Journal

John Steinbeck kept a journal during the composition of The Grapes of Wrath, a journal which has since been published. Well, a few years back, I read it, and now that I am at work on my own small contribution to the decay of American literature, I had intended to use this space as a sort of modern equivelent to Steinbeck's log.

Unfortunately, that hasn't happened.

Steinbeck's journal was, if memory serves, filled with all sorts of juicy nuggets from his daily life and provided real insights into the process of compostion. It is a good and solid and useful thing. I'm glad I read, both as a writer and as a reader.

This blog, however, has tended to be little more than a record of word counts, showing little in the way of insight. And that's okay, I guess. I mean, it does give the curious some idea of how the work is progressing, and it is not only possible but likely that most people are not interested in the experience of composition itself. They have problems of their own and don't need me complaining about my quandry in choosing between "although" and "albeit."

It would feel a lot more literary if I had some profound observations, though.

In the meantime, I did have a decent weekend with the novel, producing consistently in the short bits of time I could allot to it. Chapter 7 in nearing its completion, probably only a day or two away.