PFK1 (9 page)

I wanted to put her mind at ease, but I’m not sure I succeeded. She’s

too smart to be fooled by my crude lies.

Oh well.

Annie’s letters are bundled up in the black trunk, there to molder. I

may yet write a book about that period in my life. Raw material is

precious. I want to damn myself forever. I want to show the world

what a bastard I truly am.

* * * *

March 25, 1978

Today I am going to check out the local library. I may also take a

drive down to the ocean for a while. Need to clear my thoughts

before I begin cracking on Chapter 37. I’ve got my cut-off jeans on

and I intend to take a swim in the freezing ass fucking seawater. As

long as I am here, these tawny beaches will know much of me. Who

wrote that? What was her name?

Sarah Teasdale?

Only 13 more chapters need to be rewritten. This is a drag, the

most difficult part. However, my progress is good and the product is

sound. Most of the chapters are fairly short, the exception being

Chap. 49, which runs nearly 21 pages.

Re-did the dinner segment last night. It flows a lot better now.

Need to ponder the Aldous Hasbro incident before I plunge into it.

Not sure what direction to take there.

55

* * * *

March 28, 1978

Spent my reading time over the weekend with Dashiell Hammett –

The Glass Key
. Oh man, is it ever good! Hammett is much better in

his novels than his short stories.

I loved the character of Ned Beaumont and believe the clues were

nicely spaced. Great plot.

Most of all I like his style. Short, simple, crisp, direct, biting

sentences. I’ve also been reading Grace Metalious’
No Adam In

Eden
. A later work by the author of Peyton Place. A lot of pure

female sensuality in it. A very underrated writer, in my opinion.

Someday I’d like to write a critical article about her. Grace

understood people better than any writer I know of. I wonder why

even the feminists seem to ignore her.

She took it all on – sex, love, hate, child abuse, abortion, wife

beating, crime, hypocrisy, abuse of power, homosexuality – the

works. I seem almost alone in thinking she’s great.

Completed Chapter 38 tonight. An all new chapter, with all new

material. Junked Chap. 39 as needless, poor, badly written, and

irrelevant. Glad to be rid of it.

Glancing back at my old timetable for the completion of this draft.

Looks as if I might come in right on schedule.

Spring is here after a complicated winter.

56

April 4, 1978

Work has been a real bitch the past few days. I hate it when the

welfare checks come out. It wouldn’t be so bad if these dorks would

just do what they’re supposed to do as insofar as the paperwork is

concerned. But no. they expect us to just do it for them. It drives me

crazy.

Finished Chapter 40 last night. The page total is 122.

Tonight I also did a nice notebook draft of Chapter 41. I have a

few reservations about this section, but think I can flesh it out

tomorrow.

I know I am pushing myself, but I want to get this damn thing

finished.

May have found a typist for it. A woman at work named Lisa said

she would type it on her IBM Selectric if I pay her fifty cents a page.

I wonder if she can also keep her mouth shut. The idea of having

someone at work knowing my business – well, I don’t like it.

Still, I would very much like to have a nice clean typed copy of the

manuscript ready soon. The big push is underway – I can’t stop

myself. I’m writing continually. The fiddling around period is over.

I’m totally focused on the work, getting out the work. This feeling of

incompletion bugs me to death.

My weekend in Eugene at the state Democratic convention was

productive. I got there late because I accidentally ran the state truck

off the road while I was up in Swisshome. Sheesh.

For several hours I tried to dig it out by myself, to no avail.

Finally, a local named Tubby Beers (that’s his real name) helped pull

me out. Cripes, why do I screw up like that?

At the convention I saw Ron Madison doing his thing. He’s a dork

if ever there was one. Gimme a couple of runs at him and he’ll be

gone in no time. I saw him make a fool of himself on at least two

occasions Saturday.

57

I really want to run for the state legislature. I hunger for it.

Sometimes I ask myself why and I have no explanation. It’s a visceral

urge, that’s all. There’s no other reason.

Jim Kozlowski was in top form. He’s really in his element now,

cracking the whip over the central committee. John Thomas, Dave

McNeese, and myself all plan to run for state central committee slots

after the primary. We want to be thorns in Jim’s side.

The book the book the book. I am on the verge of completing the

greatest literary achievement of my life. More than anything else, I

want to see it be commercially successful.

* * * *

April 6, 1978

Yes! Today I found a copy of Gracie’s novel The Tight White

Collar. First time I have ever come across it. And, of her four novels,

it’s the only one I haven’t read yet. Last weekend I read No Adam In

Eden. I also liked that one a lot. Reminds me of my own family – a

bunch of people who can’t stand each other are forced by poverty to

live together.

AAARRRGGHHHH!

Sound familiar?

Why is Grace Metalious virtually ignored as a writer? Answer me

that. I think she’s terrific. Peyton Place is a great American novel,

perhaps as good as any book written by the beats. Her masterpiece is

a timeless, sensual novel about real people in true-life situations.

Really brave stuff. I dig it.

Still, why is so little attention paid to her? Why so much to the

beats? Why is she so out of favor? Why?

Because she was a chick, I think.

As a writer among women, Grace is practically without peer. What

other female writer of the 1950s had such an impact? She sold eight

million copies of Peyton Place! She wrote about wife beating,

corruption, abortion, child abuse, homicide, and sex in a realistic

fashion. She was, in my opinion, a genius.

