Going well today. I am trying to hold it down to 1000 words a day for a while. I have always the tendency to hurry and I don’t want to this time. I want this book to be a very slow one. I must not let this book run away from me. The story moves but it must move at its own pace. I had thought to get all of the early story of Adam down in one chapter but I can’t. It will have to be split over two chapters. I will get him into the army and then leave him and go back to the Hamiltons, and to discussion. Otherwise it would be too long in one stretch. Also, when Adam comes back from the army, he will be a formed man and it will be the thing I have written the whole thing for. And as I haye mentioned before and again and again—a story has a life of its own. It must be allowed to take its own pace. It can’t be pushed too much. If it is, the warp shows through and the story is unnatural and unsafe. And this story of mine must be safe. At last I wonder how many events are accidents and how many are created and forced by the natures of the protagonists. To a large extent I lean toward the latter.
Later. Now the day’s work is over and the story moves. I hope it does. It seems to. But we will see. The morrow’s work if I do enough of it will end the chapter. It will consist in the following: the day, the fight, the second talk with Carl, the night, the visit in the night with Alice. And with that I will end the chapter. Then after a stretch about the Hamiltons I will go back to Connecticut, the girl, the marriage, and the take-off to California.
March 6, Tuesday
Here we go again. No sleep last night but I feel fine. And I don’t even know why I didn’t sleep. I was perfectly comfortable. Just couldn’t let go of consciousness. Funny thing. But an early start today because sometimes fatigue slows me down. And I want to get a good stretch in today—maybe even finish the chapter—but I put little faith in that. Everything in this book turns out to be larger than I had anticipated. I think I put down the next happenings in a previous note. I’ll have to look back and see whether a night of consideration ... Now, once to the toilet and I will go to work.
And some work done but a little bit slow today as why shouldn’t it be. I am completely relaxed with this book—perhaps too much relaxed. We’ll only see about that later. It is so strange what one writes down. And curious what one remembers. I suppose one remembers just what he wants to remember for his own safety and his own good. And if this is so, why should I not say it in a book? And I should and I will. Because a book—at least the kind of a book I am writing—should contain everything that seems to me to be true. There are few enough true things in the world. It would be a kind of sin to conceal any of them or to hide their little heads in technique as the squeamishness of not appearing in one’s own book. For many years I did not occur in my writing. But this was only apparently true—I was in them every minute. I just didn’t seem to be. But in this book I am in it and I don’t for a moment pretend not to be.
But it goes very slowly today, very slowly. Sometimes I think I like it better this way. I am really mumbling over the syllables today and sometimes that is good and pleasant. Self-indulgence it truly is though, no matter what I say or anyone says. And do you know, Pat, what the chief reason for my enjoyment of this book is? It is because there is no end. It goes on and on into a kind of infinity. And if a book has no end, it does no good to hurry to get it done. So, although my word rate per day is somewhat higher than I would like it, I still don’t get anywhere. And that’s the way I am going to keep it. I can see you cursing this attitude because it gives you no time to plan on. But I am still going to try to keep it that way.
And there’s that day’s work done. I thought I might possibly finish the chapter but there’s a good part of another day of work on that. This is a very long chapter but then I guess all of these chapters are going to be long. And I know one thing—this book is not going to hold all of this novel. I doubt whether two of them will, using only every other page. I do that because the left-hand page is hard to write on and so it is only
March 7, Wednesday
I should easily finish this chapter today. There isn’t a great deal more of it. Yesterday the symbolic killing of brother by brother. I have only the recruiting and the last night with Alice visiting perhaps. But I have other things too. I want to wind this first chapter up well. The others are not so clear cut. But I like a chapter to have design of tone, as well as of form. A chapter should be a perfect cell in the whole book and should almost be able to stand alone. If this is done then the breaks we call chapters are not arbitrary but rather articulations which allow the free movement of the story. I think you will find that the theme is beginning to emerge. And it had to take time. It will emerge again and again. But this time it will just peer out and withdraw. This long-range letter has a curious effect on me. I have the impression that you have already read the earlier ones and I know this is not so. The gifts of Cain and Abel to their father and his rejection of one and acceptance of the other will I think mean a great deal to you but I wonder if it will be generally understood by other readers. We will have to see.
