“Huckleberry Finn?” I said. “Are you serious, Mr. Hemmingway?’
He chuckled. “I said it years ago. Mark Twain’s writing hasn’t changed since then. At least not that I’m aware.”
“It’s been awhile since I’ve read about Tom and Huck.”
“All the better to read it again. The man was a master at spinning a web of lies. That is what fiction is, you know. Clemens’s words have the power to leap off the page, grab you by the throat, and ensnare your mind. They won’t let you escape their trap.”
I closed my eyes a moment and remembered the first time I’d read the story. Just a kid in grade school. Hemmingway was right. Mark Twain had mesmerized me with the tale. “So,” I said, “What do I do? I’m not that good of a storyteller.”
“You don’t have to be. I’m not.”
“Good God, no.” He laughed again, lightly. “I’ve had to work at it all my life. And it’s hard work, too.”
“I thought you were a natural.”
“Not many of those. And I’m not one of them.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“You and a lot of others.” He cocked his head sideways and smiled a mischevious smile. His eyes glistened. “It’s none of their business that you have to learn how to write. Let them think you were born that way.”
Here’s the link to my web page: http://www.bobwhite4stories.com .
Until next time, that’s it from The Storyman ….