THT: Week 4

“This was the part he did not like on the road into town.  This was really the part he carried the drink for.  I drink against poverty, dirt, four-hundred-year-old-dust, the nose-snot of children, cracked palm fronds, roofs made from hammered tins, the shuffle of untreated syphilis, sewage in the old beds of brooks, lice on the bare necks of infested poultry, scale on the backs of old men’s necks, the smell of old women, and the full-blast radio, he thought.  It is a hell of a thing to do.  I ought to look at it closely and do something about it.  Instead you have your drink the way they carried smelling salts in the old days. ”

Today’s Treasure Hunt Tuesday gem is from Ernest Hemingway’s Islands in the Stream.  Written in a lyrical stream-of-consciousness form, this particular setting description always attracted me.  I’m not sure if its the all encompassing misery he portrays or the fact that the thinker is fighting his own guilt at turning a blind eye to the goings-on in the poorer part of town.

Though the description seems to run into itself, it reminds me of the way we (or at least I) think- jumbled, run-on sentences with seemingly no semblance to order or propriety.  The scene, of course, continues- the character adds in his own distaste at an upcoming meeting as a contributing factor to the drink, then admits that often he drinks because, well…he can.

An amazing little gem buried towards the end of the book, I would say its definitely worth digging for!

The Swiss Family Robinson Stole My Scene

I write the most at night.  I love writing at night for many reasons, but one of the most important ones is that the hours after dark seem to be the only time my mind is fresh and active.  In the mornings, I’m groggy and more concerned with getting coffee into my system than with being creative.  By about 2 p.m. it seems to finally kick in, and I feel ready to write.  I usually get an hour or so of work in, but then it happens: the afternoon slump.

Florida is hot. Heat takes a lot out of a person- and if, like me, you live in a house with poor insulation, your air conditioner will be breaking its heart just to keep you at a cool-ish 80 degrees.  So just about the time I’m really mentally ready to tackle plot points and character flaws, I find my energy has fled the building. All I really want is a nap.

I know that I’m not the only one who suffers from this particular problem- my husband, who unlike me works outside the home, says that at about 3 p.m. every day it becomes an epic battle for him to keep himself from curling up in a corner somewhere and snoozing the afternoon away.  And there are even commercials about it:

Today I worked with a frenzy.  I got in 3,000 words before the slump hit. I fought it with all my might, keeping the pace until I’d finished the scene.  Then I started on the next one.  Here’s what I got:

“At the diner.”

All I can say is….

Curse you, Swiss Family Robinson!

And so I’ll finish it tonight, when the sun has finally gone to sleep and left me alone with my thoughts, my Parrot Bay and my laptop.