Diary entry for January 26, 1920
Transcript below
Monday 26 January
The day after my birthday; in fact I’m 38. Well, I’ve no doubt I’m a great deal happier than I was at 28; & happier today than I was yesterday having this afternoon arrived at some idea of a new form for a new novel. Suppose one thing should open out of another – as in An Unwritten Novel – only not for 10 pages but 200 or so – doesn’t that give the looseness & lightness I want: doesn't get closer & yet keep form & speed, & enclose everything, everything? My doubt is how far it will enclose the human heart – Am I sufficiently mistress of my dialogue to net it there? For I figure that the approach will be entirely different this time: no scaffolding; scarcely a brick to be seen; all crepuscular, but the heart, the passion, the humour, everything as bright as fire in the mist….
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