/0/14047/coverbig.jpg?v=4615530eb2b1c759ec8c614ac1dfdc75)
Literature and Life by William Dean Howells
Literature and Life by William Dean Howells
The new contributor who does charm can have little notion how much he charms his first reader, who is the editor. That functionary may bide his pleasure in a short, stiff note of acceptance, or he may mask his joy in a check of slender figure; but the contributor may be sure that he has missed no merit in his work, and that he has felt, perhaps far more than the public will feel, such delight as it can give.
The contributor may take the acceptance as a token that his efforts have not been neglected, and that his achievements will always be warmly welcomed; that even his failures will be leniently and reluctantly recognized as failures, and that he must persist long in failure before the friend he has made will finally forsake him.
I do not wish to paint the situation wholly rose color; the editor will have his moods, when he will not see so clearly or judge so justly as at other times; when he will seem exacting and fastidious, and will want this or that mistaken thing done to the story, or poem, or sketch, which the author knows to be simply perfect as it stands; but he is worth bearing with, and he will be constant to the new contributor as long as there is the least hope of him.
The contributor may be the man or the woman of one story, one poem, one sketch, for there are such; but the editor will wait the evidence of indefinite failure to this effect. His hope always is that he or she is the man or the woman of many stories, many poems, many sketches, all as good as the first.
From my own long experience as a magazine editor, I may say that the editor is more doubtful of failure in one who has once done well than of a second success. After all, the writer who can do but one good thing is rarer than people are apt to think in their love of the improbable; but the real danger with a young contributor is that he may become his own rival.
What would have been quite good enough from him in the first instance is not good enough in the second, because he has himself fixed his standard so high. His only hope is to surpass himself, and not begin resting on his laurels too soon; perhaps it is never well, soon or late, to rest upon one's laurels. It is well for one to make one's self scarce, and the best way to do this is to be more and more jealous of perfection in one's work.
The editor's conditions are that having found a good thing he must get as much of it as he can, and the chances are that he will be less exacting than the contributor imagines. It is for the contributor to be exacting, and to let nothing go to the editor as long as there is the possibility of making it better. He need not be afraid of being forgotten because he does not keep sending; the editor's memory is simply relentless; he could not forget the writer who has pleased him if he would, for such writers are few.
I do not believe that in my editorial service on the Atlantic Monthly, which lasted fifteen years in all, I forgot the name or the characteristic quality, or even the handwriting, of a contributor who had pleased me, and I forgot thousands who did not. I never lost faith in a contributor who had done a good thing; to the end I expected another good thing from him. I think I was always at least as patient with him as he was with me, though he may not have known it.
At the time I was connected with that periodical it had almost a monopoly of the work of Longfellow, Emerson, Holmes, Lowell, Whittier, Mrs. Stowe, Parkman, Higginson, Aldrich, Stedman, and many others not so well known, but still well known. These distinguished writers were frequent contributors, and they could be counted upon to respond to almost any appeal of the magazine; yet the constant effort of the editors was to discover new talent, and their wish was to welcome it.
I know that, so far as I was concerned, the success of a young contributor was as precious as if I had myself written his paper or poem, and I doubt if it gave him more pleasure. The editor is, in fact, a sort of second self for the contributor, equally eager that he should stand well with the public, and able to promote his triumphs without egotism and share them without vanity.
Their Silver Wedding Journey, Part I. by William Dean Howells
Rena got into an entanglement with a big shot when she was drunk one night. She needed Waylen's help while he was drawn to her youthful beauty. As such, what was supposed to be a one-night stand progressed into something serious. All was well until Rena discovered that Waylen's heart belonged to another woman. When his first love returned, he stopped coming home, leaving Rena all alone for many nights. She put up with it until she received a check and farewell note one day. Contrary to how Waylen expected her to react, Rena had a smile on her face as she bid him farewell. "It was fun while it lasted, Waylen. May our paths never cross. Have a nice life." But as fate would have it, their paths crossed again. This time, Rena had another man by her side. Waylen's eyes burned with jealousy. He spat, "How the hell did you move on? I thought you loved only me!" "Keyword, loved!" Rena flipped her hair back and retorted, "There are plenty of fish in the sea, Waylen. Besides, you were the one who asked for a breakup. Now, if you want to date me, you have to wait in line." The next day, Rena received a credit alert of billions and a diamond ring. Waylen appeared again, got down on one knee, and uttered, "May I cut in line, Rena? I still want you."
