The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1906-12-11
Pills TO PURGE GENIUS.
Cold sense Tor the Great Rejected VINO
Complain or MaEazine Editors.

To THE EDITOR OF THE SUN-Sir: Got
room for any more OF those downtrodden
literary fellers who cali themselves geniuses
and yet haven't got brains enough to earn
a square living In competition with other
literary fellers7 It's wonderful that so many
OF these geniuses read The SUN. and more
wonderful that they can waste precious time
away from the muse in penning luRubrious
walls ut the cold. unappreciative world which
disdains them Poor. faint hearted idealists.
moths in a world of sunshine. duare pegs
In round holes. and with no competent
mechanic handy to turn them in the lathe OF
practically. Hotair balloons floating away up
In the chilly atmosphere Of self-oonceit. with
no sand aboard and no way to get down to
earth until the gas evaporates. Oh. I know.
I'm abou' Ave miles above ground myself.
But we've got to come down. got to. The
old air line TO the heights Of immortality. the
old road on which Chatterton and q host Of
others froze to death, the path which was
climbed YEARLY by Shakespeare and Dick
ems and those who have led the way. The
line Is barred. your pessimists say. and the
way thereof 10 hidden. Judging from the
tone OF most OF your correspondents II was q
good thing somebody put up the curtain.
No room for geniusl How sadi With
thousands Of periodicals. syndioates and
publishing houses to choose from, you can't
md half a dozen. nay one. to accept the words
OF fire which burn out OF your brain, melt
the types OF your typewriter and then make
warm the editorial furnscei How sadi /
know. for I've writer a lot Of hot stun my
self. But I'm installing q refrigerating con-
denser and substitutlns a steam furnace for
. hob air plant. and getting better results.
SC It's all q game Of "freeZeoutp- Sort of an
American literary trust. ehp with big diyi.
dends to preferred creditors. and common
cold watered swill swash TO the hind
most. How sop Where was Rudyard Kip
lAA. AaRA~A !. Is-LA --A .-1 MrL- -.-
Jack London. Joseph Conrad. Robert Cham
bers, In the days VIII en- they were struggling
for Q hearingf Who OF the shining lights OF
magazinedom did not moon around for years
with cold storage batteries in his pockets,
awaiting his turn In the literary ARMAMENT
II It's a trust. get on the inside IL It's q freeze
out. stand pat. slide down an extra ace or
20 from up your sleeve and waltz off with
the Jackpot. But It isn't. It's the same old
proposition. availability. as II was from the
beginning, Is. and always will be. Let me
Illustrate:
have a collection OF souvenirs. milestones
OF I've years OF progress mp the literary
heights. Rejection slips, most OF them. but
they tell q story. During the first three years
l received Just forty-seven Of these cold
blooded. soul racking formulas of failure
and two acceptances. Exactly two crumbs
of comfort and forty-seven drops OF gall to
satisfy a craving three years longl There
would have been more gall but for the fact
that l accepted the inevitable and have
worked at literature only as a side line from
the beginning. Then ] wrote less and thought
more, Result: The last two years have
brought me TWENTY-FIVE II am expecting the
odd one this week. printed rejection slips.
six appreciative typewriter letters from
magazine editors OF standing, and seven ac-
ceptances. Nothing wonderful. of course; only
as straWs which show that the wind is chang
ing. and the reason for the change.
Isn't it reasonable, this ultimatum Of our
friends the enemy? Not what we want 10
write, but what they want to print IL Ia an
accept ed proposition In every business except
literature. II l am a farmer l don't grow
cabbages and then send them unsolicited
to a Wholesale dealer in fresh eggs and butter.
We're l an. automobile manufacturer
wouldn't get together a trainload OF touring
cars and consign them unordered to q retailer
In velocipedes and baby carriages. If WANTED
to sell cRbba ges OF motor cars I'd grow or
make good ones and then ship them to the
proper dealer. The same holds good in the
Lit erary produce market.
There was never a more open market in
lit erature than there is to-day. Magazines
appear in a night. like periodical mushrooms.
Books spring from nowhere and are read
everywhere. Proof Proof needs no proof.
Good beer needS no bush; you will find q
saloon on every corner and several between.
No! II the editors want slush. give EN-
slush. Freeze the hot spring of tragedy and
romance which burns at white heat in the
ardent brain Of genius. let it congeal into
well. slush, il you will. and serve il with
cold common sense. Then watch the simOl-
cons roll in. Nobody wants tragedy. You
wouldn' II you had 70 read IL, oh. muck
raker of literature! Most OF us get about all
the cold tragedy we care about in life, to say
not hing Of the overdose which is spilled morn
L. .-A -gvhS ill A..ar fhA A |
romance, II yours won't sell look it over and
see what ia wrong. Doesn't the editor like IL
because your poor Leandro gets the lemon
in the same old lovesiCk way? Then ring
in an ant omobile and blow the horn. You
may smirch the mantle OF romance with the
Rasolene. but it'll look fresh to the Jaded
edito or and you'll get more for your pains.
II there is "a consuming consciousness Of
the wide inequality Of life: Of the tremendous
power Of mere money allied with blu STEERING
mediocrity 10 override all distinctions and
thrust itself all bedaubed with dirt and shin
ing with tinssl into the hig places Of society
If somebody is getting something for nothing,
show him upi Put the villain into a novel
and hit him good and hard with a muck rake.
Then take the book TO a pu blisher-and notice
how no will fall on your neck and bless you.
Oh, Lordl II / only had a consuming con-
sciou sness" OF all these things and the genius
TO write IL all down In words OF IRE wouldn
waste any time in explaining Il all. I'd have
my own chauffeur and press agent, and be
running for Congress inside OF a year. Oppor-
tunity1 Why. the very air rings of It!
Isn't. it the same old world OF literature, |
life and the devil? Isn't life and literature |
about what we make IL? Who makes the
biggest hit in life. the frog who croaks in the
fens or the cat who purrs beside the fender?
Neither. IL is the man who lights the rood
fight cheerfully, accepting the nevitab BILE
and taking defeat as a stepping stone to
victory.
Which viii be about all.
WILLIAM II. KrTcHELL.
NEWARK ". j., December 0.