On August 8th, 1938, on his 48th day working on Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck writes, "Well the work has pretty much gone to hell. Might just as well take it in stride. The pressure broke down the strict discipline and Friday went to S.F. with Ed...I think it is laziness that is getting me. How easily we can transpose our laziness into something else. But I've done books before...And now it is time to go to work."
I love the honesty Steinbeck allows himself in these journals, and how quickly his strict routine falls apart, leaving him feeling scattered and a bit like a failure. Sound familiar? It does to me.
I so often feel like I’m balancing on the line between working faithfully