Le Saboteur: II.

By C.C. Gaylord and O.R. Kirkpatrick


Chapter II.
L'Aviation Militaire

The next day Randolph found Allison standing outside the barracks, watching the pilots who were going “out on a job”.
Wishing he were going up too, thought Randolph.
“Hullo, old boy,” he said, coming up behind Allison suddenly. “Get into your togs; I’m taking you up.”
“Up? What for?”
“For practice. Renhard’s going up too. It’s mainly to see what you know and, more crucially, what you don’t. No one’s allowed to go over the lines until he’s had 60 hours or more in the air, you know, so you’ve several more to go.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Hurry up; I’ll see that your ‘plane is ready.”
Randolph walked over to the hangar and inspected the three trim SPADs that the mechanics had just wheeled out onto the runway. Two of them had arrived only the day before and, their canvas sides resplendent in new paint, had just had their respective numbers put on. Randolph was frowning over one of the engines when Allison and Renhard appeared in their flying togs.
“Is something wrong?” asked Renhard.
“It’s these new engines,” said Randolph. “They give us no end of bother. There’s scarcely a flight that a pilot isn’t forced to go back because of engine trouble. These look as if they’ll run, though.
“Right,” he said, straightening up and getting down to business. “There are a few things to know before you go up.” (Here he began to rattle off information at an alarming rate.) “The S.XIII is a single-seat fighter bi-plane and scout aircraft. It is equipped with twin Vickers 7.7mm, .303 caliber machine guns and a 220 horsepower Hispano-Suiza 8Be V-8 engine.”
Renhard and Allison looked at each other apprehensively.
“Its dimensions are as follows,” Randolph continued. “It stands 7’8” tall, is 20’8” long, has a 26’7” wingspan and a wing area of 199 sq. ft. It has a maximum takeoff weight of 1,859 lbs, a service ceiling of 21,800 ft, a maximum speed of 140 mph, an estimated combat radius of 250 miles and can stay in the air for up to 2 hours. The design was produced by the SPAD aircraft company last spring, and the S.XIII model is far more powerful than the S.VII in use in 1916. What is it?” he asked, as Allison coughed.
“Will we be obliged to remember all this, sir?”
“No. I’m just telling you so you’ll know. You will be obliged to look over your craft before each flight to see that everything is in order, though.”
He then made them go over the airplane from propeller to rudder to see that they knew how everything worked. This was not too difficult for them, for they had spent hours poring over diagrams during flight training. Renhard, however, seemed surprisingly to know the machine better even than Randolph.
“Why, I daresay you could build one!” Randolph exclaimed. “Have you worked on airplanes before?”
“No, not really. I’ve had a little mechanical experience, though.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“When do we go up?” asked Allison.
“Now, if you like. Get into your ‘planes.”
“Not much different from a 504, eh?” he asked Allison as soon as he was inside the cockpit.
“Not too much.”
“Right. Taxi around the field a little until you get used to it.”
He repeated his instructions to Renhard.
The men figured out the SPADs soon enough and they took to the air. First they practiced combat maneuvers—rolling out of a spin, making sharp turns, circling, pulling out of a dive. They practiced marksmanship by shooting tin cans which Randolph tossed from his cockpit. This last was harder on Randolph than the other men, for the bullets whistled past him pretty closely sometimes.
As Randolph had said, the new men were ready for combat after two days of this training, and Woodward, who was the best artist, painted the squadron insignia on the sides of their ‘planes. The insignia was an apple with an arrow through it—Farnsworth’s idea. One could see that the men of 11 squadron prided themselves on their marksmanship.
Renhard and Allison went up on their first patrol on Thursday. Randolph was the commander of “C” flight, which was made up of Hayes, Kearns, Renhard, Allison and a sixth man, Anderson. They had been up for about an hour when Randolph’s engine started to mis-fire. Fearing trouble, he signaled for Hayes to take over and headed back towards the airdrome.
“Pity,” said Randolph, who had a habit of talking to himself. “I’d better give the old girl a go-over when I get back. These new Hispano-Suizas are always making a nuisance of themselves. Hullo, it’s righted itself. Well, no good wasting a flight. Might as well go back and see if I can’t locate the others.”
He turned about and headed back in the direction of No-man’s-land. The little patrol was nowhere in sight and, although it had only been a few minutes since Randolph had parted company with them, were probably miles away, since they had been traveling in opposite directions at the speed of 120 miles per hour.
Randolph scanned the sky, hoping to meet up at least with an Allied patrol. Several specks materialized to the south-east and, as they were flying into enemy territory, Randolph hoped they were friendly. As he got closer and they didn’t fire on him he fell into formation.
Suddenly Randolph saw the black crosses on their ‘planes. For some reason they had not seen him. Never one to sit about and let the other chap shoot first, Randolph slipped up under the tail of the last one and let him have it with both Vickers. The fellow was down in a moment, but the other pilots were at last aware of Randolph’s presence and came down on him like angry hornets. Randolph knew when he was out-numbered and high-tailed it for his own lines before the fuel ran out.
He was greeted on the landing strip by his worried comrades, who had returned before him.
“What happened?”
“Did you run into any Bosches?”
“What was wrong with the engine?”
“The engine’s all right, I think,” said Randolph. “Low on fuel, though. It’s sort of a long story.”
“Well, come inside and get something to eat,” said Anderson. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Oh good. I hope it’s something edible. I’m starved.”
“It’s not,” said Kearns.
The men were delighted with Randolph’s escapade once they had been filled in on the details. It made the 19th victory for their squadron.
"Those Germans must have been rather nearsighted, don't you think?" said Kearns. "Not to have seen you all that time, I mean."
"I can't figure that out either," said Randolph. "Must have been the sun was in their eyes."
“How many ‘planes were there?” asked Anderson.
“Five. Fokkers, I think.”
The men all admired Randolph’s pluck, but they thought at the same time that it was a rather foolish thing to do.
“What took you so long to see their insignias?” asked Renhard.
“Well, sometimes it’s difficult to see a ‘plane’s wing markings unless you’re above it.”
The men seemed satisfied with this explanation and Randolph was relieved.
“Where’s Allison?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Took his dinner in his room. Won’t associate with us,” said Hayes.
“I wonder what’s the matter with that fellow, anyhow,” said Kearns. “If I so much as whistle he glares at me.”
“Speaking of music,” said Hayes, “when’s the major going to get us that gramophone?”
“Yes,” said Kearns. “I miss that song we used to always listen to. You remember, Hayes, don’t you? The one that went, ‘though your lads are far away'—” he broke forth in his golden tenor.
“What happened to the gramophone?” interrupted Renhard.
“Oh, didn’t you hear?” said Kearns. “It broke. We were all sitting about enjoying ourselves when all of a sudden we heard—”
“Let me have a look at it. I might be able to mend it.”
“Oh yes, he’s a dab at that sort of thing,” said Randolph.
Renhard began to examine the object in question.
“Elementary,” he declared promptly. “I’ll have it mended in a jiffy. Really, I don’t see why you fellows couldn’t have mended it before.”
“Oh, none of us are much good at mending things,” said Kearns. “We aren’t that sort. My uncle could mend anything. He was a telegraph officer. He’s in Arabia now. They couldn’t keep him out of the war, although he’s 45.”
“Is he indeed?” asked Renhard curiously. “What does he do?”
“He’s a colonel. Always had an adventurous mind. Why once—”
“Come along, Fin,” said Hayes, and led him away, Kearns still talking.

