By Sue Trollip
When I first read Hemingway’s quote
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
I thought it metaphorical. I mean can you really bleed at a typewriter? Perhaps if you missed a few keys and slammed your fingers onto those metal arms beneath, yes. But it’s rather unlikely. Can we bleed at a keyboard? I can understand carpel tunnel and really sore fingers but blood, not so much.
Then the Oscars came to town and although I joined in well after the whistle I’m doing my best to catch up. Two nights ago I watched Whiplash (Thank you Redbox). And man, was there blood, both literal and metaphorical.
I wonder what JK Simmons had to sacrifice to put that little golden statue on his shelf, or next to his bed, or in his briefcase. JK Simmons is a man we’ve all seen before. He’s been in a lot of movies and he has one of those faces. Then after years of slogging he wins his Oscar. Well deserved, in my opinion, the man was brilliant. But I want to ask him what it cost.
Last night I watched Foxcatcher and it had a similar theme. What is the cost of fame? How do we get it? What are we willing to sacrifice to have it?
Then I started thinking, and thinking some more and, my question to you is this:
With no guarantees of success how far would you go to succeed?