58

I suspect she is ignored by literary women of our generation

because she liked men. Yes, Grace liked men, liked fucking them.

Liked real cocks, real balls. She was no dyke.

Fucking a real man is out of fashion with influential literary

women. They are not particularly interested in fucking, or only want

to fuck each other. Yes, lesbians. Ho hum. Yawn. Not a lot of risk

in that kind of sex, is there?

The successful writers now are fruits and queers, or rilly rilly

beautiful people. I can’t believe the shit that gets published.

Rubyfruit Jungle – gimme a fucking break. What a piece of crap.

Fucking Rita Mae Brown.

They appear only interested in boring fag and dyke stories, no

matter how shallow, sappy, and drippy they are. Nobody understands

me because I’m a dyke, claims Rita.

Don’t get me wrong. I like queers every bit as much as I like non-

queers, but the point is there are other stories besides queer stories.

Those candy ass little dilettante literary mags are so fucking lame they

make me want to blow chunks from here to Timbuktu. And I am not

exaggerating.

At this moment only Bukowski, Gracie, Kerouac, Chandler,

Hammett, West, and a few others speak to me. Or give me a good old

underground comic any day of the week.

Just wait until they get a load of my stuff. Blow their precious little

minds to kingdom fucking come. Those current literary darlings eat

shit.

Aaahh. Felt good to get that off my chest. Sure is something I

would never want to say in public, however.

* * * *

April 7, 1978

My novel
Ding A Ling
will be written in two parts, about 500 pages

each. Part One will be "childhood." That will be the
Ding A Ling

part. The second part will be called "Mavo." That will be my high

school story.

Between 30 and 50 chapters. It will contain most of the

background material before
The Dark City
and will be a vast

59

compendium of my personal mythology up to age 18. After that I

plan to write a romance (with plenty of sex) tentatively called
The

Girl And The Boy
. Or maybe something sensual like
The Painted

Lady Spring.

Unlike the movies, in my stories the girl gets top billing. The boy

is only interesting when he is interacting with the girl. Otherwise he’s

kind of a stupe.

* * * *

April 8, 1978

Stayed up late again last night and polished off Chapter 42. Plan to

do 43 today and 44 tomorrow. I’m following a schedule that requires

me to push this beast to completion by May 15 at the absolute latest.

Second draft, final rewrite, typing, you name it. I want to get it done

so I can move on to other things. First, I will take a little break from

writing. No scribbling for a week, except maybe in this journal.

Then I will begin my campaign to market the book. You never

know what they want to publish. I doubt if they even know

themselves. I feel kind of uncertain about it, but I am resolved to give

it one hell of an effort.

Manuscript now up to page 132.

I have a lot of letters to write. I’m thinking about sending one to

Meredith. Mmmm. Or maybe not.

Got a letter from Jane K. today. John is history and she’s thinking

of moving back to North Carolina. Wrote her a reply right away. I

told her she can go home again, but don’t expect much. Plan to write

Lloyd Schenzler soon as well. I have quite a bit to do tonight besides

my work on Chap. 43.

Doped out a name index of the characters in the book this morning.

It’s all falling into place. I should have no trouble with names in the

final draft, as long as I don’t get fancy with any of them. Can’t wait

to see how beautiful it will look when I’m all done.

Later: Finished Chap. 43 tonight, right on schedule.

* * * *

April 10, 1978

60

Ripped off Chapter 44 tonight. A notebook draft and then a retype.

I like it. I have this feeling that it’s really rolling along now, that I

might be finished with the beast real soon, perhaps sooner than I

expected.

How about by next week? Maybe.

Seven more days. Can’t stop pushing now, gotta get it done. I am

obsessed with it from the time I get up in the morning until the time I

go to sleep at night. No doubt there will still be more revising and

polishing to do but for the most part it is nearing completion.

The Dark City
is about to emerge in finished form. I can hardly

wait to see it through.

I’m almost there.

I’m almost done.

What a fantastic accomplishment!

* * * *

April 16, 1978

Leanne showed up out of the blue on Wednesday. Put the book off

to entertain her. We had a deluxe dinner at the Windward Inn

restaurant, got stoned, drank wine, and went dancing afterwards. The

whole time we talked. And talked.

She’s a girl that likes to talk, and I am a boy that likes talking to a

girl that likes to talk. And, I must admit, Leanne is usually enjoyable

company. When the bar closed, we came here and went to bed.

Leanne wouldn’t fool around, though, because she doesn’t think we

should become "involved" like that, either now or in the future. I was

persistent, but finally gave up. Her reasons for saying no were pretty

convincing.

Still, we slept in the same bed for the first time in many a moon.

We talked for a long time before we went to sleep. Leanne said she is

still very fond of me and said I am very special to her. However, we

were not and never had been right for each other as a couple.

Without thinking about what I was saying, I confessed that I had

cheated on her while we were together. Leanne said it didn’t matter

because she had cheated on me as well.

61

What? This was news. Beyond that she wouldn’t elaborate.

Adamantly refused. Some mysteries will remain unsolved, I suppose.

"And that other thing," she said, meaning the baby we gave up for

adoption eight years ago, "don’t even think about bringing that up, do