Spirits & Salinas Valley Today

I wonder what Steinbeck would say about Salinas today…As I drive by the fields every day, I see the workers bent over and think about how it might have looked a hundred and fifty years ago. The book I've been trying to write is underneath my skin like some kind of parasite I cannot rid myself of, yet I need to do it to feel better. I want to write about the everyday people who came to the valley after the gold rush. Those who started Salinas. So, what is stopping me from doing this? I've researched the story I'm talking about writing. I know it every which way. I breathe the dust of the fields and feel the cool moist air. I wonder though, does anyone care? Beyond the occasional visitor to east garrison's small cemetery who sees the children's graves and thinks a moment before moving on, who really and truly cares? When I go to the library and see the books everywhere, how can there be enough time in one's entire life to read them all? Does the world need another book? But there is some kind of magical spirit in the valley that I drive through every day that speaks to me, pushing me to write this story. I don't know why.