“Letter for you, Captain,” said Pitt the adjutant, coming in with the mail.
Randolph took the letter eagerly and retired to his room to read it. There he found Allison, stretched out on one of the beds. His inseparable cigarette was in his mouth, but he wasn’t smoking it and his eyes were closed so Randolph supposed he was asleep. He sat down on his bed and put on his reading glasses.
The letter was from his mother. Dear Quentin, it read. I hope you have had news from Tom and Arthur, as it has been nearly three weeks since I last heard from either of them. Karl wrote last week from Kut telling me that he was well and wanting to know if you were all right. I’m afraid we all worry very much about you, dear. Every week it seems we hear another story of a dreadful smash-up. I am glad to hear that the wristlets suit, for I was so afraid they wouldn’t be needed now that the warm weather has begun. I started a sweater for you as well after you told me how cold it gets up in an airplane. Tom and Arthur always write for socks as it is so wet in the trenches and Karl for chocolate or anything edible, as he says rations are uncertain. I am so glad he was not in Kut when it was being besieged. I am proud that he is fighting in the British army, but I hope he will be able to get his citizenship back when the war is over. Father is quite well and sends his regards. He has been kept rather busy of late, looking after little Grace so Esther is freed to help Harold at the hospital.
“Good for him!” said Quentin here.
Allison looked at him out of one eye, but Quentin was so absorbed in his letter that he didn’t see.
Father is so good with children, the letter continued, and Esther is so anxious to be of help, as they need so many nurses for the poor boys being brought back. It seems as if everybody were busy helping the war along in some way, except for me. But I have my task as well, though it is a small one. It is to pray for my dear boys at the front, that they may honor Him above, and that, if it His will, He will bring them home safe to me.
At this juncture Randolph was obliged to take out his handkerchief and blow his nose hard.
“Got a cold?” asked Allison.
Randolph started and hurriedly pulled his glasses off of his nose.
“Thought you were asleep,” he said.
“Go on and read it; I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“No, that’s all right,” said Randolph, slipping the letter under his pillow. “It will keep.”
He waited, hoping Allison might leave, but Allison lit up his cigarette and lay there puffing leisurely. Randolph at last grew tired of waiting and went out.
Allison lay in bed staring up at the ceiling for several minutes. He wondered why Randolph had thought that letter so special. The obvious answer, that it was none of Allison's business, did not occur to him. Instead he arrived at his favorite conclusion that Randolph had a girl-friend and the letter was from her. He got up with a smirk on his face and pulled the letter from under the pillow. He read until he got to your loving mother, when he jumped as if something had stung him and hurriedly replaced the letter under Randolph’s pillow. He stood for a moment with his hands in his pockets, staring at the bed. Then he turned on his heel and went out.

