As a writer who puts words on a page (screen) every day, I’m in awe of the famous writers of the past. I take the time to read their works, visit the neighborhoods where they lived when I can and delve into their papers when possible.

Presenting one of my strongest diary entries about famous writers, I take you to Paris where I have explored Hemingway’s former neighborhoods on the Left Bank quite extensively. Using his memoir A Moveable Feast, I’ve channeled his mood as I made my way between the addresses of his apartments and studio to his favorite cafes, one of which is La Closerie des Lilas. I admire his muscle, which I’ve read in letters to others in their papers at the Beinecke Library at Yale University.

in a letter to Malcolm Cowley in 1945, for instance, he wrote, “Been working every day and going good. Makes a hell of a dull life too. But it is more fun than anything else. Do you remember how old [Ford Madox] Ford was always writing how [Joseph] Conrad suffered so when he wrote? How it was un métier du chien [a dog’s trade]. Do you suffer when you write? I don’t at all. Suffer like a bastard when I don’t write, or just before, and feel empty and fucked out afterwards. But never feel as good as while writing.” I have a number of posts under this tag so if you’ve enjoyed this snippet, I hope you’ll stop by and read about other famous writers.