Working Days (13 page)

Well the work has pretty much gone to hell. Might just as well take it in stride. The pressure broke down the strict discipline and Friday went to S.F. with Ed. I was tired. Then the difficulty and that didn’t help, and the trouble in the east is still going on. Should break out of this this week I think. Then a letter from Muni
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about T.F. Which I would like to do. If I could get Louis to work with me it would be good. I’ll try when the time comes but meanwhile the pressure increases with little way out nor hope of ease. And so I simply must establish the discipline again and maintain it for a while. A slightly less frantic outlook would make some difference. The dog [Ed.—female in heat] has been completely frantic lately and it must stop. Carol is entirely well now and able to take over the phone, etc. Not entirely well, but on the road if there are no complications. I should be able to go ahead. I am so lazy and the thing ahead is so very difficult. I think it is laziness that is getting me. How easily we can transpose our laziness into something else. But I’ve done books before and what I have left to do now is one ordinary length novel. About the length of I.D.B. or a little longer and that will be the end. And now it is time to go to work.

Finished.

 

 

Now a new era. Don’t know how it will work. Now cleared in N.Y. Viking Press
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bought contract. New one made. I hope it is a good one. Will hear in a day or so. Wellman Farley* coming down today. Hope G.S.K. [Ed.—George S. Kaufman] has called him but I don’t know. Probably late today. The washing machine slows me down. But I can’t complain. It’s so good mostly. And if I’m a little late, what of it? I am removing the time dead line on this book. I think that a good idea. It will freshen the manuscript. Too many things. I’ll do it as I can. But I do want to get it out. The other things—T.F. and I.D.B [Ed.—movie versions] —are good to think about but this book is my work. When it is done I can do what I want, but until then—this is the stuff. I feel pretty good. If we could get this ranch I’d feel better. Certainly it is the most beautiful place I ever saw. Must remember the trouble I had in M & M. * Thought I’d never get it done or make it work. I don’t know. Every book seems the struggle of a whole life. And then, when it is done—pouf. Never happened. Best thing is to get the words down every day. And it is time to start now.

 

 

Although I got up early this morning I’m late getting to work and I don’t in the least know why. No word from the east today. Be a letter tomorrow and all the trouble will be done. For a while at least. No more word from Muni. My stipulations were tough and perhaps turned them away. Now this work is getting very hard. Wellman down yesterday and apparently G.S.K. doesn’t intend to give him a chance. Well I’ve done all I could there. I’m getting worried about this book. I wish it were done. I’m afraid I’m botching it. I think it would be a good thing to stop and think about it but I hate to lose the time. But I want it to be good and I’m afraid it is slipping. But I must remember that it always seems that way when it is well along. I think I’ll plug them into California today. Letter from Tom [Ed.—Collins]—worried about this committee. So am I sometimes. But the trip isn’t so bad. Whatever that means. I have no reason except laziness, but I simply must get these people across the desert and into the field. Must do that and soon. Now to work at least into thought of work. So long!

Got it done, by God, and still they aren’t across the desert. Just starting. Tomorrow the desert and the valley and Granma and the agricultural station [Ed.—Chapter 18].

 

 

Again to work. And lots of things have happened. Pare called from L.A. Will be here next week end. I’ll be glad to see him. And perhaps many things will be clear. No word from Muni. I don’t know how that stands. And no word from the ranch. I don’t know how that stands either. Either they are bluffing or they are arguing it out. I don’t know which, or maybe they have lost interest in us. Can’t tell. Just have to wait, I guess. Now I think that covers what has happened. Did ever a book get written under such excitement? Well, two got written while mother and dad were ill
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and if that could happen—anything could. The Viking contract went through I guess. And so the time approaches to get to work and I wonder whether I can. Well I’ve got to and there’s no end to that.

