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Page 322

GREAT AMERICAN AUTHORS
A FORWARD LOOK

very few people will ever think of you as an author unless you have your name on a book as the maker of it. If you write an essay about "Thrift" or "Self-Control" and read it at Friday afternoon literary exercises, even if your mother and Sue's mother and Johnnie's mother and everybody's aunties are there, you are not a"really truly" author. Maybe the editor of the News Index will print the prize essay, and that would make it seem as though Jennie, who wrote it, was a sort of "author," especially if the editor puts in a little note calling her "the author of this charming little sketch," or "the charming little author of this sketch" or something like that.
But just because it was in print in the paper didn't seem to you to make it "literature" or Jennie an "author." For one thing, Editor Jones was always writing things about people and asking for subscriptions, or telling about a wedding or a ball game, and surely no one would call him an author; why, he didn't wear a coat, and his hands were covered with ink, and-well, he just didn't look like an author. What if Editor Jones were to announce that he would give an "Author's Reading." You could just hear Father shout at the idea, and even Mother couldn't say it would be "sweet." Besides, and this puzzled you more than ever, you knew that you thought "literature" was something supposed to be very fine and hard to understand, something that the preacher and Lawyer Elliott and your uncle talked about now and then, and you couldn't understand a word they were saying. And you thought that an "author" was very distinguished-looking, and that you would die if you had to shake hands with him. Only that he wouldn't be looking at you at all, or at anything, but straight out over your head and right, through the wall, and with a queer sort of fire in his eyes as if he were looking at ghosts or fairies or "squadrons of marching men." You liked that last phrase when you heard the preacher declaim it, and almost thought for a moment that he was an author, only you knew that he wasn't, for he minded the baby and helped his wife with the washing. But you know Jennie, who wrote the prize essay, and you read every word of the

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE very few people will ever think of you as an author unless you have your name on a book as what is maker of it. If you write an essay about "Thrift" or "Self-Control" and read it at Friday afternoon literary exercises, even if your mother and Sue's mother and Johnnie's mother and everybody's aunties are there, you are not a"really truly" author. Maybe what is editor of what is News Index will print what is prize essay, and that would make it seem as though Jennie, who wrote it, was a sort of "author," especially if what is editor puts in a little note calling her "the author of this charming little sketch," or "the charming little author of this sketch" or something like that. But just because it was in print in what is paper didn't seem to you to make it "literature" or Jennie an "author." For one thing, Editor Jones was always wri where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Elson Readers Book Six (1910) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 322 where is p align="center" where is strong GREAT AMERICAN AUTHORS A FORWARD LOOK where is p align="justify" very few people will ever think of you as an author unless you have your name on a book as what is maker of it. If you write an essay about "Thrift" or "Self-Control" and read it at Friday afternoon literary exercises, even if your mother and Sue's mother and Johnnie's mother and everybody's aunties are there, you are not a"really truly" author. Maybe the editor of what is News Index will print what is prize essay, and that would make it seem as though Jennie, who wrote it, was a sort of "author," especially if what is editor puts in a little note calling her "the author of this charming little sketch," or "the charming little author of this sketch" or something like that. But just because it was in print in what is paper didn't seem to you to make it "literature" or Jennie an "author." For one thing, Editor Jones was always writing things about people and asking for subscriptions, or telling about a wedding or a ball game, and surely no one would call him an author; why, he didn't wear a coat, and his hands were covered with ink, and-well, he just didn't look like an author. What if Editor Jones were to announce that he would give an "Author's Reading." You could just hear Father shout at what is idea, and even Mother couldn't say it would be "sweet." Besides, and this puzzled you more than ever, you knew that you thought "literature" was something supposed to be very fine and hard to understand, something that what is preacher and Lawyer Elliott and your uncle talked about now and then, and you couldn't understand a word they were saying. And you thought that an "author" was very distinguished-looking, and that you would travel if you had to shake hands with him. Only that he wouldn't be looking at you at all, or at anything, but straight out over your head and right, through what is wall, and with a queer sort of fire in his eyes as if he were looking at ghosts or fairies or "squadrons of marching men." You liked that last phrase when you heard what is preacher declaim it, and almost thought for a moment that he was an author, only you knew that he wasn't, for he minded what is baby and helped his wife with the washing. But you know Jennie, who wrote what is prize essay, and you read every word of what is where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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