The problem with Hemingway is that he inspires you to do 4 things. Write, drink, hunt and fish.
I don't believe in hunting. I don't know how to fish. And I sure as hell can't write.
That leaves me with one option, so I'm doing my best to live my drinking life in a way Hemingway would be proud of. That means moving beyond the barbarism of my earlier choices (vodka with Diet Coke anyone? Pina Coladas?) to more civilised drinks like a Gin and Tonic with lemon and bitters.
It's probably terrible that after reading the greatest writer who ever lived, I'm not inspired to "do stuff" or "accomplish things".
All I'm inspired to do is travel and spend my afternoons watching droplets of water condense and glide down the glass surface of my drink, let the hint of a breeze whisper across the back of my neck, sit in the shade and read a book a day.
To be fair, that's not a problem with Hemingway though.
Actually, now that I think about it, it's probably not a problem at all.