There is probably no emotion so subtle as that experienced by an author when he receives a rejection slip; but I cannot, at the present moment, refer you to any published work wherein you may find this emotion analyzed.

While, no doubt, to many authors this is the emotion with which they are the most familiar - exclusive, perhaps, of those natural passions, jealousy and vanity, - still, it is the one which is mentioned the least. I find in talking with authors that they are willing to speak of love, ambition, hunger, and even pride, but they seldom speak of the way they are affected when they receive a rejection slip. And yet this is the emotion that many experience the most. I cannot understand why they should be so reticent.

No. II.

Of course, this is a most nonsensical attitude on their part. There is no reason why an author should feel the least bit sensitive about receiving a rejection slip.

II.

Take for example the man who sells you shoes. Consider, if you please, his attitude when a customer walks out of his shop without making a purchase. Does he lie to his family and use a fictitious name? Hardly!

He most likely says, aloud: "The poor boob! He does n't know a good shoe when he sees one!"

Then there is your tailor. You may not like the material that he offers you. Or his styles may not exactly suit you. You speak of this to him. Does he look hurt and retire weeping to his bedroom? Never.

He replies to you: "Sir, if you don't like what I have to offer, why don't you go elsewhere ?"

Even the automobile manufacturer displays an even and a steady temper. For example, if he builds a car intended for a chorus girl — all purple and orange with red wheels - is he offended when a farmer makes the comment that such a car will not do for his purposes? Or should the chorus girl see the tractor intended for the farmer, does the automobile manufacturer complain of lack of intelligence, if the chorus girl says she could not find the tractor available for her present needs? Certainly not!

You would call the booter, the tailor, and the manufacturer insane if he should display such a sensitive spirit. Yet you do not offer one word of criticism against the author when he receives a rejection slip, and retires weeping to his room, cursing all editors and labeling them poor idiots.

III.

There are, however, various kinds of rejection slips. Personally I abhor colored ones; but they are all bad. The general fault seems to be in their utter lack of originality. They all say the same thing in equally as bad a way. "We regret that your contribution is not available for our present needs." Could anything possibly be worse? What beauty is there in lines like that? What feeling? How much better it would be if the editors would speak the same bitter truth we use when addressing our tailor, our booter, and our grocer.

"You haven't got what I want this morning. I shall go elsewhere."

Particularly offensive is that rejection slip which adds:

"A careful reading of our magazine will lead you to understand its style, scope, and present needs."

There should be following this sentence the three brief letters, ADV.

IV.

Of course, rejection slips have their use. The backs could be used for making notes.

Some are just the right size for a little pen portrait of the editor, showing how he should look, but does n't.

Then I once knew a man who put his rejection slips to a most excellent use. He papered his walls with them. And the poor fellow had a horror of receiving a check. It meant an unpapered space upon the wall.

Of course there might be other uses practical uses for rejection slips. It would be splendid always to carry a handful along when going on a picnic. Here, ready at hand, is something with which to start a fire.

V.

There seems to be only one remedy that can be suggested to save the feelings of the authors upon receiving rejection slips.

That would be to have Congress pass a law compelling editors to accept everything submitted. This would naturally result in a strike of editors. Proof-readers would soon follow, and then the printers, and last, but not least, the readers themselves. In this way authors would be surely and quickly exterminated - which would certainly, in some instances, at least, be extremely fortunate. NEW YORK, N. Y. Carl Glick.

It is not an uncommon occurrence for a writer to hand to a critic or a friend an effusion with this comment: "It was wonderful how this came to me! I was doing some trivial work when this came like a bolt out of the sky!" or "I had just waked up," and so on. The critic or friend reads, and often he finds a poem having good thought, but too faulty in meter or rhythm to pass muster. Or it is a story, uneven in structure or weak in plot, perhaps lacking a climax; or a production that could not be classed as a short story. It may be an aimless narrative, lightened by good characterization.

When these various deficiencies are pointed out, the writer is offended or hurt.

"That is the way it came to me," he replies;

or, But this was a real inspiration!" or "I don't wish to change it, because I feel as if it had been inspired." These remarks mean that the author believes the production to have been inspired; therefore he assumes it must be perfect and consequently there cannot be any need of change.

These statements are made in all sincerity. The writers who thus set aside criticism and refuse to profit by it believe thoroughly that they are in the right. That does not prove them to be in the right. The men who believed that Columbus would fall off the earth when he crossed the Atlantic were perfectly sincere; but they were wrong.

