Q: Dear Ishmael, are you a writer too? Do you write the same kind of stuff as Holgrave, or what?
A: I like to take in hand none but clean, virgin, fair-and-square mechanical jobs, something that regularly begins at the beginning, and is at the middle when midway, and comes to an end at the conclusion; not a cobbler’s job, that’s at an end in the middle, and at the beginning in the end [1].
Hahahaha—I jest, my friends, I jest! Maybe that’s how Holgrave works, but not me, no—definitely not! Give me a cobbler’s job any day, one where I can jump off the ship of plot halfway through and exhaust upon you all the depth and breadth of my knowledge about whales, and whale stories, and whale parts, and whale paintings, and whale habits, and whaling ships, and whaling customs, and all the other whale things!
I’ve read this blog; I know Holgrave thinks of himself as this “romantic.” And yes, I admit, he pulls off the whole starving artist thing capitally. And yes, he’s got the Gothic thing and the nature thing, and that’s great. Really. I hope one day I get to visit that garret of his.
But to me, romanticism is more about emotions—emotions and danger. Go have a brush with death, and then write a mighty book that swells, expands inside your breast until you can’t take it anymore, you cannot live without putting the thoughts inside onto paper! To produce a mighty book, you must choose a mighty theme. Oh give me a condor’s quill! Give me Vesuvius’ crater for an inkstand! Friends, hold my arms! [2]. Send me [Ishmael Jones, c/o the Pequod, the Pacific Ocean, the world, the universe, etc.] an iPad for Christmas loaded with Scrivener. I am writing a book and cannot stop until it is done!
[1] Melville 460
[2] Melville 400-401
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