Episode 185: Tim O’Brien on Memory, Failure and his ‘Maybe Book’

By Brendan O’Meara

Tim O’Brien, the author of The Things They Carried and Going After Cacciato, has written a book sixteen years in the making: Dad’s Maybe Book (HMH, 2019).

I’m no dad, nor will I ever be one, but I’m a son, and I’d read about bricklaying if Tim O’Brien’s name is attached to it. This book is so expansive and tender and prescriptive without being didactic. It’s about reading, writing, fatherhood, sonhood, marriage, struggle, triumph, demons. It’s about Tim.

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Enjoy this conversation with Tim O’Brien.

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Episode 70—Erica Westly on Softball and Structure

Erica Westly is the author of “Fastpitch: The Untold History of Softball and the Women Who Made the Game.”

By Brendan O’Meara

Tweetables by Erica Westly (@westlyer on Twitter):

“That sense of discovery when you come across a story you had no idea existed.”

“The book project was my last hope for getting to do the type of writing I wanted to do.”

“I’ve kind of learned to live with the self-loathing I think.”

“I try to picture myself telling the story to someone at the bus stop.”

It’s the Creative Nonfiction Podcast where I speak to the world’s best artists about creating works of nonfiction. Leaders in the world of narrative journalism, memoir, essay, radio, and documentary film share their tools and tricks with you so you can improve your own work.

Continue reading “Episode 70—Erica Westly on Softball and Structure”

Ernest Hemingway on Why Hunger Made for Good Discipline

By Brendan O’Meara

I hate being hungry. I can’t focus. I get angry. Irritable. Get that man a slice of pizza. Anything!

So years ago when I first read A Moveable Feast, one of my favorite books, by Ernest Hemingway, his sketch “Hunger was Good Discipline” struck me as total BS.

Hemingway wrote,

You got very hungry when you did not eat enough in Paris because all the baker shops had such good things in the windows and people ate outside at tables on the sidewalk so that you saw and smelled the food. When you were skipping meals at a time when you had given up journalism and were writing nothing that anyone in American would buy, explaining at home that you were lunching out with someone, the best place to do it was the Luxembourg gardens where you saw and smelled nothing to eat all the way from the Place de l’Observatoire to the rue de Vaugirard.

In a few words this sounds like a nightmare, skipping meals, but I’ve lived it. To this day. Because money is tight and nobody is buying what I sell and the government must take 50 percent of anything I do make. I eat a vegetarian diet because for $70 a week, it feeds me and my wife.

There’s the gnawing at the gut that Hemingway says,

There you could always go into the Luxembourg museum and all the paintings were heightened and clearer and more beautiful if you were belly-empty, hollow-hungry. I learned to understand Cezanne much better and to see truly how he made landscapes when I was hungry.

This was where my infantile reader mind flew off the handles. If I were looking at paintings on an empty stomach, the growling would far distract my senses from anything other than the most primal need to eat.

But upon re-reading this section, I realized this wasn’t food-hunger at all. It was the hunger of the hustler, that when you deeply want something, when you can’t think of anything else other than whatever-that-is, that hunger creates the discipline to hit the page with rigor.

Hemingway says,

You dirty phony saint and martyr, I said to myself. You quit journalism of your own accord. You have credit and Sylvia [Beech] would have loaned you money. She has plenty of times. Sure. And then the next thing you would be compromising on something else. Hunger is healthy and the pictures do look better when you are hungry. Eating is wonderful too and do you know where you are going to eat right now?

Of course he visits a cafe to eat and get “tight” as Jacob Barnes or Lady Brett may say. And of course he refers to his lecherous ways by “compromising on something else,” but if we look past that we see the discipline all artists must have to succeed.

Here again we see hunger for food as a conduit for the deeper hunger of literary stardom and artistic integrity. His deep pursuit for telling stories created the discipline. He had a ritualized morning schedule that only the truly hungry ever adhere to (more on this soon).

A Moveable Feast is such fine read, of the famous writer looking back to a time when nothing was certain, when the belly was empty, and hunger was, in fact, good discipline.