March 8, Thursday
Now, Pat, we come back into the Salinas Valley and to the boys. And this will be the first test of the book’s form because it will be the first repetition of a method. You see the first time it is a kind of a surprise. Then the next time there should be recognition and after that the form should seem so natural that you cannot imagine its being done any other way. I hope you liked the ending of Chapter II. 6I think it is kind of terrible in a way. And now I go back to the Hamiltons and to my boys. And it is peculiar that I go back to the boys on this particular day. Gwyn called me yesterday to tell me that Tom is refusing to go to school, fights to stay away, claims he misses the bus. When the two of them stayed overnight with me last week I knew that Tom was in some deep emotional trouble, I could feel it. And I am pretty sure it is a simple feeling of rejection, of not being loved. [...] I’m going to take him into the country Saturday and Sunday to see if I can help him. I’ll want to talk to him but mostly I’ll want him to talk if I can get him to—and without his brother. I feel that the competition there is so much too great for him under whatever handicaps he feels he has. So you see, coming back in the book to the boys is almost like talking to him in trouble. I guess it is almost time to have some of this book typed up. Jean Ainsworth7 offered to do it for me. She says she can read my writing. And of course in this draft it doesn’t make a great deal of difference if there are words she can’t read. It will be only a correction draft. The story will move along but it will never move quickly. I don’t want it to. It has a long slow pace and I will do anything to keep it that way. You will be back from your western trip in about two weeks, and if I can continue at the rate I am going and do not have any accidents that take up time I should have somewhere near a hundred typewritten pages done. I’m not sure of course but I should have nearly sixty done now, but there is no way of telling. I think there are about 2½ pages to the page of my writing unless there is lots of dialogue, in which case it will be 3 pages to the page. But so far there is not a great deal of dialogue except in spots. Of course that will increase as the book goes on. You know as well as I do that this book is going to catch the same kind of hell that all the others did and for the same reasons. It will not be what anyone expects and so the expecters will not like it. And until it gets to people who don’t expect anything and are just willing to go along with the story, no one is likely to like this book. It is really time I went to work.
March 12, Monday
Now a new week. We spent the week end at Meredith’s 8 in the country. A quiet time, windy and cold but good. We took Tom with us who Gwyn thought needed a lecture about going to school. He needs more than that. He needs infinite patience and discipline. Elaine gave him lessons and did wonders with him. His blocs would disappear quickly under better conditions. Now a new week of work starts. I hope to God it will be a good one. I have the Hamilton chapter but all tied up with the transition of the Trasks. And in case you have not discovered it, this d
evice gives me the possibility of describing, interpolating, explaining, etc., without seeming to be a bore. Maybe I will be, but I will try not to be. It must be relaxed and easy and at the same time comfortable. As always, people in a book change. Thus I am forced to change the name of Carl Trask and for reasons I don’t want to tell right now. He has changed his symbolic nature to a certain extent, I guess that is the main reason. And I want the book to be as perfect as possible but it should have some of the imperfections of its subject —namely mankind. Of course there will be others but insofar as it is possible I should like the faults to fit the subjects like the iron tires of a wheel—shrunk on and permanent. Do you know how this is done, Pat? You should know I guess. And maybe I will tell you. Maybe not. It depends on whether the book requires it. Now I have put enough on this page and I will go back to my story and see what I can do with it. Anyway it is surely time for that.
Now—I have concluded a difficult part which is to throw in history and make it sound like conversation and to mingle with this some kind of understanding of the people involved, at least to pose the problem of these people. And further, since these people are essentially symbol people, I must make them doubly understandable as people apart from their symbols. A symbol is usually a kind of part of an equation—it is one part or facet chosen to illuminate as well as to illustrate the whole. The symbol is never the whole. It is a kind of psychological sign language. But in this book, which I want to have a semblance of real experience both visual and emotional and finally intellectual, I want to clothe my symbol people in the trappings of experience so that the symbol is discernible but not overwhelming. So I am nearly done with the transition of Adam Trask but I want to put down one clincher in the form of a letter.
There another day’s work done. I hope you will like it. It has much hidden in it.
March 13, Tuesday
Things do happen and continue to happen on the outside. Isn’t that odd that I now regard the book as the inside and the world as the outside. And just as long as that is so the book is firm and the outside cannot hurt it or stop it. And I must be sure that it remains that way by never letting time go by without working on it. For it is one thing to have in one’s mind that the book will never be done and quite another to let it stop moving. Yesterday it went a little too fast. Today maybe a little too slow, but that is completely unimportant if only it moves a little every day. I have been and have intended to take Saturday and Sunday off for rest and a change of pace and I am not sure I am right. I think from now on I will do something on Saturday, if it is only a paragraph. Two days is too long to be away from it. One day is all right. So I really think I will try that. Even one paragraph is association and it is better. But I will try it and see.
The letter9 written by Charles to Adam is a very tricky one and it has in it, concealed but certainly there, a number of keys. I recommend that you read it very carefully—very carefully because if you miss this, you will miss a great deal of this book and maybe will not pick it up until much later. I don’t know why I tell you this though, for I am sure you will read it all with great care, as great care as I use in writing it. Sometimes maybe too much care. But I guess that is impossible. And I suppose the subtleties are sooner or later picked out but never by critics.
