My father was an addicted writer. He saw the world through his own verbalization of things. My father had to write. He wrote—as I say, he wrote for individuals. He'd write for Pat [Covici], or he'd write for us, or he'd write for somebody. And if that point got across, he was happy. But whether he sold or not never really occurred to him.
He took his responsibility as a writer very seriously and worked very, very hard at it. And he did draw out his plots and did draw out his ideas very finitely. He knew exactly where he was going with all of it.