6 January 1930 – 12 January 1930

Sunday it is. And I have just exclaimed: “And now I can think of nothing else.” Thanks to my pertinacity and industry, I can now hardly stop making up The Waves. The sense of this came acutely about a week ago on beginning to write the Phantom Party: now I feel that I can rush on, after 6 months’ hacking, and finish: but without the least certainty how it’s to achieve any form. Much will have to be discarded: what is essential is to write fast and not break the mood—no holiday, no interval if possible, till it is done. Then rest. Then rewrite.