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Whether I was born with a crooked streak, or whether much travel in odd corners of the world and living with odd people has given me a kind of twist I do not know. Some times I am very sorry for myself: but I cannot see things in the way people tell me I should see them. The worst of it is that this disability of mine places a bar between me and my fellows more often than not. For instance, I cannot see anything very noble, elevating or inspiring in the ritual of secret societies. The “good lessons” that others tell me are to be learned in the hidden arcana, I never find. I draw the most extravagantly wrong inferences from the ritual. Whenever I hear public speakers say nice things which seem to please my neighbors, my mind goes off at a tangent in a kind of examination as it did the other day when I read a story in which much stress was laid on southern hospitality. I very much doubted that there was in the south any more hospitality than in the north, or the east, or the west. Tramping the roads of the south as I often do, I find that one autoist out of twenty-five or so will offer to carry me to the next town. That is about the proportion I found in the north. Of course, in the south, exactly as in the north, where advantages are to be gained, or where favors are to be expected, there is a rush to do honor. If I am known as a writing fellow, I am taken to see the show places, the local sights, the scenic views. But if I happen along dressed as a common laborer, I meet no more hospitality in the south than anywhere else. The watchdog south of the Mason and Dixon line is as unfriendly as his cousin in Ohio or Minnesota. I tell this, not by way of persuading you to my viewpoint, but so that you shall examine at first hand some of the notes which I have made from time to time as bases for prospective short stories. Given time, I shall make stories around them myself, but, if you beat me to it, well and good. My mental attitude in this respect is much like the hen who cackles when she has laid an egg. She has produced the potential chick, if foster mothers make it actual, well and good. So, if you make a story of any one of these, you have my benison.

_First._ I read a lecture by Conan Doyle in the course of which he assured us that on the other side of the veil we shall meet our soul mates. Soon after that appeared in print, I had no less than five manuscripts of stories based on the idea that although lovers were separated here, there would be a ringing of bells in heaven when they rushed together, with an eternity before them.

Now it seems to me that some of us who have had experiences, and, in the course of time have been happily delivered from our affinities, would not be elated over the prospect that Doyle sets before us. There’s a story there.

_Second._ A fairly well-written pamphlet foretold a time when Labor, uprising in its might would put all executives to work with pick and shovel, hammer and saw, when the day of rejoicing would be at hand.

My note on this would suggest a story to the effect that a couple of dozen really first-class executives drawn from capitalistic enterprises, and paid a higher wage than they could hope for in their old jobs, would marshal the forces of Labor and win for it the victory it craves. The story would go on to show that Labor is not willing to undertake the sacrifice that would lead to victory: that it is mistrustful and too prone to treat its own friends with coldness, denunciation, ridicule, suspicion; that it is too prone to hot air and sentimentality. The conclusion would be drawn as a salutary lesson to Labor, that while Capital measures all things by dollars and cents, it is not too stingy to pay a good price for what it wants. Consequently it wins, for money gets the man.

_Third._ An editorial told of the good time coming when Labor and Capital shall meet face to face.

I do not believe in any such good time, and would do all in my power to prevent such a meeting. My reasons would be that in the past, Labor and Capital have met face to face, and the clash of countenances was like unto that when two rams meet, both of whom are enamoured of the same ewe. I project a story then setting that forth, with the ultimate decision arrived at that Capital admits it must get all that it can at the lowest price, and Labor must get all it can at the least exertion cost. Under such circumstances, it is idle to hope for agreement, and my story should show both parties putting aside camouflage and agreeing on the issue.

_Fourth._ In a secret society, I heard a national official talk for an hour or more on the elevating influence of lodge work, praising the members present for their attention to duty.

My story would show that most men attend lodge as a refuge and a hiding place, to escape the boredom of home, wife and children and that lodge work was really nothing but solemn play, and neither religion nor a substitute for it.

_Fifth._ In high wrath, a man wrote a letter to a local paper denouncing the editor for the stand he had taken. The man then felt that he had stung the editor, and imagined him squirming under the blows received.

Write a story showing that under such circumstances a newspaper editor is highly pleased, for the objecting letter shows him that for once the bombastic nonsense he has written was read.