Working Days (11 page)

 

 

Late start today and for no reason at all. Grey day and wind. Carol going to S.J. [Ed.—San Jose] for hair wave. Going to see John [Ed.—Street] in hospital tonight. Bill Richardson wants to come down to discuss new S.F. [Ed.—San Francisco] Chronicle magazine. Wants to see Louis. Louis dedicating his new book to us.
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Very flattered. It is a good book. Will see him tonight. Went yesterday to see some land. Beautiful but impossible. Too remote and too many difficulties. What a view though! Lots of things happened. Now to the work. Book One is coming to a close—one more day—today of particulars and one of general and it is closed. I’m tired and a little fed up. I think the new line will ease me out of it. Lots of sleep last night. Afraid of repetitiousness. Must watch that. And I really am doing a great number of words a day. Well, it is time to get to it. Time passes. But I have plenty of time. My system is collapsing towards the end of Book One. Just finished chap [Ed.—Chapter 10]. No more. Tomorrow the general. Then the first book will be done in a little over a month.

 

 

Entry #28
June 30 [1938]—11:15 [Thursday]
End of Book One

 

My system of time has indeed collapsed. Today—the last day of June and I have finished in one month Book One, the background of this novel. One general chapter today and it will be a short one, too. The empty and deserted houses [Ed.—Chapter 11]. Yesterday the work was short and I went over the whole of the book in my head—fixed on the last scene, huge and symbolic, toward which the whole story moves. And that was a good thing, for it was a reunderstanding of the dignity of the effort and the mightyness of the theme. I felt very small and inadequate and incapable but I grew again to love the story which is so much greater than I am. To love and admire the people who are so much stronger and purer and braver than I am. This morning a letter from Barry saying his group was non partisan,* and I wrote back to place myself on record as partisan to the common people. There can be left no doubt of that. And now the sun is shining and the birds, 50 different kinds, are singing in the trees outside my window, and the woods are green and beautiful. It is a good day in which to finish the first book. I have all of my people in whom I shall use, some of them well described. I hope all of them alive because they must live. Carol is washing now. I thought I would move but I can’t. There is more noise in the house than out here, even with the washing machine going. So I’ll stay out here [Ed.—porch deck] and work through it if I can. It isn’t very long after all. My head aches today I don’t know why. But I’ll finish and I hope I’ll have the new part ready by tomorrow. It would be good to have a few days off. I think I’ll take them. Carol is right. Why should I rush? October and November and December will be enough to get it finished. Maybe I’ll take the time off. I’ll see. It would be good for me. And now to finish Book One. It occurs to me that I’ll finish Book Two by the end of July and then two months for Book Three. And now Book One is done—rhyme, rhyme. And I am going to take Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday off. I feel a little daring doing this but I think it will be better if I do. I’m getting a tenseness and a weariness. I must get fresh. This will be the last until the 5th.

 

 

Now time has caught up with me. I’ve been four days off work, am all rested but by the same token I’ve got to get back the rhythm. I think I can for I jolly well must. There are no two ways about it. Beginning the second book today and it must have the rolling sound of wheels and the clutter of cars and the panting across the country. The first general [Ed.—Chapter 12] and it must have the meat of the whole second volume in it. For a moment I was afraid to start but this diary is a good idea for it gives me the opening use of words every day. Long weekend. Ritch and Tal and Ed here. Danced Sunday night, went completely mad dancing. Never did such dancing—every one for himself and Ed tippy-toeing around like a bear. All of us more drunk with high spirits than with anything else. Read Ed some little parts of this book and he finds them moving for which I am glad. They went home last night. This morning lots of quail. Play goes on the road with original cast.
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Moore wants information for a critique
^*
of some kind. Norwegian translation
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coming, etc. Exciting but I can’t allow excitement. Leave that for this winter. I want this done before the show comes out here. It is getting warm after all this time. Now back to the work. I feel fine about it. But during the four days off I have thought of the whole book. And it is rather like the prison term. Must not think too much of the end but of the immediate story—instant and immediate. It is a long haul but what do I care[?] It will be done all of the rest of my life—whatever is left of it. And that is not moody. When this book is finished a goodly part of my life will be finished with it. A part I will never get back to. But now the time is here to get to work and so I go. All done* but I don’t know. I’m afraid of that chapter. Two [Ed.—Chapter 13] is of the family again on the road. Must get down to business now and work hard and tomorrow is

