Getting ideas

Saturday, January 9th., Hotel Belvedere, Mont Pelerin sur Vevey, Switzerland.

Maiden, aged about 30. Self-conscious. Big nose and eyes, and big features generally. Badly dressed. What is characteristic about her is her pose in an armchair at night, needle-working. Looks intently at her work, with virginal expression, while others are talking. Then at intervals looks up suddenly; you can't see her eyes for the white gleam of her spectacles, and she seems to embrace the whole room, or perhaps the talker alone, in a wide candid, ingenuous glance, as of surprise, as if saying slowly: "What the hell are you talking about?"  I wonder what is going on behind those spectacles? Am I right in my assessment that she remains inviolate? How would she respond if an attempt were made at seduction?

I discussed this with Marguerite later. She too had noticed the woman and had drawn the same conclusion. She said you wouldn't find a Frenchwoman like that. She is right. We got on to talking about how a seduction might be carried out and, one thing leading to another, the evening ended most enjoyably. Naughtily, M. suggested that the seduction might be conducted as well by a woman as by a man. A stimulating idea I found.

A honeymoon pair came the other night. Gave me an idea for my novel. Across the dining room they looked immensely distinguished. He might have been a brother of Rostand. Fine nose. White hands. She seemed mysterious in a da Vinci way. I made sure he was some sort of artist. No, he proved to be in business. When we saw them close to in the little reading room - intense vulgarity of gesture, movement etc. He seemed more like a barber's assistant and she a vendeuse mal elevee. Long time since I have been so taken in. Interesting to watch how gestures effective at a distance (theatrical) grew vulgar close at hand.

I did four sketches and one watercolour today, and found all sorts of ideas for novel quite easily. My recent coorrespondence seems to have been mainly about "The Old Wives' Tale" which is now in a second edition and selling regularly. It has been better received than I expected. In fact things are going very well for me at present. My "Matador" story should be in the English Review alongside Hardy, Conrad, Galsworthy, Wells, and Tolstoy - I shall not feel ashamed of the company. Also I have been informed that my new play is 'simply terrific'.

Some silly things

Monday, December 31st., Hotel Belvedere, Mont Pelerin sur Vevey, Switzerland.

Dinner. Games. God save the Queen, and varied songs at the hotel. God save the Queen (or King) in various languages. Servants watching eagerly at nothing from behind a curtained window. I say 'at nothing', but the sight of a crowd of middle-class English people determined to enjoy themselves, and fuelled by over-indulgence in alcohol, may indeed be worth watching. I would rather have been watching than participating, but there you are; life is only occasionally what you make it.

I have never worked so hard as this year, and I have not earned less for several years. But I have done fewer sillier things than usual. It is a constant quandary for me, whether to focus on 'serious' writing which is professionally and intellectually rewarding, but unremunerative, or to write to make money. I have tried to do both. I will probably continue to do so because I do enjoy the rewards of financial success. Such as winter in this hotel. 

I wrote "Buried Alive", three quarters of "The Old Wives' Tale", "What the Public Wants", "The Human Machine", "Literary Taste: How to form it", about half a dozen short stories, including "A Matador in the Five Towns"; over sixty newspaper articles. Total words 423,500.

Looking back through my journals I see that it has become a habit to record the number of words written each year. I think this has been a record, but I have not been consistent in what I include, journal for example. Still my output is considerable by any standards. To think that if my working life extends to say forty years, at an average of 300,000 a year then I will have written 12 million words! That is a figure to conjure with indeed.

The turn of the year is a time to take stock and, for many, a time for new resolutions. I am not inclined to the latter, having seen so few actually carried through. I wrote in one of my self-help books this year that "the chief beauty about time is that you cannot waste it in advance. The next year, the next day, the next hour are lying ready for you, as perfect, as unspoiled, as if you had never wasted or misapplied a single moment in all your life. You can turn over a new leaf every hour if you choose." I still think that is good advice. I resolve to follow it!

Uplifted

Tuesday, December 4th., Cadogan Square, London.

Bad night. Somehow or other I have strained my back and it seems to be having some sort of sympathetic effect in my legs when I lie down. Must have pinched a nerve or something. So when I returned to bed at about three this morning I could not get comfortable enough to get back to sleep. Tossed and turned for an hour or so and then gave it up, and got up, and stayed up. Sat in my study (standing up periodically to stretch) browsing. I read my story "The Matador of the Five Towns". It is good, but not as good as "Simon Fugue" which is, I think, the best I have written. "Matador" hasn't quite got the balance or cohesiveness, though it is full of good things; perhaps I put too much in it? Interesting that I used the epithet 'matador' because I have been reading some of Hemingway's stories recently, and Jos Myatt is just the sort of taciturn, declining, complex sort of character that Hemingway might have put in a bull ring.

To liven myself up after my nap I walked by roundabout ways to the Garrick Club. En route I met and was stopped by four people, including one who didn't know me but thought he would like to be sure that I was I, and an old lady whom I had met once at Monte Carlo about seven years ago, just for a few minutes. Met Geoffrey Russell at the Club and he suggested I should go with him to Bach's B Minor Mass at St. Margaret's. I did. I ate oysters with him at the Reform hastily first. Church full. The whole thing marvellous. 

It seems that the Mass was not performed for many years after it was written and delivered, and Bach delivered it mainly as proof to his sovereign that he was fitted for post of capellmeister! Good performance. The effect was terrific; also uplifting, despite dowdiness of every woman in the congregation

Winter escape

Saturday, December 30th., Hotel Belvedere, Mont Pelerin sur Vevey, Switzerland.

Well, here we are in Switzerland, about 3,100 feet above civilisation. I intend that we shall stay here for at least two months and I expect to take it just a little easier after a year of very hard work indeed. I think that I have written over 400,000 words.

Today I sent off a copy of "A Matador of the Five Towns" to Ford Madox Ford who asked me for a long story. It is for publication in the English Review and I am pleased with the result. Since I completed "Simon Fugue" I have felt there was more to be wrung from the character Loring - through him I am able to look at, and write about, the Five Towns in a different way. I told Ford, in the accompanying letter that a painter once said to me in handing over a sketch I had bought from him, "I think this will give you pleasure". The story is between 11,000 and 12,000 words, a little shorter than Henry James' story in the first number, but I think Ford will be content. I haven't seen the second number of the English Review yet, but the first gave me great pleasure.