Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind (7 page)

Two days later, a package arrived at Macmillan containing a draft of the first chapter. Cole was pleased to get it but wondered where the rest of the novel was. She wrote the author that same day asking her to send along copies of whatever other chapters were ready so as to give the artist who would be designing the dust jacket an idea of the story's setting and characters.
²²

If Cole assumed things were looking up, her bubble burst when the next day's mail arrived with a lengthy letter from Mitchell to Latham explaining why she had sent a single chapter. It had been the only one fit for submittal, and she was not happy even with it. Although Mitchell had been working doggedly for two months, she felt what she had so far for her opening was “amateurish, clumsy and, worst of all, self conscious.” She had struggled with the beginning for years, and it did not flow any easier now. “I cannot work on anything else but keep coming back to the first chapter, pouncing on it, worrying it and then leaving it,” she said. “Each time I hope that by creeping up on it I will catch it off guard and find it more pliable but I have had no luck, so far.”
²³
She wanted Latham to review her effort and offer an honest assessment.

Mitchell went on to say that she remained troubled by the book's title. Macmillan seemed content with “Tomorrow Is Another Day,” but she had confirmed her suspicion that another novel had recently been released with that title. Moreover, Marsh, a former advertising man, had blocked out the words and ruled it too long and ungraceful. Mitchell hated to “seem a chopper and a changer” but pressed again for “Gone With the Wind.” She explained to Latham, “Taken completely away from its context, it has movement, it could either refer to times that are gone like the snows of yesteryear, to the things that passed with the wind of the war or to a person who went with the wind rather than standing against it.”
²⁴
What did he think?

Next, the author expressed concern about the production details. She worried about her haggard appearance in the publicity shots, claiming she might have to be “photographed like T.E. Lawrence in a turban.”
²⁵
She was unhappy with the wording of the blurb and how it depicted her family's history in Georgia. She offered a litany of amusing but irrelevant details of Mitchell lore, including that her family did not fight in the Spanish-American War “because they thought it a piddling sort of war at best.” And, as if she did not have enough on her plate, she concluded with the news that she was hot on the trail of a new author for Latham to consider publishing. She had not had time to get the particulars yet but promised to send more information when she finished her own work.

The letter offers interesting insight into Mitchell's emotional state that fall. She asked for help on the first chapter, but as later would become clear, the problems ran much deeper. The entire manuscript was in far worse condition than she let on, and there was no way it would be ready any time soon. Yet, she rambled on about an assortment of oddball matters and failed to admit she needed more time. What was going through her head? Was she in the throes of writer's block and unable to comprehend the seriousness of the situation? Was she too proud to admit that she had underestimated the job? Perhaps it was a matter of not wanting to disappoint Latham.

Regardless of the reason, Mitchell put on such a casual air that Cole saw no need for undue concern. Latham was on a business trip, so she forwarded Mitchell's letter and the chapter to him on the road. Although he found the opening pages moved a bit slowly, the rest was fine, even admirable. Latham assumed the author just needed a little encouragement to get her moving. He wrote Mitchell, telling her to forget about the first chapter and get on with finishing the manuscript. He confirmed that Scarlett was a good replacement for Pansy and agreed that “Gone With the Wind” was an intriguing title. As for her trouble with the photograph, he did not take her worries too seriously, referring to her descriptions as undeniably humorous. He concluded with a comment that was probably the last thing the overwhelmed Mitchell wanted to hear: “I may tell you in all honesty that there has rarely been a novel about the publication of which I have been so excited and to the appearance of which I have looked forward more eagerly.”
²⁶