March 14, Wednesday
I didn’t get much done yesterday and probably won’t today. Outside things are cutting in. This is bound to happen sometimes. That’s why I must take so much time with this book so that I can bridge such days as this. What the outside things are is no part of this record. I must get into the book again at least to try even though my mind is badly cut up in all directions. Very hard to concentrate today. But I must try for my own safety. Take things in stride and particularly don’t anticipate trouble before it happens. One of my very worst habits is the anticipation of difficulties and vicariously to go through them in advance. Then, if they happen I have to do it twice, and if they don’t happen I have done them unnecessarily. I know this is my habit. Last summer Marge Benchley 10 drew my attention to this tendency and its futility and Elaine has many times since. But not to do it requires constant watchfulness on my part. I have the recurring tendency. I guess I am what is called a worrier.
Today I had a report that you had seen young Ed Ricketts 11 in S.F. and talked with him. If I can find your itinerary, I will write you a card. Yes I found it and you will be leaving Hollywood tomorrow so I will write you a card to the Palmer House in Chicago and it may be there when you arrive.
March 15, Thursday
Well I got up early this morning in spite of the fact that I was up until 2:30 laying the hall rug. It was very hard because I was sleepy. But gradually I came out of it. The outside things I spoke of are removed now and I wanted to dip deeply into the work and I have too and now my day’s work is done.
There is only one trouble with a story like this which moves of itself. In the light of what happens you have to go back and correct or change so that the two match. This is a very headstrong story, Pat. It has taken its head and it goes as it wishes and I learn from it rather than being taught by it. I shall be interested when you read some of it to know whether you find it slow in the sense of boring. Slow in pace it certainly is. And now I am going to finish some work downstairs and maybe take a walk. You get into Chicago today I guess.
March 16, Friday
I wouldn’t say this has been a very good week but I do the best I can. And the book does move along little by little. And it never moves back, that’s one thing about it. It lacks tension and that is just exactly what I want and intend it to do. But it may cause trouble to you as a publisher because people have grown to expect tautness and constant action. It’s like in the present-day theatre. If there isn’t shouting and jumping around it isn’t liked. For people seem to have lost the gift for listening. Maybe they never had it. Who knows. The admired books now were by no means the admired books of their day. I believe that Moby Dick, so much admired now, did not sell its first small first edition in ten years. And it will be worse than that with this book. It will be considered old-fashioned and old hat. And to a large extent it is —you have to look closely to see its innovations even though there are many. And in pace it is much more like Fielding than like Hemingway. I don’t think the lovers of Hemingway will love this book. You may have noticed that young people in particular like only one kind of book. They cannot enlarge to like more than one. I myself have been guilty of this.
The week end comes on. To me it has been a very short week. So much has happened outside of the book, things that could not be helped. I hope that next week may not have so many things. They tend to confuse me out of all proportion. We go to the theatre tonight and Waverly is giving a party for thousands of teenagers. Just as well we are going to the theatre I guess, and besides, the kids don’t want us around any more than we want to be.
March is the month my mother was really afraid of. She practically held her breath until it was over every year. For everything bad happened to our family in March. But she herself I believe lived through March and died in April. But all her life she hated March. I don’t think this is unusual. March is a nervous month, neither winter nor spring and the winds make people nervous.
Now it is time for me to go to work.
March 19, Monday
Well it was a big week end. Waverly had a big party on Friday—about twenty-five kids—and nine girls stayed all night. They were very good, however, and there was no trouble. We went to see The Rose Tattoo and liked it very well. I have a real uncomfortable stomach upset. Kind of biliousness. It will go away but hard to ignore because I feel lousy. Today I have to work on this book and then rework the last scene of Zapata12 so I do wish I felt better. Annie Laurie12 comes out of the hospital today. I was going down to see her—but too much work. I can’t.
Had cards from you and from Dorothy 13 today. But you must have been in Chicago for some days. I think you are due home tomorrow or maybe today. I don’t know how much in
vention my stomach-bitten mind has today but I will do the best I can. And that’s all I can ever do. Still on the Hamiltons and will be for several days but I should get the third chapter 14 one sometime this week. My head is really spinning today. I hope I don’t have that intestinal flu that is so prevalent. I’ve been lucky for a long time. Haven’t been sick in a very long time. And I would like to keep it that way. But I am surely having some violent symptoms today. But little by little they will leave, I am sure. They always do. I have had a fine unbroken record of good health for which I am grateful.
Now back to the book. You will have noticed I am sure that I am trying by a slow leisurely pyramiding of detail to give an impression not so much of the physical life of the county as of the kind of spiritual life—the thinking life—the state of mind—the plateau of thought. As we go along there will be more of the physical life. But I think it fairly important that I give a kind of mood of the Valley. What do you think?
March 20, Tuesday
As I think I remarked yesterday, you should be back from Chicago today, but maybe you are staying on. Who knows. I think you’ll call me when you do.
Journal of a Novel Page 4