Bad Lazy Time

Demoralization complete and seemingly unbeatable. So many things happening that I can’t not be interested. Viking bought the contract and every one is happy about it. Pat and all. I wonder if I will ever have a manuscript to turn in on it. Last week end a big one. Joe and Charlotte
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Friday and Saturday—Wally Ford and Martha Saturday [and] Sunday. Good time but Jesus how the work suffers. Wednesday—Dan James and Chaplin are due, Friday—Pare, Saturday—Gail and George. And me supposed to be working. We closed on the Biddle ranch Sunday, $10,000 net. Bought 10,000 feet of lumber for $75.00. Lawrence is going up to look over the place today and we’ll get on with it as soon as possible. I almost feel that it would be a good thing to go up there to write but I won’t I guess. All this is more excitement than our whole lives put together. All crowded into a month. First edition of
Long Valley
is 15,000. Too much. Too much. I should really not try to write books in the summer. It is just too much. Too much. I feel like letting everything go. But I won’t. I’ll go and I’ll finish this book. I have to. My whole damned life is tied up. Most people would like it tied up. And maybe I do. My many weaknesses are beginning to show their heads. I simply must get this thing out of my system. I’m not a writer. I’ve been fooling myself and other people. I wish I were. This success will ruin me as sure as hell. It probably won’t last, and that will be all right. I’ll try to go on with work now. Just a stint every day does it. I keep forgetting.

Early to work this morning and this is a general chapter [Ed.—Chapter 19], which—although they are highly charged—are nevertheless the repository of all the external information and material. In a way they are easier to write and in a way harder. But yesterday I got into the swing of doing my daily stint again. The hammering next door nearly drives me nuts, but no way out of that, I guess. Just have to work through it. Take all the time I need. Mustn’t think of the hammering. Dan James and Chaplin coming up this afternoon. I’ll be done early though. The hammering got me and I came into my room which is now the quietest in the house. And it seems pleasant to me. Looking forward to seeing Pare very much. Such a nice guy. Such fun if he isn’t too tired. Want him to see the ranch, too. I’m dawdling today. The hammering is terrific even in here. I don’t care if I do dawdle some. The lady who is doing the thesis
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writes fearfully. The ranch is still the most beautiful place in the world. I love that place. We will enjoy it. I’ve sneaking fears that it is too good and too beautiful for me. Beth will love it, too. In fact, every one we like will love it. It is so beautiful. But I can’t go on this way for I must get my slow day’s work done. And now is a good time to start on it. What a wonderful pen this is. It has and is giving me perfect service—never stops flowing for a second and never overflows and blots a word. But I’m stalling now to keep from going to work. To work.

Finished.

Another day and out in my study again. The pounding isn’t so loud or the wind is in the other direction or something. I don’t know. This has been the most crowded week so far in our lives and it will carry through. For Pare comes tomorrow and Chaplin
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was here last night. Lots of fun, good fun. Dan James looks as young as ever. Gail and George Saturday. Big week end all in all. Today the wind is blowing hard and it makes Carol miserable. She did such a good dinner last night and so beautifully. All this entertaining falls heavily on her shoulders. Now away from the daily life and into the book. I read a couple of chapters to company last night and could see the whole thing clearly. Also it doesn’t sound bad. Today is going to take a long time. I have to get on the line of my family again. The outline of today will carry over some days. Must get it straight, must get it clear and straight. The summer is passing. I don’t think I’ll be finished before the end of October. Sorry, but I’m losing time and so much company and excitement. So much. But I’ll just piddle along my two thousand a day. Going to take a long stretch today. Must see Tom’s letter re crops before I start.

 

 

Today Pare arrives. Yesterday was too much for me. I fought it really hard until I realized that the fight was obscuring the picture. I have some force but not enough for that apparently. Today I feel better I hope. Anyway I try to go on today. I’m afraid for this book, really afraid. Part of the difficulty lies in all the shooting at me, but the other half lies within myself. That’s why it is going to be good to see Pare. Maybe it will be easier when I see him. My dream of early finish goes glummering. Plodding is all right until a day comes when I can’t even plod anymore. I feel limited, too. M.B. [Ed.—Margery Bailey] hunting. C.A.S [Ed.—Carlton Allyn Sheffield] hunting and sniping. No help for that. The book is to do. I’ve fallen in these holes before even in the little Mice book. I had great trouble.* None are east and they aren’t even going to grow east. Good luck is even worse for work than bad luck. I have been too fortunate lately. Of course it balances with the long years on the other side. Can’t tell. Can’t tell. Just have to plod for 90,000 words. Plod as the people are plodding. They aren’t rushing. And now to work and the first life in Hooverville [Ed.—Chapter 20].

