fessional boxer and won his first fight. But a strange series of accidents gave him a job as a reporter on a Calgary, then on a Winnipeg, newspaper.

Here he got that regular day-in-day-out practice in writing which is the solid basis for so many successful literary careers. Here he made friendships which resulted in the appearance of his writings in national magazines and through which he came to write this unique book, "Long Lance." He wrote it entire in six weeks, working, on an average, twelve hours a day. The first draft was the final draft. It would never have been written at all if he had not promised his publisher so definitely that he would have it finished at a

certain date. He was at that time back on the Blackfoot reservation in Alberta among his own people. There was a possibility that he might have gone "back to the blankets." But he was saved by a promise—and a habit of work.

And when I say "saved" I don't mean it in any pious, superior sense. Personally, I'd think none the less of him if he did go back. His book has convinced me that the old civilization he inherited has some points of superiority over the new one he has adopted. Yet I do hope he sticks to his job of literary liaison officer between red and white. He has done a fine thing in "Long Lance" and I believe he will do more like it.

Do you want to pay state income tax, or don't you? There is one way to avoid paying it in the future. That way is to insist that all your creations be copyrighted in your own

name.

Why is this? Because the United States Supreme Court has decided that royalties derived from patents and copyrights constitute moneys arising from a federal monopoly granted to authors and inventors, and that the state has no right to tax the income of the individual who holds the copyright or the patent.

The decision in this matter was handed down May 14, 1928, in the case of Long vs. Rockwood, but the decision related to a situation arising in Massachusetts. In the July-August, 1928, Authors' League Bulletin, a note of this decision was made. At that time, however, New York State had not come into line. After the Bulletin was published, the New York State Tax Commission handed down a ruling stating it would recognize the decision and would apply the decision to the case of royalties arising under copyrights.

From the attitude of both the Massachusetts and New York authorities, it is clear that both these states will exempt an author from state income tax if his receipts are in

the shape of royalties and if he owns the copyright, or if the copyright stands in his name. Certainly they will not award him any exemption where the copyright stands in somebody's else name.

As the logic of the decision is that to tax moneys from copyrights or patents would be to interfere with a monopoly granted by the constitution of the United States and by the federal government, our view is that if the author holds his own copyright, then any moneys he receives for various rights, namely, magazine rights, book rights, dramatic and motion picture rights, etc., etc., whether in the exact shape of royalties or not, are exempt under this decision.

For years the Authors' League has been warning authors to have copyright taken in their own names rather than in the names of publishing houses, whether magazine or book. This decision makes it imperative that the author follow this advice if he wants to save money. We believe that all the states are bound by and will follow the United States Supreme Court decision. The practical thing to do is to secure copyright in the author's name on all future works, and leave the income derived from such works out of state income tax returns.

IRST of all, the opportunities in Hollywood

FIRST

for the comparatively unknown writer are very limited; in fact, next to nil. I'm not talking about the Hergesheimers and RobertsRineharts of the world, who are invited here and given the freedom of the city — nor of the Ernest Pascals and the John Monk Saunderses - men with considerable achievement to their credit in the novel or the short story line. I'm talking of the aspiring writer with two or three short stories in third-rate magazines to his or her credit we all have to begin at that point at some stage of our career. And my advice to such beginning writers, contemplating a Hollywood incursion, is Mr. Punch's advice to young couples about to be wedded: Don't! Hollywood is full of people with a bit of writing to their credit, just standing in line, waiting for a chance to slip in and prove themselves. Those already on the spot have generally some sort of studio connection, and naturally, when a director or an older writer has the chance to bring in a youngster, said director or writer reaches out for someone already known to him. So unless one has, not merely letters of introduction, but close ties of friendship or consanguinity with people on the "inside" here in Hollywood, and money enough in hand to keep him in the decencies for a minimum of six months, I advise no one to come out here to

Hollywood with the idea of living by his or her trusty typewriter. With time, patience, personality, and good luck, one may get into a studio eventually, but one needs all those qualities, and some money besides to enter on the gamble.

The best way to attack Hollywood is, I still believe, by the roundabout way of writing for the magazines. I think it hopeless to come out here, unless one can point to stories or books already printed, and the better the publisher or the magazine, the better for the aspirant. Better still, selling the picture rights of a magazine story usually gives one at least an entrée into the purchasing studio.

If I were a beginning writer, trying to break into Hollywood, I should try to place a book -and sell the picture rights! I should try to place as many short stories as possible, preferably with magazines like the Saturday Evening Post or Red Book or others whose output frequently reaches the screen, and I'd try to sell the picture rights of said stories, and in that way make Hollywood.

As to original stories- yes, originals are used, but many of them are prepared by established screen writers and many others are written on request by well-known authors

usually authors who have already written for the screen. Your inquiry would, I fancy, refer to the original by the unknown or very

little

little known author. No, there is very chance for such originals. Many of the studios today refuse to consider or even receive originals, unless they are submitted by wellknown writers, or brought in by well-established agents, who vouch for the good faith of the author.

