Franklin College - Almanack Yearbook (Franklin, IN)

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.... ..., .,....W.1.1 ,,. ,,Y ,,YQ,.... ...,.,. , ....., sssss junior course, made midnight sessions the regular order and kept her away from practically all social functions during the winter. Duncan's attempts at reconciliation, if not exactly re- pulsed, were not encouraged. He interpreted her truth- ful plea of extra work as a subterfuge and, engrossed in his work, made no determined attempt to alter the situa- tion. Thus the approaching end of the winter term found their relations limited to casual greetings in class or at accidental meetings. Lois did not know that a long hermitage in academic realms of technique and much imbibing of scholarly English would, during the period of such seclusion, take her out of touch with people and things-the writer's real materials. Nor did she know that a rigid and cum- bersome style attaches itself to the initial term of tech- nical study. Her perpetual efforts to germinate a story, just to show Duncan that she could, were unavailing. There was a dearth of ideas where once they had actually confused her in their abundance. Her inability to swing into a stride of easy style, which at one time she had imagined came natural to her, convinced her that she could not build a story around an idea, should one arrive. It was her term of slavery, and all her hard work seemed to have netted her nothing but discouragement. What Lois needed was another shock. Something to get her out of her books and ethereal analyses for a while and put her two feet on the ground, where she could meet up with the real materials of her craft. Rules govern all conduct-Hghting, writing, loving. If, for instance, a girl likes a boy pretty well, she may, if fTh1rteen --s A F IlOf StU.bbOI'H, TT' T' T take it as a re- ciprocal sign if he comes first to her with his trials and disap- pointments. Lois Trouch was not stub- born. When she saw Dun- can Wall take the three ve- randa steps in three dragging lifts, she instinctively felt that she was the first to know of something gone wrong. Somehow, in spite of their recent relations, the same little thrill that had stirred the color in her cheeks and warmed her welcome on the occasion of his other memorable visit, waved through her again as she admitted him. Chagrin was obvious in Duncan's attitude. Lois was non-committal in her reception. That the issue was vital was evident to Lois from Duncanls directness. He went straight to the point, ignoring formalities and past re- lations. ULois, if ever heavy, heavy hung over a guy's head, I'm the guy. 4'What is wrong. she asked. 4WVell, I'm short material, and I simply must close the forms the day after tomorrow. 4'How do you happen to be short? Duncan made a gesture of disgust. 'lReserved space P37

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,, . ,. -I .-,,-.w,,- , , H. . 1 know what a short story isg the double ideal g the three unitiesg what consti- tutes a plot, and all that sort of thing? Half mastery is slavery- Yes, some o l d r u I e Pardon me for mentioning it, but what you don't know about the short story would certainly make a very short one. What I don't understand is why you editors don't write your own stories. Isn't it ethical? or don't the others know how, like you, and Professor Carstadt, A. IW. P. IW. N. B. P. S., Department of English- Nliditors don't have time, snapped Duncan, rising. The atmosphere was growing sultry. Some of them ought to have time, the full limit, re- torted Lois, following him to the door. I'Il copyright that one if you don't care, taunted Duncan. Then, in a conciliatory tone, he continued: But, seriously, Lois, you know I can't take'any chances with the Annual. It's my chance to show the college what I can do. If you want to write a story, go aheadg but I can't reserve space for it, not knowing-3' You're right, Dunk. You lzzzou' what Prof. Alphabet Carstadt can do, because he's professor of English and writer said that, cut in Lois, insiduously. 'tt' jjj, 'rx' '..iiii1j :: maa'r ''N knows what a dead Greek and forty or a hundred text book fictionists have said. Don't you reserve any space for me. I wouldnlt know a 'double ideal' if it came in here right now and jumped down my throat. But I do know one thing that probably you have overlooked: these writing rules you rant about were not inventedg they were discovered, and somebody wrote by them before that old shoe-shiner, Aristotle, learned his Greek hieroglyphics. I know something else, and-Dunk, wait a minute- you don't want to forget that it's a long, long way from the English chair to pay space in the Red Bookfl Duncan was gone and Lois fulfilled the destiny of her sex: she cried. Then she tore into snowflake fragments a theme she had been writing for class. Then she began to think. To her astonishment she found this was nearly a new process for her, and after several days of pious ap- plication she was able to measure the full value of her encounter with Duncan. It had taken the shock of his arrogant attitude to exhibit to her the pitiful limit of her knowledge along the line of her longing. She realized now that what she had considered study and thought had been little more than cursory reading and sophisticated dreaming. If she hoped to justify her dreams, she knew as well as Duncan or Profesor Carstadt that she must master the rules-techniqueg less tangible, perhaps, and more elusive, but as well defined as thought determining any artistic endeavor. She always had felt that she di- vined the rules. Now she was abashed at this pretense to genius. Resolve was the result, calm and stubborn. Authorities for her guidance were easily available and these she crammed, ravenously. This work, in addition to her Twelve' A.....4 5

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for Carstadt's story: too busy to turn it in until noon today and-and-well, it won't do. Yes, I know, it's on me. Turn on the juice and burn me up.'l ' Lois felt that she ought to be in sympathy with the crisis, but the opportunity was a centennial. Her throat swelled until she could scarcely articulate her question. VVon't do? Why?l' thickly. Well, it's not-it doesn't quite meet the requirements of the Annual. It doesn't lack literary merit, but- Phat sounds just like a rejection slip! and with this Lois left off all restraint. Her mirth forced Duncan to the humorous viewpoint and it was several minutes be- fore they sobered. Then Lois continued: You'll have to use it now. I will not! he declared, vehemently. VVhat can you do? Duncan shook his head. 'AI asked myself that question so often this afternoon that I got to singing it. You just try answering it once. Can't you write something? There are more editorials than anything else in the vile book now, except pictures. I've been through the college library and up to L in the Britannica, and there I fainted. My assistant edior doesnlt know we are pub- lishing an Annual. We can't rearrange the forms now. For the love of Michael, girl, can't you tell me where to find something? l'm desperate! You might go down to the News oHice and borrow some Dr. Doan or Nlr. Dooly plates. Fine time, this, for kidding a fellow, he retorted, petulantly. Or, perhaps they would loan you some of their old X .s rts syndicate plates on which the twenty-one year copyright has expired-if you must have a story. f'Oh, chop that chatter, Lois. Be serious oneef, UThat's twice you have asked me to be serious. First, when I wanted you to let me try a story. UI told you to go ahead. Yes, and added, I remember, that you knew I could not write one good enough for your Annual and that you had asked Professor Carstadt to contribute it. What is the matter with his story, anyway? ' UIt isn't a story, that's all. But you said he knew how. 'fHe does. A thorough master of the short story technique, you said. He is. But he hasn't given you a story. He hasn't!l' 'fWhy not? He can't! 'fBut you'll have to use it. I won't! 'fBut Carstadt is professor of English, with half the alphabet trailing his name. Faculty, acknowledged au- thority and all that. What- HI don't care if he is a composite materialization of Ed- gar Allen Poe, Guy de Maupassant, Hawthorne, Steven- son and Shakespeare. His story is rotten, and as long as I am editor of the Annual, all he gets is a rejection slip. I'll run some of your plate matter first, and tell him he was too late. Why didn't you go ahead and write one? It couldn't have been worse than his. ' 73 Fourteenl Q.- ..