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Route I, Box 452   
Port Orchard, Wash.
October 20, 1938   

Dear Russell;

      Just why I am inditing this epistle to you I am not sure because I hadn’t ought on account of copious copy which lies in wait behind the eyes to pounce forth into immortal print––or is that “immoral”?

      I have been cursing myself for a bum––which is nothing new––due to my seeming inability to get anything written which will magnetize the lucre. In truth I am having far too pleasant a time rolling around here swamping out woods and fumbling the idea of amusing myself by building a log cabin. This is the lotus land and if one doesn’t watch, he hears the clock strike eighty before he thinks he has left twenty.

      I made a flying trip to Seattle yesterday to get some things and stuff and incidentally to have the yearly overhaul on the mill. This time I added a nice little stroke counter as a sort of protest against Street & Smith’s late habit of being particular with their word counts––they annoy me. Now I can say “Cyclometer counted––9,919,334 words.” Little countometer on the back of the machine rolls up one count for every ten strokes including space strikes. A word averages five with space, so I am told. I’ll have to check that.

      Haven’t seen Mein Herr Egdvedt since my return but have been planning to drop in on him. Yore old friend Eddie Allan is testing this new flying fortress. See his Satevepost article? Never seen one of these test pilots yet that didn’t have to chuck his weight around in print . . . . 

      By the way, it worried me for some time that I had no particularly original method of presentation for the book and last week I thunk one up. I kind of sighed when I did because I knew I would have to do it that way and it meant an awful lot of revamping on the stuff already done. However I have run out of excuses and so I think I may have to get to work on it most anytime. I was further annoyed by another bid on that Coulee Dam book, Lords of the Roaring River, and if I do that I suppose I’ll really go whole dog and write a piece of Americana two hundred thousand words long at least. . . .

Best Regards,

RON


 




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