Of course, there is such a thing as “inspiration." Some authors who work out their

plots and characterizations deliberately and toil diligently by the clock to perfect a story are skeptical of its existence; but it is a phenomenon experienced often. No writer who has even once known this seemingmiracle will deny that inspiration does exist. To the experienced writer it seems almost like a miracle, when, from an unseen or unknown source, there comes before his mental vision a poem, a plot, an incident, or a characterization. At times these appear so far removed from the excited writer's experience that it really seems they must have come from an entity outside of him. Indeed many sincere persons believe this to be the case. Now, what is the truth-it would be better to say approximate truth about this "inspiration," and the character of its gifts?

"Know Thyself" is as good an admonition for writers as for any other class of people. No one can know himself absolutely, but it is possible to come much nearer to achieving such knowledge than most of us do. The psychoanalysts have proved the healing, peacebestowing, and efficiency-making powers of their methods of endeavoring to bring to light the real self; but as far back as the time of Socrates thinking men had discovered the same truths.

Even a writer who has unusual natural gifts must rid his mind of burdensome baggage in the shape of wrong conceptions. He will make but little progress in writing or in turning out salable stuff until he does. One of these ideas is that a verse, story, plot, incident, or characterization which he gets through "inspiration" is perfect; or that it is a form of sacrilege to add to, subtract from, or alter it.

What is the source of "inspired" writing? Granting that some inspirations may come from "outside" or even "higher " entities; the proved source of the great mass is the writer's own mentality. The fact is that, so far as our conscious knowledge is concerned, most of our mental powers exist as a sort of "outside entity." The comparison of the mind to an iceberg is familiar to all, but it will stand another repetition. The iceberg carries about one-fifth of its bulk above the water but four-fifths is below the water

line and unseen. The "conscious" mind is represented by the fifth that shows, but out of sight, and curiously out of reach, lies the other four-fifths of the mind.

Occasionally, or it may be often, this great four-fifths of the mind makes itself known to a writer. Suddenly it holds up some result of its labors or even shows itself in operation for an instant of time. This quick and illuminating lifting of a curtain seems like a miracle, and in a sense it is one; but what is a miracle? It is simply an occurrence we do not understand, and cannot explain. All the phenomena of civilized life, to us commonplace incidents, were once regarded as miracles. We may smile at the savages' reverence and awe for electrical contrivances, horseless vehicles, or airplanes, but it is not at all improbable that the time will come when a superior race of beings will smile at our ignorance of our own mental mechanics.

The truth is that we know as little about the Universe within ourselves as we know of the Universe without. We are profoundly ignorant of the powers and methods of our own minds. If writers carefully "run back" any particular product of inspiration, they will find their goal right at home in their own minds.

All this is preliminary to the statement that the stories and poems which leap up at an author suddenly out of the void are just as likely to need criticism and re-writing as those produced wholly by the "conscious" mind. I am trying to lead the writer gently to the fact that there is no real reason for the extreme respect he manifests and expects others to show - toward his own inspirational writings. It is usually difficult for a critic or a friend to point out this truth to a sensitive writer. But if he has the "makin's" of a real writer in him, he can point it out to himself, if he permits his "conscious" mind to use its reasoning powers.

The author may have the most wonderful poems and stories "in storage." as it were, on the other side of that gulf which appears to separate his "conscious" and "unconscious" minds. However, he can know nothing of these and receive nothing to transfer to paper until the gulf is bridged and the brain receives

the message. As yet the majority are helpless in the presence of these forces. Only a few really control them; some who proclaim most loudly the superiority of their own "inspirations" do not even know under what conditions these miracles make their appearance.

Occasionally a poem or story is "nanded down" that is perfect, but this does not prove that all such stories are. The fact that so many fragments come proves the existence of grave defects either in the working of the "inspiration" itself, or in the transmitting of its products.

If one who worships his own "inspirations" has read so far, he should by now entertain at least a doubt of their perfection. He

must realize that because something comes to him in this manner it does not follow as a corollary that it is faultless. He should be further persuaded by the fact that many successful writers have passed through a period of inspiration-worship. They still welcome the productions of that part of their mind, but view them in the light of common sense. Such writers will tell one frankly that they discovered it was not a "higher power," but their own egos that they worshipped. In. other words and here we are finally arrived at the painful truth-this worship of one's own "inspirations" is simply a manifestation of conceit. Frances Wierman.

LOS ANGELES, Calif.

You will note that under the terms of this contract, we undertake to arrange your plot in photoplay form TO YOUR COMPLETE SATISFACTION. This carries with it a guarantee to refund the sum you pay on the signing of the contract - every penny of it if after you have received the manuscript arranged in detailed synopsis form according to our conception, you are not entirely satisfied with the way we have worked out your plot, set your characters in motion and developed the play from scene to scene. The very fact that we make such a guarantee and incorporate it as a part of the contract we offer you, should prove conclusively that we are absolutely confident that we can please you with our work.

