50.
1925:
Rapid City, Man. June 6,
1925
Dear Phelps,
I've been waiting for a word from you. However, I know by
this time that you don't write and that a person must expect
especial reticence when he wants to hear from you more than
commonly.
Well, Doran has taken the book. That is the occasion of
this letter of mine. Now I'll tell you a secret. That book
is going to bear, on the dedication page, the name of Arthur
L. Phelps. If I could do what I'd like to do, I'd print it
this way:
Arthur L. Phelps,
The Obstetrician assisting at the birth
However, since that cannot be, it will be the plain name.
By the way, they want a different title. Now I have successively
had the titles "Pioneers" and "Settlers of the Marsh". What
say you? Don't delay your answer unduly this time. Don't
wire either. But if you have any other suggestion to make,
make it.
I enclose one of 8 short lugubrations which I am gong to
offer to the Forum. If you have 15 minutes to spare, read
it and tell me whether it is piffle or not. What I really
mean is whether it is not so trivial that people will think
I am threshing old straw. It is quite a task, you know, to
say anything in 1500 words. But I have made it a point to
give Gordon something, since you advised it. I can't give
him except what I've got.
By the way, I was just in the depth of the blues when I
got Pierce's letter. I had come to the conclusion that it
is a mistake for me to try to write novels. There I have
worked over a 400000 word MS. till I got it down to 200000
words; then I typed it; and Mrs. Grove and myself agree that
it is no good; and it seemed so good before I started to
type. Anyway, Equal Opportunities - that was the title so
far - is off as my next try. I am now going to work over
another old Ms. entitled Our Daily Bread, Scenes from the
Life of the Prairie. But I am going into my holidays soon.
So there won't be much done before the fall. I tied up everything
that I have worked over during the year the other day; there
were 20 100-page books bound in oil-cloth - you know the
kind? - and 2484 typewritten pages in various subdivisions.
That much of my own works I can claim not only to have written
but read. I tied it all up and am going to ship it to a farm
to put in the granary - strange grain, isn't it? To feel
safe from fire while I am away. I measured the pile. It is
almost exactly a cubic foot; one day, probably, it is going
to heat my room nicely. There is more than $15's worth of
paper in that. It has cost many a bottle of ink; I have used
up two fountain pens writing it, dozens of pencils, and good
many typewriter ribbons. A brother-in-law of mine professes
that he looks forward to storing the stuff for me, because
he wants to read it. Well, he's welcome. But that is by no
means all; I leave the drawers of my desk full of things
unknown to me.
Everything all right with you? Mrs. Phelps and the baby
well? I enclose some snaps, as I usually do.
I am feeling better. I look forward to the trip now. I am
going to se more than seventy nephews and nieces of mine
this summer.
Yours
F.P.G.
