His life was full, complex, and often troubled.
Then, at the age of 61 and on the surface of things at the top of his game, he took his own life.
Known for his distinctive, often economical writing style and his focus on the themes of courage, stoicism, and the human struggle, the work of the American journalist, short story writer, and novelist Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961) often reflected a range of elements from his adventurous life.
Before turning to fiction, (he published his first novel, The Sun Also Rises about the shortfalls of life after World War I in 1926), Hemingway worked as a journalist.
There was much (much) more to his life, his relationships, and his experiences than his writing and for anyone interested, you'll find a detailed overview here.
But for the purposes of this article, let’s focus on Hemingway’s writing style, which is characterized by three distinct approaches: its directness; its minimalism, and its use of dialogue.
Unlike other writers, Hemingway often omitted detailed descriptions to focus on the essence of the story—a technique he called the “iceberg theory.”
His adventurous life—including his experiences as an ambulance driver and as a war correspondent (in World War I and World War II respectively), along with his passions for deep-sea fishing and big-game hunting—influenced much of his writing.
Hemingway teaches us that writing needs to be simple.
Not easy. Simple.
Many writers get tangled in their own words—something that’s often happened to me. As a beginner writer I’d get lost in fields of adjectives flowery descriptions.
My belief was that more words created better writing.
Wrong!
Years of self reflection and hard editing have taught me that pithier writing that gets to the heart of the matter creates greater clarity.
These days when I’m writing, I aim to produce one true, sparse sentence. Then another. And another. And so on. If I can do that, I know I’m on the right path.
Here’s what I’ve learned:
Most writers waste time showing off.
Stop using big words and complicated sentences.
Write the core of the story. Then stop. Remove fancy words. Dress your writing in jeans and a t-shirt rather than in a tuxedo. Put your writing on a diet. Ditch its fat, build its muscle.
Your first draft will probably be shit.
That’s OK.
Welcome the garbage. Embrace it. Roll around in it. Then clean that shit up.
Don’t be afraid of producing crap right out of the gate.
You can’t fix what you want to say until you’ve puked it all up.
Write it quickly and roughly. Get its raggedy ass clothed, then go back and tailor accordingly.
Write (and rewrite) until your text says what you mean and keep writing until each word is true rather than pretty; you want everything earning its keep and pulling its weight. Opt for powerful practically rather than beautiful bluster.
Understand that your reader has already got a few miles on them.
Resist the temptation to explain too much. Your reader doesn’t need you to explain and describe everything. Trust that they’ll get it. They know what a room looks like or what a scene includes. and they’ll generally appreciate what you left out and why.
When you describe a scene, forget about telling your reader how to feel; show them what happened and let them feel it themselves. If you include dialogue, use speech that that feels and sounds real. Often, actions speak louder than thoughts and details reveal more than they explain.
The best way to find something to write about is by getting your ass out into the world and living your life. Travel alone. Live overseas for a year. Fall in love, fail at something major, eat and drink too much, spend the day sitting in one place and watch the sun rise and set.
Writing isn’t about sitting alone in a room dreaming up stories—it’s about living enough and doing enough and seeing enough—the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly—so that you can write something worth reading.
While some of your experiences need to find their way into your work, resist the temptation to just only about your own life: write about the people you meet and the places you visit and about the stories other people have shared. If you know it, the reader will know it, too.
If you’re one of those rare people for whom writing feels easy and effortless and if ideas come to you thick and fast and freely you’re probably not doing it right.
Your writing needs to make you bleed a little—emotionally, spiritually, psychologically. Your writing needs to make you feel something.
The best writing—the sort of writing that hits you mentally and emotionally, the sort of writing that drags you by the scruff of the neck into the fray of life, work, and relationships—that sort of writing comes from a place of frank openness, complete honesty, and from a position of revolutionary vulnerability and pain.
If what you’ve written doesn’t make you feel something when you re-read it, chances are it won’t make anyone else feel anything either.
The best writing I’ve ever come across has had me in fits of hysterics in one chapter and had me rolled up in a ball on the bathroom floor weeping inconsolably in another.
Don’t shy away from the tough parts.
Write until it hurts, and then keep going.
Ultimately, both the hardest and the most important thing you can do as a writer to be truthful with yourself and your readers.
Write the thing that scares you. Write the thing that you think nobody else will understand. Chances are, if you feel it deeply, so will someone else. Don’t worry about being perfect. Worry about being true.
At the end of the day, writing isn’t about how many words you can put on a page. It’s about how many of those words matter.
Keep it simple. Keep it true. That’s all there is to it.
As always, thanks for reading.
Feel free to follow me on Twitter and LinkedIn
If you’ve like what you’ve seen here, why not share this post with a friend?
P.S. Next time on Shaking the Tree … How to plan 12 weeks of articles.