Writers in love

I’ve always been intrigued by writers who date or marry other writers. At one point in my life, I think I aspired to this. I imagined the two of us scribbling down notes during random moments, sharing story ideas, serving as first reader and editor for each other. It was a fantasy of mutual absorption in all things writing — Do you think the rhythm of this sentence is off, honey? Can we talk about your main character’s arc over a bottle of Merlot?

Now just thinking about that existence makes me feel ill.

I’m sure some writers have successful relationships with other writers, but I have to think most writer-writer relationships don’t end well (think: Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes). Personally, I prefer to be with someone who pulls me out of my own head, rather than encourages me to stay in there and ruminate. If I give him a story to read, he reads it. But he doesn’t ever ask how my writing is going. If he did, I would tense up and feel a rush of guilt and anxiety over the fact that my writing is rarely going how I want it to go.

And, practically speaking, I’m far too sensitive to accept critical feedback from the person I love most. My sensitivity can cause me to be almost childishly resentful which, I’m pretty sure, isn’t good for long-term bliss. I’m also competitive, as I think most writers are (whether they admit it or not). We all want to be published and we all feel a mix of emotion when someone we know publishes while we’re struggling. Imagine if that person who published while I struggled was my bed mate. Um, no thanks.

All that said, when I heard they were making an HBO movie about the tumultuous love between Ernest Hemingway and Martha Gellhorn, I had to watch. It premiered last night on HBO and Nicole Kidman (as Gellhorn) and Clive Owen (as Hemingway) did a fantastic job of portraying the relationship.

Hemingway and Gellhorn follows the couple from the time they met in 1936, when Hemingway was already a legend and Gellhorn was a less-known novelist but a very well-respected war correspondent. They are passionate about each other, yes, but even more about their work. The movie takes us through the times they wrote about — the Spanish Civil War, Normandy invasion, the Chinese Civil War, rise of Franco, Mussolini, Hitler. It’s said that Gellhorn’s competitive spirit inspired Hemingway to write For Whom the Bell Tolls, so maybe the writer-writer relationship has its pros.

Or not.

Their marriage (his third) lasted 5 years. Hemingway committed suicide in 1961, and Gellhorn killed herself in 1998.

But, anyway, my favorite scene in the movie is when Gellhorn is watching Hemingway type away furiously, like he has so many words in his head and not enough time to get them on paper. There is a look of envy and extreme sadness on her face.

She says to him, almost desperately seeking empathy and help, “I can’t write. I’m trying and I can’t get anything.”

His response after this vulnerable admission is stern: “There’s nothing to writing, Gellhorn. All you do is sit down at your typewriter and bleed.”

And a few moments later: “Get in the ring, Gellhorn. See what you’re made of.”

I’d want to slap him, but she doesn’t, apparently. She goes back to her own typewriter and starts working. So I guess it worked for them…temporarily.

Check your local listings, yadda yadda. It’s 2.5 hours though, to warn you.