EXALTING THE EGO
Some day I propose to write a novel!
The main reason for this determination is the fact that I have never
written one. I don’t know that it will become a “best goer”--and the
chances are against it--but I’ll do my best just the same. _And I hope
to win._
My reason for writing a fictional story is that by so doing I will
exercise my imaginative faculties and thus _prolong their usefulness_.
The power to imagine is an asset that must not be dulled by neglect. It
responds to exercise just as readily as do the arms and legs.
Mental gymnastics are helpful, in fact they are absolutely necessary
in keeping alert the upper story of the general structure. They make
of the brain a _spectacular trapeze performer_ toward which all eyes
upturn when it takes its place upon the swinging bar.
The ability to write a successful novel would be a crowning achievement
since it draws upon experience and vision in order to assemble
interesting characters around an agreeable plot. Love, of course, must
furnish the motif because love is the highest and most noble form of
passion--and _passion rules the universe_.
When we contemplate the writing of a novel we indulge in aspiration of
the highest order. The fact that not one novel in a thousand is likely
to measure up to a masterpiece should not halt one’s determination to
put over a winner if possible. But novel writing is _big game hunting_,
requiring ammunition of considerable power--and the _aim must be
perfect_.
One should try for small game first, being careful to make a bonfire
out of every effort that will not stand the test of several months in
cold storage. Real fiction can wait. It needn’t be served to order.
Any novel that is going to live through one generation of applauding
readers will keep a few months while its author uses the pruning hook.
His judgment will be all the keener each time he goes over it.
When I write my novel I shall allow no close friend to read it in
advance of its legitimate publication, after having been duly passed
upon by a calm and candid professional critic _with a beady eye_. When
one of these zest-worn individuals wades through my effort from first
to last page and comes up smiling it will be time enough to indulge in
a faint hope. It is always best for success to _ooze in_ rather than
to come as a deluge. It gives us time to consider ways and means of
taking care of the output. Also it serves to ward off an aggravated
case of disappointment if it doesn’t turn out to be a _genuine gusher_.
We never know the real verdict until we hear from the multitude. No
multitude, no verdict necessary--_the book is dead_.
[Illustration: Where once one equals two]
It isn’t for the reason that I lack for things to do that I propose to
try to write a successful novel, nor is my reason mercenary. There is
no secret about the matter either. Some years ago I determined _not_ to
go through life with a _single track mind_. To obviate this calamity it
dawned upon me that I must take an interest in every little and big
thing that came my way. Once the resolution took the form of habit, it
became a great pleasure to persist in the pursuit of information, but
the main benefit derived has been the development of a determination to
_do things myself_.
Determination stands in constant need of repair else it deteriorates
into mere obsession and falls of its own weight. _The habit of
investigation_ builds up self-confidence, without which, determination
has no prop with which to sustain itself.
Investigation is a two-sided activity of the mental processes--it
comes in loaded and can go out loaded if there’s anything inside to
facilitate the movement. To prove this theory is my reason for taking
a fling at novel writing, and by succeeding my case is made. At least
it will have been proved that one’s mind is a reconverter--that what it
imbibes in one form it may exude in another. Also it proves that if one
does not exalt his own ego no one else can do it for him.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: A quick getaway]