unearths some literary gems.
***
The chief thing about a short story is that it should be both short and that it should tell a story. Otherwise it is liable to degenerate into a full length novel or an essay upon "Forty-Seven Different Ways of Cooking Bananas." This makes the thing practically useless as a short story. If therefore you find anything like this happening to your short stories, you may be morally certain that something is wrong with them.
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The soulful story.... is written with a pen dipped deep into the human soul; and if you can contrive to dip your pen so deep that little blobs of soul drop off it and smudge the pages of your manuscript, then lift up your heart and rejoice.
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Slowly his great bushy eyebrows rose on end, waved for a moment in the breeze and locked hairs across the bridge of his hooked nose. How well was I to know that danger signal in future--the only sign of emotion which this impassive being ever permitted himself!
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I wonder sometimes what would happen if the Man Who has been Silent all this Time at this sort of gathering had not really got a story to tell after all. But that is unthinkable!
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The making of real poetry is the worst paid job in the world; so unless you are a real poet and therefore can't help it, I cannot advise you to take it up seriously.
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For our model piece of real poetry we will take the subject of Parting. It doesn't really matter in the least what subject we take, because it all comes out the same. However, we will call it "Parting," and hope for the best.
***
I am an uncle, aged thirty-one.
I am in point of fact several uncles, each aged thirty-one. I am also three or four step-uncles, an uncle-in-law or two, all sorts of uncles various times removed, and a large number of courtesy uncles, aged, in each case, thirty-one.
Let us disguise the fact no longer. I am a born uncle (aged thirty-one).
***
"What ho! What ho!"
"What ho! What ho! What?"
"I mean, what about Freddie Devereux?" I asked, to change the conversation.
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In this lesson we strike a severely practical note. We are now the stern man (or woman) of affairs, and our chin is sticking out like anything. We have probably donned a pair of horn spectacles as well.
***
