“Of course. We may talk sooner than you expect. I plan to do a book on it. I'll be knocking on your office door any month now.”
I said I was sure Longson would be glad to consider it and we said good night. I took a shower and dropped off into a good sleep, listening to Brown snoring lightly in the next bed.
Friday was a sunny, mild Fall day. After breakfast Brown insisted it was better we part in the courtroom. The court was really packed and if Brown hadn't been such an early riser we probably wouldn't have found seats. I didn't see the Hunters, but May Fitzgerald was still around. Wearing a worn houndstooth sports jacket, slacks, a plain shirt and tie, Matt was the picture of casual high fashion as he took the stand, his big frame cramped in the witness chair.
After Jackson established Matt had been a professional writer for over 20 years, that he had been a war correspondent and employed by a Hollywood studio as a writer—for a few months—Jackson asked, “Mr. Anthony, as a self-employed writer, will you please tell the court your work schedule?
“I dictate every day, including Sundays, for at least two hours. This is typed up by a secretary in New York City, returned to me for further revision.”
Jackson's eyebrows shot up in hammy surprise. “You mean you only work
“That's actual dictation, answering letters. This is rather difficult to explain,”. Matt said, his voice low and strong. “But since a writer deals with ideas there isn't any time limit on his work day. He can't put in an 8 hour day and forget his job. For instance, suppose I get an idea for a story: although I may only spend an hour putting the rough on tape, I let the idea cook in my mind for many hours, often for days and months, working out the characters, the plot. In reality I would say I am working every minute—thinking about the story—even though I may be fishing, swimming, talking or watching TV.”
“Do you work while you sleep?” Jackson asked lightly.
Matt slipped him that little smile—which was beginning to annoy me. “In a sense I do. I keep a pad and pencil near my bed, to jot down ideas that come to me either before sleeping or even in a dream.”
“Would I be correct in saying, Mr. Anthony, that you— or any professional writer—is either using his typewriter, pencil, dictation machine, or his brain, 24 hours a day?”
“I'd say he has to be ready to use them 24 hours a day. To cite another example, I may hear a bit of conversation during a dinner that would fit in with the story. In other words, I have to constantly keep my work in mind. For that reason I make it a point to keep pencil and paper in all my suits, beach robes, on my boat.”
“Have you a pencil and paper handy now?”
Matt pulled a small pad and a pencil from his pocket. “I've been making many notes about this trial. I'm writing a book about it, and my experiences while in jail.”
“You're working now?” Jackson asked, as if it was all a complete surprise to him.
“I am. I think it will be the first book showing the inside of a trial, as seen by the defendant. My publishers like the idea. As I told yon, I work seven days a week, 365 days a year.”
“Even when on trial for your life?”
“Of course,” Matt said, and for a moment his face clouded as if realizing he was on trial for his life.
Jackson stood in thought for a second, then he said, “In my quote from Mr. W. Somerset Maugham yesterday, he said something about the writer writing all day long, too, consciously or unconsciously forever sorting and making over his impressions. You said you're actually thinking, or letting an idea 'cook' in the back of your mind, even while fishing, driving your car, etc. How can you concentrate on two things at the same time, Mr. Anthony?”
“After a time I suppose it comes naturally. Foremost, I am constantly concentrating on my work. The other things are merely normal actions and reactions I do without thinking. Just as a person may drive a car and carry on a conversation at the same time.”
“Do you mean you can fish, have a swim, talk to people without giving it a second thought?”
“Yes.”
“You used the word 'normal' a moment ago. Suppose something that isn't normal happens—let us say your car breaks down, or you have a flat tire, would that disturb your working thoughts, your writing thoughts?”
“Yes.”
“Would you say that in your profession you need complete freedom of thought?”
“I would.”
“Would an argument upset or spoil such freedom?”
“A true argument would. I mean, arguing over the merits of a baseball team, for example, wouldn't disturb my thinking.”
“We have heard testimony that your wife nagged you a great deal. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Did her nagging ever interfere with your creative thinking?”
“Well, when it was intense I'd say it did.”
“Was it often intense?”
“Yes.”
“Did you also nag your wife?”
Wagner, who had been toying with a pencil, his face emotionless, started to rise, then sat back.
