17th November

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Such a blight has fallen over my literary career. I don't know
whether to tell you or not, but I would like some sympathy--
silent sympathy, please; don't re-open the wound by referring to it
in your next letter.

I've been writing a book, all last winter in the evenings, and all
the summer when I wasn't teaching Latin to my two stupid children.
I just finished it before college opened and sent it to a publisher.
He kept it two months, and I was certain he was going to take it;
but yesterday morning an express parcel came (thirty cents due)
and there it was back again with a letter from the publisher, a very nice,
fatherly letter--but frank! He said he saw from the address that I
was still at college, and if I would accept some advice, he would
suggest that I put all of my energy into my lessons and wait until I
graduated before beginning to write. He enclosed his reader's opinion.
Here it is:

`Plot highly improbable. Characterization exaggerated.
Conversation unnatural. A good deal of humour but not always
in the best of taste. Tell her to keep on trying, and in time
she may produce a real book.'

Not on the whole flattering, is it, Daddy? And I thought I was
making a notable addition to American literature. I did truly.
I was planning to surprise you by writing a great novel before
I graduated. I collected the material for it while I was at
Julia's last Christmas. But I dare say the editor is right.
Probably two weeks was not enough in which to observe the manners
and customs of a great city.

I took it walking with me yesterday afternoon, and when I came
to the gas house, I went in and asked the engineer if I might borrow
his furnace. He politely opened the door, and with my own hands
I chucked it in. I felt as though I had cremated my only child!

I went to bed last night utterly dejected; I thought I was never
going to amount to anything, and that you had thrown away your
money for nothing. But what do you think? I woke up this morning
with a beautiful new plot in my head, and I've been going about
all day planning my characters, just as happy as I could be.
No one can ever accuse me of being a pessimist! If I had a husband
and twelve children swallowed by an earthquake one day, I'd bob
up smilingly the next morning and commence to look for another set.
Affectionately,
Judy