 

 

This is Tuesday. Pare came over the week end. Big time. Carol sprained her ankle. Went down to the peninsula with Pare and spent night at Chaplin’s place [Ed.—Pebble Beach]. Talked all night. Of course, I lost a day of work. I am afraid that Pare doesn’t need me on this job and I think he knows it but hasn’t admitted it yet. I’ll work if I am needed. But I wish I could be left alone until Christmas. I am getting tired—very tired. I have at least 6 weeks yet of work by any measuring, and I must re-establish the discipline. Must get tough. So many attractive things are happening that it is difficult. And the ranch on top of everything else. But I must get this done. After all, I’ve always worked under some kind of pressure: T.F. while mother was ill, I.D.B while Dad was ill, M & M while this house was going up. Always something. Just more this time. I can do it and I will do it, by God. It is just the discipline that is all. I’m wasting time today and I don’t care much. Everything goes in circles and I must think WORK. Such strangeness, such strangeness. I’ve read parts to people and they like the parts or say they do, but I wonder whether the whole thing will bear up. I wonder. I don’t want to get cocky about it. I really shouldn’t have told anyone. I get the benefit of the doubt now when before I didn’t. The hammering on the next door house is awful. Everything is curious. Pare made me feel better about the country at large. But I am very confused. French rights to I.D.B. are sold now. So many things are happening. This is probably the high point of my life if I only knew it. I will spend today getting straightened out and on a level again—thinking. I am fresh again and that is good. My brain is clear for details. I can almost finish in one piece I should think. I want to. I shouldn’t be thinking about getting done. Should be thinking only of the story and, by God, I will. I can’t let future interfere with the hardest, most complete work of my life. I simply can’t. Always I have been weak. Vacillating and miserable. I wish I wouldn’t. I wish I weren’t. I’m so lazy, so damned lazy. This year though I have made up for last year’s lay off. I really have batted out a lot of words. I would go through until winter if I could. But if I don’t lay off it will be done, and if I do lay off I’ll lose the thread. I am simply incapable of working any way but hard and fast. That is the only way I can make it. This is too bad. It is almost impossible in fact but I must get calm and quieted before I can go on. I mean that streak yesterday was curiously indecent. I don’t know why but it was. So many things. How impossible it is for me to think. Just writing words, but the thing is starting in my brain. I must get the tempo.

My nerves are going fast. Getting into confusion of many particles—each one beatable, but in company pretty formidable. And I get a little crazy with all of them. Too bad. Just too many things. Must beat them off. I wish I coula go to a furnished room some place where I knew no one and just disappear for a while. I wish that. But I guess it is impossible. I guess it is. I must get back into the stride and sweep. It isn’t just noise and bustle, it’s all the shots in my direction. The wants, the demands, the dissatisfactions. They’re breaking me down, and every now and then my head goes spinning and that frightens me. Some time it might not stop spinning. Nowhere to turn. Nowhere. Can’t think of these things any more. Where has my discipline gone? Have I lost control? Quite coldly we’ll see today. See whether life comes into the lives and the people move and talk. We’ll see.

Got her, by God.

 

 

Yesterday we bought the Biddle ranch. And there were very cautious inquiries into water rights. Very cautious. And now it is ours. That doesn’t mean anything. There is a great weight on my heart. I guess it comes from having property. More and more. It is such a beautiful place. I hope we can sell everything else and just have that one thing. My work is no good, I think—I’m desperately upset about it. Have no discipline any more. I must get back. An ordinary novel would be finished now, but not this one. This one must be good. Very good. And I’m afraid it is not. Carol is going to try to pick up and start putting it in type. I hope she can. It would help. I so want this to be a good book. So much. I don’t know what to do. I’m slipping. I’ve been slipping all my life. Shouldn’t think of that. Is this all laziness, I wonder? I must try to get ahead. Must try that. The week has been shot to hell. Just shot to hell. I’ve always had these travails. Never get used to them. Never. This place has become an absolute mad house—voice culture on one side, linemen shrieking on another. I don’t know what to do. I wish—Jesus!