When Allison came down to the main room later he was greeted with strains of “Tipperary.”
“Somebody fixed the gramophone,” he observed.
“Oh yes, Renhard did that; genius, isn’t he?” said Kearns.
“Somebody break it again.”
“What? Why?”
“I hate that song.”
“What!” cried several voices at once, for the song was a general favorite.
“Here I go to all that trouble just because I knew you were sick of the boys’ singing!” said Renhard, acting hurt.
“Yes,” said Kearns, “you owe Renhard an apology. Come on, let’s hear it.”
“Shut up,” said Allison, going out the door.
“Bad tempered chap!” said Kearns.

I Shall Return

‘I shall return.’ says the Father,
As he presses his wife to his heart.
He kisses all three of his children,
Jimmy, and Jane, and Art.

‘I shall return.’ Says the Brother,
As his sister wipes her eyes,
His brother smiles on him proudly,
His mother hugs him, and cries.

‘I shall return.’ Says the Pilot,
As his `plane he clambers in,
He boldly squares his shoulders,
And sticks out his boyish chin.

‘I shall return.’ Says the General,
As he stands on the island shore,
His orders are ‘leave the island,’
His Army can hold it no more.

The Father returned to his Family,
The Brother returned to his home,
The bold and courageous Pilot,
Returned to his aerodrome;

The Japanese took the Island,
Their course through it they burned,
The U.S. took it back again,
The General had returned.

The Pilot was the Brother,
The one whom they called Art,
The General was the Father,
Who pressed his wife to his heart.

The Three Watchmen

By C.C. Gaylord

Wherever the shore is home to men
There stand the watchmen three:
The Lighthouse and the Foghorn
And the rocking Bell-buoy.

Still through the darkling hours
When the night is upon the deep
They keep their posts along the coasts--
These three which never sleep.

Where the rock-face rears its head
The sailors know in the night,
Without a star, just where they are
By the wink of the far-off light.

When the sea mist hangs like a curtain
And you see not the sea or the sky
The grey cliffs moan with the ship-horn's drone
And the Foghorn makes reply.


Over the low-hidden shoal
Where the wicked wave-caps fall
The great ships bide and turn aside
At the Bell-buoy's warning call.


Wherever the rocky coastline lies
Still stand the watchmen three;
Guarding the treacherous straits
Of their age-old enemy--
Watching the crest on the throbbing breast
Of the grey and restless Sea.