You see, this plagiarism of which you hear so much cuts both ways. You doubtless have followed the discussion in the Authors' League Bulletin-and you realize how easy it is to bring a suit for plagiarism, easy and inexpensive, if one gets a lawyer to undertake the case, as is sometimes done, on speculation - and you realize how costly such a suit is, in purse and in reputation, to the unfortunate defendant, whether it be a company or an individual. I don't know how many thousands of dollars the Lasky Company spent in defending themselves against the suit for plagiarism in re "The Ten Commandments." They won the case. It was tried in the Federal Courts, in Georgia-you can imagine what that meant in expense and trouble. But after ten or twelve such experiences, the companies made it a rule not to receive the writings of unknowns that might be the prelude to vexatious suits. It is an interesting fact that it is the unknown-not the professional - who usually raises the cry of "Plagiarism!" The old stagers know that there is no such thing as a new plot under the sun, and precious few new ways of telling a plot. We don't yell, "Stop thief!" when we find a fellow-writer using a situation that we ourselves got out of the "Decameron!" So the unknown or little-known writer is likely to have his manuscript returned to him unread, by the wary studios. Partly they fear suits; partly they fear, and I'm sorry to say with reason, that the unknown author may be himself a plagiarist. You'd be surprised, if you listened to the tales of studio readers and learned the many hairbreadth escapes they have from buying of Miss Mary Smith in Salt Lake City a little-known story that O. Henry published in 1900. Some of these attempted impositions are the result of sheer ignorance;

there are simple souls who really believe that if they find a story in a magazine they can copy it out and sell it to a studio. Others are neither ignorant nor innocent; and the simplest and safest way, as I mentioned above, is not to receive the manuscripts of unknown and unvouched-for authors. On that account it's best to sell stuff first to a magazine and then submit it in printed form. Incidentally all magazines of first, second, and some of the third rank are covered by the reading departments of the studios, and the author of a desirable short story, fit for screen purposes, is very likely to be approached.

As long as there is so little market for originals by little-known authors, I don't go into the question of the form in which they should be submitted. I will say, though, that for anyone without studio experience to try to write "continuity" is rather a waste of time. The originals submitted by well-known and established writers come in practically in short story form. Such an original should be long enough to tell what it has to tell in the most vivid and interesting manner — and the writer should remember that a screen play deals primarily with action. I don't mean by that that a story for the screen should be a mass of cheap melodramatic absurdity, piling Pelion on Ossa. It should be logical, and human, and it should be told in terms of what people do not what they think or say. What people think is a novel; what people say is a play; what people do is a photoplay. Which does not mean that they have to commit a murder a minute. One of the most interesting action scenes I've ever watched on the screen showed a middle-aged man in a Pullman being quietly vamped by a hussy. You saw "The Way of All Flesh?" Nothing happened in the scene between Jannings and Haver that couldn't happen at such a time in such a place, but it was all action, in the best sense of the word, thought and feeling put over by the little natural things that the protagonists did. That's where the real art of writing for the screen comes in- to find out how to tell a story, definitely and com

a time when people will be interested in the subject under discussion. And since monthly magazines require considerable time to be manufactured and distributed, prospective contributors should allow for a period of at least two months to elapse between the time their manuscripts are mailed and the date of publication in the magazine. The second point illustrated by Professor Munro's article is that it comes from an authoritative source. Had it come from an obscure figure its statements would have carried no weight and it is well for all would-be contributors never to attempt handling a subject with which they are not fully familiar. Indeed this is the cardinal rule of all authorship in any field.

Next to Professor Munro comes Robert Dean Frisbie with a description of life in South Seas. Here again the source is authoritative and the article also exemplifies a definite type of human-interest story of which the Atlantic has made a specialty in recent years. Straightforward accounts of unusual experiences from all parts of the world are always welcome in our pages. Another feature in the October issue fits into the same category. This is a series of letters called "The Trading Post," written by a woman who, with her husband, ran a store for Indians on one of the great Western reservations.

I do not believe any editor in the country who prints worth-while poetry could define what kind of verse he prefers. I can only quote the words of Sir Philip Sidney, who said, "Fool,' said my muse, 'look in thy heart and write.'" I know of no better advice. In connection with the Atlantic, however, I might say that we virtually never take long poems.

and the Atlantic has to its credit many discoveries in this field. Long before she won the Pulitzer Prize, Miss Margaret Wilson's stories had appeared in our columns and we also printed the work of Elizabeth Madox Roberts and Maristan Chapman before they had won the conspicuous success they enjoy today. In the November issue is a story by Walter Edmonds, a young Harvard graduate who has not yet turned twenty-five and whose first novel is appearing next spring. In short, our fiction makes no attempt to exploit famous names but rather seeks to discover new and original writers of talent.

The Atlantic has long been famous for its familiar essays written in the vein that the late Samuel McChord Crothers brought to such perfection. This is one of the most tempting and fruitful fields for the young writer. In our department known as the "Contributor's Club" we run three or four brief essays a month ranging in length from one thousand to fifteen hundred words. The aim of these essays is generally to convey in intimate terms some particular mood or frame of mind or else to develop some ironic play of ideas. Occasionally we print a longer essay of this type in the body of the magazine, but for beginners who are patient enough to begin on a small scale, the Club provides an excellent outlet. Many writers of national importance have made their bow here and many older people who find themselves with leisure on their hands and an itch to dabble in literature in their pens also turn naturally to this depart

ment.

Toward the end of the magazine comes a section known as the "New World." Here we have printed a series of striking and influential papers on business and political questions. Often the authors are putting pen to paper for the first time and we have made a real specialty of getting the points of view of the great captains of finance and industry who have done so much to make the modern world what it is. Here too is the work of college professors experts in their various fields