 

 

Now the land work starts again. Now the crossing and I must get into it the feeling of movement and of life. Review of my work* in a magazine this morning. All wrong. But the writer was dishonest. Still some of his criticism was valuable. Make the people live. Make them live. But my people must be more than people. They must be an over-essence of people. Critics understand very little. They have to be taught the long hard way. But I am in the suck hole of work again. Immersed in it. And this chapter [Ed.—Chapter 13] will be a long one. It is the first day and night. And it has in it the first communication with other migrants. This is important, very important. Letter from George Hedley at work in school, wants us to go up there. Wish I could but I can’t. Got to stay here and work. Must do that. I simply must get this book done before anything else. No matter what other things are going on. And I can’t leave. I must get back to the Joad family on their movement to the west. And now the time has come to go to work. Well that is done. And the story grows again. Work is the only good thing. Tomorrow is

 

 

Now it’s Thursday. Strange how I’m fighting this book now. I think it is about to change now though because I am feeling more and more like work. The despair came on me for a while but although still nervous from it I think I am recovering. Today will be a kind of test case I guess. As Carol says, stay with the detail. Let the damn book go three hundred thousand words if it wants to. This is my life. Why should I want to finish my own life? The confidence is on me again. I can feel it. It’s stopping work that does the damage. Today I finish another section of this big book, a page section that is. I wish this [Ed.—ledger] book were all full. This daily work diary is really working this time and it is a good thing. Today word from Barry,* who wants to print my statement. Also from teacher’s association asking for a speech, and
Who’s Who*
for correction of proof. That’s all the mail. Swedish translation
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of T.F. arrived today, and the Norwegian is on the way. Getting quite a collection of translations. It will be a nice thing to have. Today I feel finally relaxed after the Fourth of July holiday. That seemed to wear me down rather than rest me. The work itself has rested me. Now the time is here to go to work. And I must go to work. And I’m anxious today. Report later. Finished and I have a good feeling about today’s work. I think it is better. More easy and moving.

 

 

Fairly early start today. And a beautiful day. Carol goes to look at real estate today. Wilkus came out with a word about a ranch in the mountains—360 acres for $12,000. Could sell off what we didn’t want. We’ll look at it anyway. It might be fine. No mail of any consequence today. French translation of M & M and IN. D. B. are in progress. * They get about. I wonder how this book will be. I wonder. Yesterday it seemed to me that the people were coming to life. I hope so. These people must be intensely alive the whole time. I was worried about Rose of Sharon. She has to emerge if only as a silly pregnant girl now. She has to be a person. Noah I think I’ll lose for the time being and Uncle John and maybe for a while Casy. But I want to keep Tom and Ma together. Lots of people walking along the roads in this season. I can hear their voices. Louis has finished his book, first draft. * He must be glad, I guess. Well, it’s time for me to go to work. Time to go and today I must get them camped. And the tent effect built. And the new people. And maybe a part of the history of this new couple [Ed.—the Wilsons]. Well, that’s done. The death of Grampa [Ed.—Chapter 13].