"You never wanted me," Eva's voice trembled, but her gaze was steady as she glared at Maxmillan. "You were too blinded by your love for Sara to see the truth." Maximilian clenched his fists, his jaw tight. "You think I don't regret it? Every moment, Eva. Every moment I spent hurting you.." "Hurting me?" she cut him off, her eyes filled with anger. "You ruined me, Max. You let my sister and step mother destroy me, and when I needed you most, you turned your back on me, you made me go through hell." His chest tightened. "I was wrong. I know that now, but..." "But it's too late," she snapped. "I'm not the helpless girl you left behind. I've come back for what's mine." Max's voice softened, almost pleading. "And what if I'm part of what's yours?" Eva's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Maybe. Or maybe I'll destroy you the way you destroyed me." ******* Forced into a loveless marriage to save her family's business, Eva endures cruelty from her husband, Maximilian, who believes she manipulated his grandfather into choosing her as his bride. Blinded by his love for her sister, Sara, Maximilian made Eva go through hell. Eva endures not only Maximilian's abuse but also the hurt and betrayal from her own family. Eva is framed for a tragedy and sent to prison, she's rescued by a powerful and influencial figure who she never knew existed. Six years later, Eva returns. No longer the broken and helpless woman she once was, She is now a force to be reckoned with. She is back to seek revenge on all those who had made her life hell. Now, Maximilian regrets his mistakes and isn't ready to let her go. Eva hold a secret that will shatter Maxmillan's world. What is that secret? Will Eva choose love and forgiveness, or will revenge be the only thing that can heal her broken heart?
Eliza Greer was abandoned by her mother, raised in an orphanage, and sold to the Burns family at 19. Even though she marries Mason Burns, the other people in the Burns family look down on her for her poor identity and want to try every way to bully her. Unexpectedly, they all failed. Eliza's hidden identities are gradually revealed in one incident after another, which astonishes everyone.
She was a world-renowned divine doctor, the CEO of a publicly traded company, the most formidable female mercenary, and a top-tier tech genius. Marissa, a titan with a plethora of secret identities, had hidden her true stature to marry a seemingly impoverished young man. However, on the eve of their wedding, her fiance, who was actually the lost heir to a wealthy dynasty, called off the engagement and subjected her to degradation and mockery. Upon the revelation of her concealed identities, her ex-fiance was left stunned and desperately pleaded for her forgiveness. Standing protectively before Marissa, an incredibly influential and fearsome magnate declared, "This is my wife. Who would dare try to claim her?"
"Lucien, let's get a divorce," I said in a peremptory tone that was long overdue, the most decisive farewell to this absurd marriage. We had been married for exactly three years-three years that, for me, were filled with nothing but endless loneliness and torment. For three years, the husband who should have stood by my side through every storm, Lucien Sullivan, had completely disappeared from my life as if he had never existed. He vanished without a trace, leaving me alone to endure this empty, desolate marriage. Today, I finally received his message: "I'm back. Come pick me up at the airport." When I read his words, my heart leapt with joy, and I raced to the airport, thinking that he finally understood my love and was coming back to me. But his cruelty was far worse than I could have ever imagined-he was accompanied by a pregnant woman, and that woman was Carla, my closest and most trusted friend. In that moment, all of my previous excitement, all my hope, and all of our shared laughter and tears turned into the sharpest of daggers, stabbing into my heart and leaving me gasping for air. Now, all I want is to escape from this place that has left me so broken-to lick my wounds in solitude. Even if these wounds will remain with me for the rest of my life, I refuse to have anything to do with him ever again. He should know that it was his own hand that trampled our love underfoot, that his coldness and betrayal created this irreparable situation. But when he heard those words, he desperately clung to this broken, crumbling marriage, unwilling to let it end-almost as though doing so could rewind time and return everything to how it used to be. "Aurora, come back. I regret everything!" Regret? Those simple words stirred no emotion in me-only endless sadness and fury. My heart let out a frantic, desperate scream: It's too late for any of this!
Rumors had it that Dennis didn't do relationships because of a woman. Rumors also had it that Dennis was a merciless and indifferent man. Not knowing what kind of person Dennis is, Emmie signed her name beside his and received a marriage certificate with both their names on it. It was not until Emmie flash-married Dennis that she knew rumors cannot always be trusted. The man who clutched her in his arms was nothing like a ruthless CEO. On the first day of their marriage, Dennis warned Emmie, "I will provide you with anything but love." Three years later, when Emmie wants a divorce, the man tears the divorce agreement into pieces and begs, "Don't go. I can't live without you."
© 2018-now CHANGDU (HK) TECHNOLOGY LIMITED
6/F MANULIFE PLACE 348 KWUN TONG ROAD KL
TOP