5/31/38
W. Lafayette, In
Dear Marty:
I’m so darned stiff this morning that I’m even having trouble typing. I shall stop for a minute and read your letter, for I didn’t read it very thoroughly in the station.
The Wheaton proposition at the old office seems to be the most sensible one. You are familiar with their methods and with their personalities, and these two should ease the work considerably. I hope it works out. The dime store is more satisfactory than that. When an item is sold for a dime, someone other than the customer pays the differential and that person is usually the employee.
I’ve had two courses here in school which were designed to influence my style. The first, expository writing, had the development of my natural style as its first consideration. The second, essay, was the study of the styles of previous successful writers. The former was of inestimable value, and the latter was merely interesting. I feel that the development of one’s own style is the first step in the game of writing. A good elementary course in journalism, though, includes many useful items in the mechanics and grammar of putting over one’s ideas.
Your quotation is good and appreciated.
The mail hasn’t come yet, and I didn’t find a letter from the Army when I got here. I am going to wait until the mail comes before sealing this letter. I don’t imagine I shall hear from them at all.
Margaret yet doesn’t know or suspect that I’ve seen you, although I find it increasingly difficult to keep matters straight. It is rather a problem to think up things that I might have done during the time I spent with you. Gee, I’m a cheerful liar, aren’t I?
The kid I sat with on the bus is one of the brightest students this university has ever had. I had an interesting chat with him on the way down, although I would rather have slept. I got in about 1:30 our time.
That correspondence I picked up while I was home amuses me. It was all that I had for about a year and a half. My correspondence for the last month makes this previous material insignificant by comparison. It is a wonder that this typewriter hasn’t staged a sit-down strike, for I truly work it to death. My letters for the last two months make a stack four inches high!
Well, honey, the mail is here. As I expected, there is no word from the Army. All I pulled was a letter from Radio saying that they had received my last contribution and one from Jena Hill saying that she didn’t like my college book. She thought it too cynical and discouraging.
I may yet hear from the Army, but I think that we had better forget the whole thing for the time being. I shall write to Don this morning and also to Bill, asking them to find out definite information as to what I can expect. I doubt if I shall hear anything for another week. This business of never knowing what is going to happen the following week is rather nerve-racking, but I am getting used to it. Security is a nice feeling, but it is rather restraining.
I am enclosing the college manuscript. Please don’t type any of it for some time, as I shall probably want to rewrite parts of it. But I would appreciate it if you will read and criticize it. If you don’t like it, say so. For my feelings are shock-proof and I don’t like it too well myself.
Take care of yourself, honey, and stick with Woolworths if you can. You are a very lucky little girl to be able to find anything. I’ll be in the throes of finals for the next week and a half, so write me if you can find time. It was really swell to be with you yesterday and Sunday night. I hope you aren’t too tired today. I shall try to give you a rest next week-end and restrain myself from traveling up there.
Love, Cy