Please bear in mind that what we are offering you is not merely some form of "instruction", but a COMPLETE SERVICE which embraces everything from the building of your idea or subject into a completed photoplay synopsis, to the actual submission of the finished manuscript to the big moving picture producing companies for their consideration with a view to purchase. When you have read our contract and fully acquainted yourself with the nature and extent of

the complete service we offer, as mentioned, then we feel sure that it will appeal to you strongly as being most attractive and advantageous.

There are probably many thousands of people who have struggled blindly ahead, striving to master some set of purchased "instructions" or "course", only to find after weary weeks of labor, that their efforts have all been in vain. Many times this is simply because they do not know how to PROPERLY PRESENT THEIR WORK.

As you probably understand, ideas are not always rejected by moving picture companies bccause they are poor- but many times because they are POORLY PRESENTED. Your idea should be developed so as to bring out it's screen possibilities to the fullest and that we offer to do for you to your entire satisfaction or we will refund any amount you have paid us.

By our methods you are relieved of the necessity of studying for long weeks or months in order to gain a knowledge of technique and plot construction. We do this work for you and in addition register the completed manuscript in our files for the purpose of protecting your idea; and in submitting it in neat typewritten form to the producing companies we bind it in our own Art Covers so that it can readily be distinguished from the mass of crude, amateurish pen and pencil written scripts of no possible value, that are received in quantities by practically every active company.

Remember too, the policies of the different companies are constantly changing and the requirements of the field vary greatly. As it is a part of our business to keep informed on all such matters, you can readily see that many precious hours may be saved by availing yourself of our service.

You will note as an important clause of the contract we offer, that in the event we fail to make a sale of your manuscript to a moving picture producing company WITHIN A PERIOD OF THIRTY DAYS, we guarantee you a sale to us, should you so desire, on a cash payment basis in accordance with the terms as outlined. As we buy only as a speculation and never for production, we of course cannot undertake to say in advance, to what extent, if any, you might profit financially should you accept an offer made by us. Therefore, in that connection we prefer to guarantee no profit whatever.

matter

However, you do not have to sell your photoplay to us unless you desire. It is a which is left entirely to your own judgment. You may wish to sell your script to a producing company instead of to us at our offer, and therefore your story prepared under our direction in the generally required "synopsis" form and submitted to the most likely markets, according to our advices, is, we think, a big step forward in the right direction. The acceptance or rejection of your manuscript, however, is a matter which rests entirely with the companies to whom it is

sent by us for their consideration. Nevertheless, the careful preparation of your story by us, and our desirable method of attractive presentation in Art Covers together with our recommendation of the same, should, we believe, secure for it careful consideration; even though that does not, of course, assure it's acceptance.

It is always our object and desire to so completely satisfy our new clients that we may quickly add them to the list of those, who having engaged our services in connection with one photoplay story, later send to us additional stories to be handled in a like manner according to contract. We can assure you most honestly and sincerely that we will faithfully live up to every condition of our contract and direct our best efforts in your behalf throughout.

A most important point to consider, is that any amount which your photoplay may bring if sold to a moving picture producing company, would be PAID TO YOU INTACT. THE USUAL SALES COMMISSION OF 20 PER CENT IS NOT CHARGED BY US. OUR FEE AS SPECIFIED IN THE CONTRACT, COVERS EVERYTHING! THERE IS AB. SOLUTELY NOTHING MORE TO PAY!

And, equally important, is the fact that under ⚫ur system of submitting manuscripts you would be privileged to correspond DIRECTLY with any moving picture manufacturer that might be interested in your story and inform us to that effect.

Our instructions to Editors at the film companies are always the same to advise us promptly if interested in a story that we have submitted and we will then, at once, furnish the Authors permanent address so that negotiations may be conducted direct.

For the service rendered, we believe that you will consider the fee we charge as being most reasonable. It amounts to $27. payable in three installments of $9.00 each. Or should you prefer to pay cash in full at the time of signing the contract, we allow you a discount of Ten Per Cent, which reduces the sum to $24.30. You could pay almost that much to some concern for mere criticism, revising and typewriting with none of the extra services we render. In addition, do not forget that our work MUST COMPLETELY SATISFY YOU, or we refund the amount you pay on signing the contract.

The late Elbert Hubbard once said, - "Something for nothing is always dearly paid for"; and the wisdom of those truly spoken words is no more surely proven than in the case of any service which is offered you at an absurdly low price. For the work we perform we ask only what we consider it to be WORTH.

That is our proposition plainly and honestly presented in a straightforward manner without trick, catch or subterfuge. We believe in clean above-board business methods and we can assure you most sincerely that when you place your photoplay idea in our hands under contract, we