An Author Who Waits For The Right

Nevertheless, Hateful As Saying 'no' Always Is To An Imaginative Person, And Certain As The Offence May Be That It Will Cause To Individuals Whose Own Work Does Not Require Isolated Effort, The Writer Who Is Engaged On A Book Must Learn To Say It. He Must Say It Consistently To All Interrupters; To The Numerous Callers And Correspondents Who Want Him To Speak, Open Bazaars, See Them For 'only' Ten Minutes, Attend Literary Parties, Put People Up, Or Read, Correct And Find Publishers For Semi-literate Manuscripts By His Personal Friends.

Babies Are A Nuisance, Of Course. But So Does Everything Seem To Be That Is Worth While – Husbands And Books And Committees And Being Loved And Everything. We Have To Choose Between Barren Ease And Rich Unrest – Or Rather, One Does Not Choose.

I Can Think Of Few Important Movements For Reform In Which Success Was Won By Any Method Other Than That Of An Energetic Minority Presenting The Indifferent Majority With A Fait Accompli, Which Was Then Accepted.

The Tragedy Of Journalism Lies In Its Impermanence; The Very Topicality Which Gives It Brilliance Condemns It To An Early Death. Too Often It Is A Process Of Flinging Bright Balloons In The Path Of The Hurricane, A Casting Of Priceless Petals Upon The Rushing Surface Of A Stream.

If The Would-be Writer Studies People In Their Everyday Lives And Discovers How To Make His Characters In Their Quieter Moods Interesting To His Readers, He Will Have Learned Far More Than He Can Ever Learn From The Constant Presentation Of Crises.