The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1929-08-27

thing of the same sort. And there
is a lesser novelist who took a vow
neither to shave nor to bathe until
he completed his book.
The chances are, however, that
in point of time-Molly beat them
all. She scarcely slept until Ashes
of Desire" was completed.
Once, when she was reporter,
she interviewed Miss Amy Lowell,
the poetess. Miss Lowell did all her
work at night, writing in bed,
propped up by sixteen feather pill
lows. She drew the curtains against
the sunlight, and tackled black
cloths over the mirrors. Because the
creative fire, she said, burned more
brightly at nighttime, or under
artificial light.
TRY it, my dear" she advised.
"And never forget that genius is
nine-tenths work. You've got to-
sweat for success"
Molly had remembered. Like Miss
Lowell, she turned night into daJ-,
working while others slept. She
plugged her telephone bell, and told
Mary she was at home to no one.
She grew pale and thin. And her
eyes took on a peculiar green light,
and looked huge, and trif1e wild.
She drank quarts of black coffee,
and cared nothing for substantial
food.
She withheld herself from even
Rita. vowing that nothing should
interfere with the completion of her
greatest work. Once, when Red
Flynn came-and refused to leave
until he had seen her-she begged
him not to be disappointed in her
when her book proved unpopular.
ooh, it will be popular all right"
he assured her. Everything you do
is a WOW"
But this IS different" she ex-
planned. "'Ashes of Desire will never
be popular. 1 don't want it to be.
1 want Just to speak simply, truly,
10 the few who will understand. /
never want again what the world
means when it says success.
Red started at hcr, uncompre-
bending.
"What?" he asked inelegantly.
What in blazes is eating you?"
Il mean it." she insisted. Il am
trying now to be true to the real
things"
You look like the devil" he in
terrupted. scowlirg at her pale
ness.
MY work is done" she told him
gently, :'in grief and pain. Yet ]
must write, or die
He shrugged contemptuously.
You're getting arty," he accused.
Success has gone to your head.
You're going temperamental. Snap
out of it. old thing"
please leave me-" she besought.
TIE went away angrily, because
L L he thought she was posing. But
worried. also, because she was thin
and white. And. since he could do
nothing about it. that made him
angrier still. Molly watched him
from her window drawing the
shade aside cautiously. He did not
look back. but stepped into his old
car, slamming the door furiously
and driving away in a clatter Of roll
licking tenders and loose bumpers.
A week later the manuscript was
| finished. Molly wrapped 1t senti-
mentally in lavender tissue. and tied
| it with lavender ribbons. Then she
carried it herself to her agent.
"I1l look at it tonight" the man
promised, land call you first thing
/ in the morning. There1l be no trou-
BILE finding a publisher. Of course
you know that
But he did not wait until morn
ing At 10 o'clock he telephoned.
1--WE read Ashes of Desire Mis-
Burnham" (hesitantly and a bi
apologetically).
"Yes?" she prompted. "You dom
care for It. Mr.. Hall?"
Its so unlike anything you've
done!" he protested.
Its the best thing I've done"
! But YOUR pubic OOeSn eNpeC
this sort of novel from you. They
want you to give them crime, Mis-
Burnhan."
Molly sighed YEARLY.
Il know. Well. I'm through with
what my public wants. I've giver
them book out of my heart. j
they don't like it, I don't care.
shall never write another anyhow.
MFR. Hall cleared his throat
Its beautifully done" he as
sured her. But you know yourselI
what your market is, Miss Burn.
ham. You've always catered to-
er-shan we say"
81 don't care what you say" she
interrupted. 'Lowbrows. Morons