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1947

[To Whit Burnett]

April 27, 1947

Thank you for the note.

I don’t think I could do a novel—I haven’t the urge, though I have thought about it, and someday I might try it. Blessed Factotum would be the title and it would be about the low-class workingman, about factories and cities and courage and ugliness and drunkenness. I don’t think if I wrote it now it would be any good, though. I would have to get properly worked up. Besides, I have so many personal worries right now that I’m in no shape to look into a mirror, let alone run off a book. I am, however, surprised and pleased with your interest.

I haven’t any other pen sketches, without stories, right now. Matrix took the only one I did that way.

The world has had little Charles pretty much by the balls of late, and there isn’t much writer left, Whit. So hearing from you was damned lovely.