Assuming Latham's comments had calmed Mitchell's nerves, Cole told her friend to hurry and have the photograph retaken. She also suggested Mitchell give more thought to the name Scarlett, worrying that it sounded like a
Good Housekeeping
story and might be confused with
Sylvia Scarlett
, a recently released and widely panned motion picture starring Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant.
²⁷
Cole's second-guessing of Scarlett threw Mitchell into a panic. After two months of around-the-clock effort, her nerves were wearing thin. In addition to the case of boils, her eyes bothered her, as did the back injury from the 1934 car accident.
²⁸
If Cole had a better idea for the character's name, Mitchell was glad to hear it. But Macmillan had to make up its mind. Upon receiving Latham's stamp of approval for Scarlett, Mitchell had paid a typist fifty cents an hour to convert all the Pansy references in the manuscript to the new name. The frustrated author did not relish paying to have them changed again. “Personally, we could call her this damn thing and take my busted back and bacilli staphylococci to bed for a long period.”
²⁹
Until Macmillan decided what the name would be, Mitchell refused to go any further on the manuscript.

Regretting having opened this can of worms, Cole immediately apologized to the frazzled author and told her to get back to her writing. “For heaven's sake, don't stop work of any sort and go right along with Scarlett,” the editor replied.
³⁰

In the midst of those discussions, Mitchell bought herself some time by sending Cole the second and fourth chapters and sections of a few others she thought might be useful to the dust jacket artist.
³¹
She also identified scenes that might work as a cover illustration, such as Scarlett and Mammy arriving at Atlanta's train yard; Scarlett leading a broken-down horse and cart over a hill; and Scarlett standing on a porch looking at the cavalry in the distance against a sunset. Mitchell offered suggestions for the format of the book, recommending that Macmillan use the same font as in its recently released
Time Out of Mind
. As for the binding, she opposed silver or gold lettering on a light-colored cloth, fearing the type might wear away over time and leave the exterior blank.

Latham thought little of Mitchell's ideas for the artwork, but at least they were something to work with.
³²
Macmillan hired freelance artist George Carlson to design the cover. Considering Mitchell's insistence that the jacket have a Southern sensibility, he was an unusual choice. Not only was Carlson a lifelong New England resident with no connections to the South, but his mother had worked as a housekeeper for Union general Ulysses S. Grant.
³³
Had Mitchell known of his background—there is no evidence she did—one wonders if she would have appreciated the irony, given her state of mind that fall.

With Macmillan satisfied for the time being, Mitchell's energies that November focused on fact-checking the many still unsettled historical details. Her father and brother reviewed parts of the manuscript and suggested several adjustments. She also brought in outside reinforcements. She admitted to Wilbur G. Kurtz, a local history expert, that “in a weak moment” she had written a Civil War novel and needed his expertise with the military descriptions in the section about General Sherman's march on Atlanta.
³⁴
For help on the Reconstruction-era chapters, she turned to Clark Howell, editor of the
Atlanta Constitution
and author of a book on Georgia history. And, not willing to let the minutest detail go untended, she even wrote an agriculturist for assistance pinning down a saying she had heard as a child about the difference between “wheat people” and “buckwheat people”—terms used to distinguish between those who were flattened by life's storms versus those who bent with the wind and bounced back.
³⁵

By now, word had leaked in Atlanta that Mitchell had a book deal. Although the new author had tried to keep it quiet, she was irritated to discover Cole had mentioned the project to a friend with Atlanta connections.
³⁶
A publishing contract was big news in Mitchell's circles, and friends began calling and dropping by to revel in her accomplishment. The author found it virtually impossible to work amidst a constant stream of interruptions. On December 3, she finally came clean with Cole that the manuscript was not even close to finished.

Three days later, Cole responded, full of remorse for having caused Mitchell any distractions. She was sympathetic about the research and encouraged Mitchell to take her time. Macmillan's sales conference was scheduled for the end of the month, which meant the editorial staff would be busy until then. Cole assured her friend it was fine to submit the manuscript the first full week of January. Mitchell should feel free to take the time she needed with a clear conscience; having a quality finished product was the most important thing. Cole encouraged the author to find a quiet place in the country to finish the book in peace. “If you will pardon my saying so, it sounds to me as though you had been working too hard and that we have been applying too much pressure.”
³⁷
Cole encouraged her to take things easy and not get so jittery.

