I’ve noticed some things while reading A Moveable Feast, I’m in Paris afterall, I couldn’t help myself. I find these observations a bit confrontational. We all know Hemingway’s… unique… style, which is quite hilarious when portrayed in Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, but he is undeniably a great storyteller. I relate to his attitudes and love the subjects he focuses on; slices of feasible lives, un-embellished. Which brings me back to my observations. He repetitively states his desire to write “true”, to avoid adjectives (as recommended by a peer), and he viewed writing elaborately as faulty. It’s like a punch in the gut, to read a writer you admire denounce the writing style you perform in. While I do try to write “true”, whatever that could possibly mean, I find delight in scouring my brain for an adjective that is odd, or something that rhymes, one that is the pure essence of what I am trying to communicate. And while I have no patience for the vague or excessive, I do try to make my concise statements as elaborate as possible. To each their own, I guess. I’m not exactly a published author who has an incredible legacy long after death, so what do I know?