Monday again. The weeks swing by but they don’t seem to get me much nearer to completion. They do, of course, only they don’t seem to. Sunday Julia B [Ed.—Breinig, from Monterey] and two others. Today after four Bill Richardson. I don’t know what he wants. Louis will be down though. Nothing much else to report. We made plans to go to the Rodeo* next Saturday and night and then back to Santa Cruz. Ought to be fun. I just hope I don’t get into any trouble—I mean with publicity. Salinas would exploit anything—anything, even me, whom it hates. Well, there it is—the daily life. Now back to work. Always on week ends I have the feeling of wasted time. And I am terrified that through illness or something the work may stop. Once the first draft is done, it will be all right because someone could read it even if I passed out of the picture. But I simply must get the draft done. Must avoid every side influence. Must get to be tough about so many things now. Once it is finished of course—then I’ll take time off I hope. But I haven’t really done much work the last two years—for me, I mean. In wordage, more than most, but not for me. But once this book is done I won’t care how soon I die, because my major work will be over. Today comes the funeral in the night of Grampa. That will be the whole day’s work. And it closes one whole part of the book. It must be good and full of fullness and completions. And that feeling must go into it. Must. I seem to use the word must more than any other. It’s a good word though; I’ve nothing against it. The force of folk ceremonial. Well there she is and Grampa is only half-buried. Tomorrow is

This is a beautiful day, hot and clean. Last night Richardson of the Chronicle down. Spoke about a new literature section. I have nothing for it and the price is too low for Louis. Well, there you have it. This morning a request from CIO
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to head a committee for organization of farm workers. Can’t do it until this book is done. Mail was sparse today. This is a hell of a time to be writing a book. Everything in the world is happening and I must sit here and write. Well if I ever finish, it will be some kind of triumph. This good pen holds up beautifully. I guess it will last out the entire book. The more I think of it, the better I like this work diary idea. Always I’ve set things down to loosen up a creaking mind but never have I done so consecutively. This sort of keeps it all corralled in one place. Soule phoned* that he wanted me to talk to the President, but I don’t know what about or why. I’ll do it if I can do any good but I’ll be damned if I’ll be another shirt front in a curious mob. I can’t go on this way forever. My hand today will steady down I think because I am calm. And it is time now.

Chapter end. It was Book Two, chapter two [Ed.—Chapter 13]. General tomorrow. I don’t know which one.

 

 

I don’t know why, but everything seems to be happening now. We are looking at ranches today, too. And yesterday we saw the most beautiful I have ever seen. I want that ranch.* We’ll try to get it. Carol wants it too. And it is reported that [Ed.—Wally] Ford is coming and all the time I go on working but I wonder whether my work isn’t getting a shot-full-of-holes feeling. No word from Soule so I guess I won’t have to meet the President. I would have but I didn’t like it. Most brilliant weather now. Lovely. And time slips through my fingers. But so far the work has slipped through too so that in fifteen days I shall be half through this book. Probably the first of August no less. I don’t know whether I can do the whole thing in one jump without a rest. We will see. May take a few days off when Book Two is done. Took four days when Book One was done. Tried to get some music but couldn’t. Routine of the house more important. Will have to get on without it. Having to work through and around a thousand things anyway. Wish I could run away from everything to do my book. God, how I wish I could! It will be full of jitter at this rate. No other way, I guess. Well, to work—or to try.

I did it but it may not be good. I don’t know. But it is in, the I to We [Ed.—Chapter 14].

 

 

Today much to my disgust the time has slipped away and it is the latest since I started this book. Not that it matters a great deal. Just work later. I’ll get it done but it scares me to be late. We’re hipped on this ranch. Can think of little else. But I must. Carol is mad over the place and so am I. Well I don’t have to meet the President for which I am thankful. My lazy tendency is setting in now and I’ll have to combat it. This book must be ready by the first of the year. Simply must. And that means solid work, completely solid. So this tendency must be put out of the way. Little mail this morning for which I’m glad. Rusty sent sixty bottles of the fine red wine. Nice people. Too many things are happening. No word from the east [Ed.—from Pat Covici, or from McIntosh and Otis].
News
printed my letters
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and I imagine the reaction will be immediate. Now to work god damn it and different work. Must get to it.