Harvey Breit, February 11, 1964: Difference between revisions

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::::::::::::::::::::February 11, 1964
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Dear Harvey,<ref>{{NM}}’s letter to [[w:Harvey Breit|Harvey Breit]]. Mailer became friendly with Harvey Breit (1909-1968), a reporter and novelist who spent summers on Cape Cod. Breit profiled him in the New York Times in June 1951.</ref>
Dear Harvey,<ref>Mailer became friendly with [[w:Harvey Breit|Harvey Breit]], a reporter and novelist who spent summers on Cape Cod. Breit profiled him in the ''New York Times'' in June 1951.</ref>


Just a note. I’ve been down in the mines working on my novel, five installments now done, three to go—mortal terror all around that I will run out of gas. I must say, each installment gets worse than the one before. Then when I finish, there’s a snow bank of letters around, all the mail that’s accumulated during the month. So I send this off to you in the ill humor of being written out, smoked out, hung over, and in a bitch of a mood about the novel. But I write to you anyway because I wanted to say hello and tell you that we miss you and hope you’ll be back soon.
Just a note. I’ve been down in the mines working on my novel, five installments now done, three to go—mortal terror all around that I will run out of gas. I must say, each installment gets worse than the one before. Then when I finish, there’s a snow bank of letters around, all the mail that’s accumulated during the month. So I send this off to you in the ill humor of being written out, smoked out, hung over, and in a bitch of a mood about the novel. But I write to you anyway because I wanted to say hello and tell you that we miss you and hope you’ll be back soon.

Latest revision as of 18:51, 6 April 2019

NORMAN MAILER’s Letters
142 Columbia Heights
Brooklyn 1, New York
February 11, 1964

Dear Harvey,[1]

Just a note. I’ve been down in the mines working on my novel, five installments now done, three to go—mortal terror all around that I will run out of gas. I must say, each installment gets worse than the one before. Then when I finish, there’s a snow bank of letters around, all the mail that’s accumulated during the month. So I send this off to you in the ill humor of being written out, smoked out, hung over, and in a bitch of a mood about the novel. But I write to you anyway because I wanted to say hello and tell you that we miss you and hope you’ll be back soon.

Outside of work everything’s going along fairly well and New York seems quiet. I hope Mrs. Lowry’s agreeable.

Salud,
Norman
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Notes

  1. Mailer became friendly with Harvey Breit, a reporter and novelist who spent summers on Cape Cod. Breit profiled him in the New York Times in June 1951.