, I'll keep feeding the beast along with my fellow former journalists. Brother, can you spare a dime?

Sleep, Perchance to Dream



Photo from Apartment Therapy/Ernest Hemingway Museum

My best writing ideas often hit me when I am just on the edge of sleep. Some claim that's when your subconscious is most "open," allowing ideas to flow.
For that reason, I keep a pen and paper right beside my bed. And then I spend hours the next day trying to decipher my handwriting since I often write my thoughts down in the dark.
It seems I'm not the only one whose muse strikes at night. Apartment Therapy recently featured a great piece on the bedrooms of noted authors, with most including a writing desk very near their beds.
The 15 rooms also reflect the writer's personality - like Victor Hugo's dramatic red room, Henry David Thoreau's spartan space, or Proust's overstuffed lair.
There are a couple with desks practically in the beds, which leads me to believe that those writers either didn't sleep well or were very "still" sleepers.
The only room on the list that I've seen myself was Ernest Hemingway's room in Key West. It's a lovely, airy space that unfortunately smells like a whole lot of cat. Not very inspiring. But he did have an office in an outbuilding that was a bit less feline scented.
I think I'll keep my bedroom as it is, and do the bulk of my writing in my office space. That way, I should be able to read what I've written.

Review + Recipe: Paris in Springtime

Review: The Paris Wife
by Paula McLain
Celebrity is a curious thing. Despite what even the most grounded celebrity says, fame changes people.
In his early days, Ernest Hemingway was like any other struggling writer. He had talent, spirit, and enthusiasm, but he needed a lucky break. Paula McLain takes on the story of Hemingway as he teetered on the edge between anonymity and notoriety, and as he embarked on his first marriage to Hadley Richardson. A woman eight years older than Hemingway, Hadley offers both inspiration and solace to the struggling journalist.
After their wedding, Hemingway and Hadley begin the springtime of their life together in Paris, where tout le monde seems to be drawn in the early 1920s. They are swept up in a Jazz Age whirl with luminaries like F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Pablo Picasso, Ezra Pound, and Gertrude Stein. There was little money, but a lot of alcohol and parties.
McLain's book focuses on Hadley's side of the story, as she struggles to keep up with the many moods of Hemingway. He is drawn to adventure, to grabbing life's brass ring, and to never slowing down. But Hadley has to deal with the realities of living, of loneliness, of motherhood, and of being a wife.
Hemingway moves among the luminaries of Paris, but when he returns home to Hadley it's also a thump back down to reality, and that's not necessarily where he yearns to be. As Hemingway begins to find success with his writing, Hadley faces the failure of their marriage.
This is a bittersweet book that focuses on the changing relationship between an ordinary husband and wife when the husband develops an extraordinary talent. A page-turner to the very end – even when you know what's coming.

Recipe: Sweet and Sour Tarts
Hadley Richardson finds life with Hemingway to be both sweet and sour, so I thought these lemon curd tarts would be the perfect accompaniment to The Paris Wife.
Prepared tart shells, any size
1 teaspoon unflavored gelatin
1 Tablespoon cold water
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs
2 Tablespoons grated lemon peel
1/4 cup lemon juice
2 Tablespoons butter
Prepare tart shells as instructed on the package. You can use mini-tarts or normal-sized tart shells. Cool shells while continuing with recipe. Put gelatin in small saucepan. Sprinkle with the cold water. In a separate bowl, beat eggs and sugar together until thick. Stir into the gelatin mixture. Heat to just boiling over low heat, stirring constantly for about 15 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in lemon peel, lemon juice, and butter. Pour lemon mixture into shells. Refrigerate for one hour and then serve.