Any relief Mitchell felt at these comforting words would be short lived. Cole, it appears, had spoken out of turn. Latham did not want to wait until after the sales conference to see the final manuscript. Twice yearly events, the sales conferences were held at the home office in New York and attended by Macmillan's sales staff from the branch offices in Atlanta, Boston, Chicago, Dallas, and San Francisco. For Mitchell's book to reach any level of success, it would have to appeal to these people, who would be responsible for generating interest in the title at bookstores and libraries. Latham knew the sales staff well; they would be no pushovers. Their livelihood depended on them offering an honest assessment of a book's chances, and he would have to make a strong case for
Gone With the Wind
's salability. Convincing them to get behind a novel of which he had read only an incomplete rough draft was far less than ideal. Moreover, Macmillan had decided on a publication date of April 21, 1936, just four months away. Among other issues, the cover art still had not come together. As Latham had predicted, the images drawn up from Mitchell's suggestions had not proven workable, and he wanted the artist to read the text. The second week of December, Latham and James Putnam, George Brett's assistant, approached Cole and laid down the law: Mitchell had to turn over the manuscript right away.
³⁸

Uncomfortable being the heavy, Cole wrote to her friend on December 18: “I am sure you are working your head off, and I hate to hound you, but do shoo it along.” Cole claimed she had been trying to save Mitchell from overwork and had been operating on the theory that, as long as the book was behind schedule, another week would not hurt, but Macmillan could not wait any longer. Mitchell had to send it all now. If it was not up to snuff, there would be plenty of time to make corrections later, Cole promised. She followed up with a telegram the following day instructing Mitchell to rush all available pages to New York.
³⁹

On the afternoon of December 19, Mitchell airmailed another portion and promised more would be on its way soon.
⁴⁰
For the artist, it was too little, too late. By the time Macmillan received Mitchell's package, the decision had been made to go with a dust jacket that focused on the book's title instead of a pictorial image. This bought Mitchell some extra time. Cole returned what she had of the manuscript—except for the first chapter, which was used to create a book dummy for the sales conference—and told her to take another week. She assured the author that Macmillan was doing its best by her and urged her to send the finished book as quickly as she could.
⁴¹

The extra time must have been appreciated, but Mitchell was not ready to dance a jig just yet. Her back pain had worsened to the point where her doctor feared surgery might be necessary; he ordered her to bed, where she worked propped up on pillows.
⁴²
With Mitchell unable to get about, Marsh assumed a more active role in wrapping up the manuscript. He took additional vacation time and hired his secretary, Rhoda Williams, as well as Georgia Power employees Grace Threlkeld and Connie Pearson, to help with the typing after hours.
⁴³
Also assisting was Margaret Baugh, a secretary at Macmillan's Atlanta office whom the Marshes had met through Cole.

Even with this support, the couple did not manage to complete the manuscript in that extra week. Marsh would later say that the harder he worked, the less progress he seemed to make. “And I wasn't writing a book. I was just reading it. . . . I just couldn't seem to get through with the job. I'd work myself blue in the face and then go out and take another look at the stack [of pages] and I hadn't even made a dent in it.” He began to think he was slipping. “I just couldn't put the stuff on the ball like I used to could.”
⁴⁴
The pressure drove Mitchell into a complete state of misery. She used to think that “a lady author was a lady of leisure,” but that romantic notion had evaporated.
⁴⁵
She reached the point where she was scared to pick up the telephone or open the mail for fear it might be Macmillan urging her along or a friend asking for details on her progress. Matters got so out of hand, the pair felt compelled to sequester themselves, refusing visits from friends and family. Allan Taylor, Cole's husband, passed through Atlanta on a business trip during this time, and they declined to see even him.
⁴⁶