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while it is fresh. Then
    I want to go on and on, in chronological order. Writing an outline

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    first might be a good idea. The word blitz that characterized The Dark
    City needed considerable revision, almost a complete re-writing.
    I would like to limit the number of drafts on a new work to two or
    three or four. Use an outline in place of the first draft. Make it
    spontaneous, though. Not too rigid. A riff here and a riff there.
    Every day I have new ideas about it.
    But first I must finish The Dark City .
    Unfortunately, this little move to the seashore is going to put me
    behind in my writing schedule. I’ll get acclimated and then get right
    back to work. I should have a lot more time. By March 15 (the Ides)
    I’d like to be up to page 100.
    Is that too much to ask?
    * * * *
    February 17, 1978
    Must drive to Florence tomorrow and find a place to live. Got all
    my chores taken care of today, and got through my last day at work. I
    feel good about leaving, as I always do when I am leaving someplace.
    A peace and tranquility. Dale (the truck driver) says he will help me
    move on Sunday, if I find a place.
    Completed Chapter 22 on the typewriter tonight. The prose flowed
    very well. I am now up to page 60, which means I am about one third
    of the way through on this draft. I’m surprised I’ve come this far. It
    was a long chapter – close to five pages, single-spaced. Should be
    about 2,500 words altogether. I have a special feeling about this
    project, I really do.
    A four day struggle awaits me. I go to sleep thinking about my life,
    about the days and years of my life.
    Later: 9:30 AM
    On my way to Florence. The mileage reads 46600.
    Later again: I’m sitting in the bar at Dave’s Beachcomber tavern
    waiting for a call from a potential landlord. It’s the only place that
    even seems to remotely fit the bill. Matter of fact, it’s perfect. All the
    real estate places were dead ends. This one was advertised in the local
    newspaper. A one bedroom cabin. First and last month’s rent,

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    payable in advance. Plus a $50 deposit. I have just enough money to
    cover it.
    Please hurry up and call me. I want to finish this business before I
    leave town tonight.
    I wish I had taken the working copy of my book with me. It would
    give me something to do while I sit here twiddling my thumbs.
    Almost 6:00 PM and no call yet.
    The phone just rang.
    Done! Yes! I’ve got a place to live! Just paid the deposit and
    everything. Florence, here I come!
    My new address is 324 Juniper Street. I move in tomorrow. The
    pieces are all falling into place. I have a (new) job, a new place to
    live, and perhaps the solitude I need to finish my book. I wish I could
    get ahold of Chesley. I feel kind of guilty about dropping this on him
    the minute he gets back. I’ve tried calling his parents repeatedly,
    without success.
    Maybe this year. Maybe next. I could go to Los Angeles or New
    York, maybe even Mexico. Ha! I can do anything I want, if it pleases
    the Lord. (Ha ha.)
    My day was a short story.
    Suspense, tension, crisis, resolution. Gotta buy some more
    Raymond Chandler novels before I leave Cyanide City.
    Plenty of Chandler.
    * * * *
    February 18, 1978
    On my way to the beach. Stopped by Meredith’s old place at 7428
    SE 71st. Here I am, staring at the house as I write this. I kissed my
    first real girlfriend inside that house. What a lovely, dark-eyed
    darling she was. How small her old house is.
    Also, the place is now very run down, not neat and tidy like it was
    when Merry lived there with her mom.
    A hell of a contrast 13 years makes. What sweet memories I have
    of her. She was a doll beyond words.
    Cripes. Merry was such a delightful and beautiful girl and I treated
    her like shit. What the fuck was wrong with me?

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    She’s married to some other guy now. I hear they have two kids.
    Ooops! Now some sullen fat broad is glaring at me from the window.
    Therefore I must leave.
    It is just as well.
    Farewell, Cyanide