22 October 1945
I’ll bet I walked six miles today. Twice I walked to and from the Chapel, where we set up the processing line today. That's more than four miles. Then, this evening, I hiked to and from the theater. That's two more miles. So if I come home with too much poundage on me, you won’t be able to say that it was for lack of exercise. And this is only the beginning. I'll be following the same routine and walking those same six miles from now on. Since I have no alternative, I hope I'll be rewarded for the drudgery by the loss of at least ten pounds.
The picture I saw was "Over 21", with Irene Dunne, Alexander Knox, Charles Coburn and others. I didn't care too much for it. The reasons are too numerous to mention. In particular, I didn't like Alex Knox. The guy has no personality, no charm, and despite the big build-up he got for "Woodrow Wilson", I don't think he can act. Irene Dunne, however, is a gal of another color (if you’ll allow me to mutilate a cliché). She must be how old now? Forty? Certainly almost that. Yet she is still fresh and charming, and possessed of a slim curvaceous figure that almost any gal might envy. Luckily, she was almost the whole show, and she made it bearable solely by the sheer charm of her personality.
The mail is apparently held up again. I haven't had a letter in four days. I'm hoping to get a few tomorrow.
I'm reading "Razor's Edge" in fits and snatches whenever I get a coupla free minutes, at mess, etc. I don't know quite what to make of it yet. The plot, if there is one, is developed very slowly. I’m beginning to wonder just what Maugham is trying to prove. That's the way I feel about it now. But that in itself makes for an element of suspense. Besides, I never read anything of his before, and I learn a little something from each new author I read, so I'm being educated even if I’m not entertained. The urge to write grows stronger every day. One of these days I’m going to bust loose. I can feel it. And once I start, I'll never stop; I feel that too—Which reminds me that I didn't comment on the information that "Mike" was returned by “This Week". Well, Sweet, you know that I expected nothing else, so what can I say? Guess I could say "I told you so, but I hate people who say "I told you so”—so I won’t say it ~ Personally, I'm perfectly satisfied with my first effort. It may not be well written or sufficiently interesting or perhaps it's lacking in certain
essentials necessary to a short story, or it may have all those faults, but I'm content merely because I was able to put an idea down on paper that people can understand. I suspect that the greatest fault of both “Mike" and "ETOUSA Interlude" is that they are so "typical" that they are commonplace, and therefore uninteresting. It struck me only today that they both have that quality in common. Did you notice that, honey? Wonder why I am moved to write stories that must have had a thousand bases in fact? It also occurred to me that had "Mike" actually been published, we would, in all likelihood have been deluged with letters from gals all over the country wanting to know how in hell I got “their” story, etc, etc. Bet you never thought of that! Think it over, Chippie, and tell me if I have grounds for thinking that or not. I think I told you that I had coupla stories "in my head.” One in particular begs to be written, and when I get around to it honey, I promise you it won't be typical. I might even venture to say it's not like anything you ever read before! I've been “building up” to a writing mood these past few weeks. I think the next time I get an opportunity—which means a few hours of free time, and an atmosphere of peace and quiet in a place where I won't be interrupted. Don't know when I'll attain this combination of requisites, but when I do, you can bet your life I'll knock out this next story. I haven't thought about its title ’til now. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure that it will be a story, in the accepted sense. I do know that it must be written in the first person, and I've been thinking that it is more fitting as a monologue; you know, the type of thing you hear on the radio. The more I consider it, the more I'm convinced it would be more effective in that form. Yes, I think I'll do it that way.
It's almost time for lights out, Sweet. Hope I haven't bored, you. I love you very much, my Evie—Here's a kiss for you, and one for the punkin. My love to all.
P.S. - This time next month???