Franklin College - Almanack Yearbook (Franklin, IN)

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'A ' ' '111t'A 'k'L N ' NEW i1 1 . a aaaaa . s L .....Y.f:,ff1 QQQlll .,....YYY. is By Rqjjgggjjg Qjjjjjvjfjjgjg f1'j'qj'j jL4'0-I, 1611111 in EP iflitrrztrg D In One Easy Lesson Q HE beautiful part of being .iterary is the pleasant fact that it really doesn't require any bmins at all. The so-called brainy people are doing really big things, like unto the building of canals, or being col- lege presidents, or establishing great industries. Any- body can readily see that it takes no genuine intellectual acumen to talk 'ftone colorw or character portrayal or 'fpsychological data . No one needs such a massive or- gan as a mind to discuss the large value of lbsenesque literature, or the eccentricity of a Kipling, or the risque verse of Walt Whitman. Far from it! There are two types of literary people-pseudo and real. Since there is always safety in numbers, one should hasten to align himself with the pseudos, in that this class shows far more literary propensity than their humbler brothers. Too, pretending is far easier than mastering. Almost every magazine guarantees its readers a mastery of art, or success as an actor, or large ability as a writer, in ten easy lessons. I go farther and assure that even before you have finished these simple words, here put down in order, that you may arise fully equipt to go forth, a literary fellow in whom there is no guile-on comparatively little. Let us suppose that you have chosen to become a pseudo. Suppose that, since you are not going to build a canal or lSeventeen .lag- erect a college, youl have contented your' self with being a lit- erary man or woman. Good! Weunderstand each other perfectly. Now-Hrst thing-sit down and write! No matter just what. Write a few soulful lines about Spring. Do not worry about such trivial things as unity and proportion: nobody will ever know, anyway, neither take thought for the so- called f'swing or the arrangement of your stanzas. Nor is it wise to waste postage in submitting your beautiful verses to the pitiless eye of the editor of a modern journal. He does not know what good work is, anyhow. He draws down his little hundred a week for helping out his close friends. WVhy take such hasty judgment? Wliy be bored with a possible rejection slip?

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4 X X jj jjj -13591 'rr' ' -- fi ' - f X --sb-:f a S -M, ......,.ZQ -,,,,, ,, g ' i f35 lT ' v ' 'W' - 'ig 1 ,ffff :fix - ' A ' 'af is s Q 1 -Us X W N X . t suss riersltttil- Kvmvmhrr, Bear Remember, dear, wherever fate may lead you, 'Neath stormy cloud, or through the sun's bright ra That l, somewhere afar, shall ever need you, And dream of you, although you're far away. When love first came its sudden rapture thrilled meg My soul at last had found its counterpart: Y, And now with sweet surprise your love has filled me- Remember, dear, that with you goes my heart. Remember, dear, when shadows fall about you, And in the gloom you wander from the way, That there is one whose heart is bare without you A- Remember, dear, nor let your footstep stray. And when again the light breaks forth in glory, And on the rock yourfeet securely stand - Then tell me, love, once more the old, old story -- Remember, dear, my heart is in your hand. By ELMER DAVIS, 'io 4 1 Sixtcenl

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Rather say this to your friends Cspeaking with a smile to cover the shadow of oncoming doubtj: No, I do not sell my work to those horrid magazines. I consider it far too good for them. Oh, it is possible that some- time I may have Harper's or the Century Company bring out a volume. Even that is not settled at all. I write- as Browning did, and Tennyson and Wordsworth-just to please myself. I find it relieves my emotional re- straints. fGet in that last shy phrase, nobody knows just what it means, but all agree that it is remarkably, literary.j Perhaps you dislike twaddling verse-making and go in -like Jack London-for advise--gently, but firm or even two. That will red-blooded prose. Again, I -y-write! Write one page- allow you to go high-browing among your fellows witd offhand remarks about your forthcoming novel-or t ae sketch of a drama you will have ready sometime-or the plotting of a book of short yarns. No need to really write them in order to talk. ln fact, the people who a out rarely talk at all. someway, takes the edge re silly enough to write them all The grind of hours of writing, off of talking. But you, who care only to be a pseudo, need not worry over small de- tails. lf possible, purchase a pair of wide, black-rimmed QA? ..... atts i N, . glasses. There is surely a literary air about that type of nose-gear! As a Hnishing touch, try to attend one play during the winter. Try to read some small amount of book-review. If you can adopt some writer friends, such as Riley or William Allen White or John Fox, Jr., or an Arnold Bennett or a Henry Watterson, that would have its ad- vantages, in that way you can impress a number of very innocent people. Think of being able to say: As Jim Riley has often said to meg or, One time, when John Fox asked me for my advice on writing up :Hell Fer Sartain', I told him --gn or, UAS I have often told Bill White. Can't you see the possibilities? Have you not already figured it out that being literary is really a mild amusement? Do you not see that you will be able to play a part hundreds of your fellows play every year? Of course, if you must build a college, well and goodg but being literary is the world's choicest intellectual snap. With spare time, add a few foreign expressions to your vocabulary. Now and then look inside of a magazine. If forced to it-being an English teacher or club woman or social leader-glance inside a modern rhetoric. But do this only as a last resort. When one can so easily seem, why pay the unnecessary price of being? Eighteenl 4-nn.. - '---f'- ' ---ii f--- --we '--'-f' -'- - H -- -----'rr'- -W re -sr M r- .S