Story I wrote

[glowbelly]

Perhaps I don't come close, but I question if you have an grip on anything the guy has ever written. His earlier work (In Our Time) was some of the most sparse stuff ever written. Completley void of description, solely based on character conversation. His dialouge was actually the most bizarre part of it, compared to your saying the dialouge needs to be real.

"And I want to eat at a table with my own silver and I want candles. And I want it to be spring and I want to brush my hair out in front of a mirror and I want a kitty and I want some new clothes "

i know hemingway's style. i've read hemingway. i understand that his stories are sparse in description and heavy in dialogue. i suppose i was misleading in my description of his prose. his writing is simple, yet elegant. i know his style most likely derived from writing for newspapers and it provided a way for the "common man" to identify with his characters.

again, the dialogue that you rip out of a story to prove a point backfires on you. that is real dialogue right there. that sounds like something a real person would say (to me, anyways) and it fits with the character.

the short story you have took that from, i have never read. doing a quick search i came up with the 'cat in the rain.' fine and good. now, before this piece of dialogue is given, there is a beautiful setting painted out for the reader. it is laid out like a movie. the reader moves through the setting like he is there, nevermind how many words he uses.

lookie:

There were only two Americans stopping at the hotel. They did not know any of the people they passed on the stairs on their way to and from their room. Their room was on the second floor facing the sea. It also faced the public garden and war monument. There were big palms and green benches in the public garden. In the good weather there was always an artist with his easel. Artists liked the way the palms grew and the bright colors of the hotels facing the sea. Italians came from a long way off to look up at the war monument. It was made of bronze and glistened in the rain. It was raining. The rain dripped from the palm trees. Water stood in pools on the gravel paths. The sea broke in a long line in the rain. The motor cars were gone from the square by the war monument. Across the square in the doorway of the cafe a waiter stood looking out at the empty square.

The American wife stood at the window looking out. Outside right under their window a cat was crouched under one of the dripping green tables. The cat was trying to make herself so compact that she would not be dripped on.


oh my. what do we have here? a description of a setting that starts as a sweeping landscape and moves into the main subject of the dialogue while paying attention to minute details that otherwise shouldn't matter, until you read the dialogue of the story. from large to small, details and all. IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW MANY WORDS HE USES.

don't tell me i don't know what the fuck i'm talking about. you can call me anything you want, you can be offended by the way i've told you that i don't like your story, but don't assume that just because i don't like this piece that i don't know what hemingway was all about.

k? k.