A Few Words to a Prospective Writer

By C.C. Gaylord

Writing is the art of putting words onto paper, and it is just as much an art as sculpting a delicate statue, or painting a beautiful picture. Although there are many different forms of writing—poetry, essays and speeches are a few—this pamphlet deals with writing a story. To write a story there are a few things you must know (if you want it to turn out well).
To begin with, get a piece of paper—perhaps you will need a stack of paper—and something to write with. Then you will be all ready to start your story, for you will probably want to start one when you have finished reading this.
Now for the harder part—that is, the things to know. I have written some of them down here, but you will learn a great many more by practice. This is a sort of guide, so you may use it however you like. You may begin at BEGIN and end at END if you like, or vice versa if you prefer. You may start in the middle if that is easier, and you can skip about as much as you like. Please remember that most of these ideas are simply my opinions. You do not have to adhere to them strictly; in fact, you are at liberty to disagree with me as much as you like. They are all good ideas, however.
One note here: I will not put in anything about grammar. You can use as bad English as you like, it does not necessarily hurt your story (witness The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn). If you would like a book on grammar I am sure you can find one elsewhere.
Now to
BEGIN

I. The Science
Here are the two most important tricks to making your sentences smooth and your story progress nicely.

1. Omit unnecessary words from sentences
Just like a good haircut, less is better.

o Don’t repeat passages
Especially long ones. Reading a long passage once is bad enough. Unless properly done, even repeating a short passage insults a reader’s intelligence.
o Don’t make people say things in original ways
Example: putting “agreed, “bubbled or “beamed so-and-so” instead of “said so-and-so.” This is a great waste of time. All the reader wants from the un-quotation-marked passages is who said what. Sometimes you may say how he said it, but make it as unnoticeable as possible by not being original. The reader will not be distracted from the story by a character saying something “disappointedly,” but he will waste a great deal of time trying to figure out how someone’s voice could “drip with disappointment.”

2. Omit unnecessary material from the story
Don’t put anything into the story that you don’t need to—no matter how tempting it may be to do so.

o Don’t tell your readers what they can figure out for themselves.
o Don’t overdo things
Especially humour. Don’t constantly bring up a joke or it isn’t funny anymore.
o Don’t over-describe
Description can add much to a story—Dickens is famous for it—but as a general rule, minimize long passages with no quotation marks.
o Don’t diverge from the subject
o Don’t sermonize
Most people skip those parts anyways.
o Don’t make long-winded dialogue
No one really talks like that.

II. The Plot
The Plot is what happens in the story. It is the main part of the story, but not the whole of it: the characters and setting also make up a large part of the story. The Plot consists of several parts:

1. Introduction
The reader is introduced to the characters and setting.

o There are several different ways to begin a story
i. Introduce the main character, a less-important character or the villain.
ii. Introduce the location of the story.
iii. Introduce the historical setting.
o Don’t make the story predictable
I put this at the outset because it is so very important. It is lots of fun to predict the end of someone else’s story, but if you are a writer you probably want to keep your readers in suspense, so don’t make something happen that always happens in stories. Instead of making a prince rescue the princess, make it a tiger, or something like that.
o Make the first chapter interesting
This is so that people will keep reading the rest of the book.
o Foreshadowing
This is like being a prophet. Put in hints about what will happen at the end. You can do this all through the story.
o Don’t introduce too many people at once
The readers will forget who’s who.

2. Problem
The Problem is introduced. What is the “point” of the story? Does the hero have to rescue the princess from her cruel uncle? Or must he prevent the Confederates from carrying out a dastardly raid? Or does he have to somehow get money to send his brother to college? Etc.

o Make original problems if you can
My first two examples were not very original.
o Make several problems
This makes it more interesting, but it is best to make only one of the problems the main one.
o Condense the Plot as much as possible
That is, cut out any parts you do not really need, so the story is not confusing. Keep the readers thinking about the main point.
o Do not let the story slow down, but keep it moving along towards the

3. Climax
When the problem is solved.

o Don’t make the problem too easily solved
Readers will expect something big (if you’ve done it right). Don’t disappoint them.
o Make the Climax very exciting
It is the most important part of the plot, after all.
o Make lots of action
(Sword fights, gun fights, fist fights, etc.) This is a personal preference.

4. Denouement
These are the final remarks to wrap up the story.

o Don’t leave ends hanging
Make sure you have solved every one of the problems (unless you mean to write a sequel).
o Make a satisfactory ending
End the story so that everyone can tell it is over even if there is no “THE END” sign.

III. The Characters
The people (and animals) in your story are very important to its success as a good story or not. Here are the major characters:

1. The Hero
(or heroine.) He is first because he is arguably the most important.

o Make him change
The hero should be better in some way by the end of the story.
o Don’t make him too stupid
Readers should sympathise with the hero and they won’t if he deserves what he gets.
o Don’t make him perfect, either
Although you can make him nice, if you like. Caution: if you make him too good readers will be glad every time something bad happens to him. That is human nature (your readers won’t be perfect).
o Redeeming Factor
If you make the hero start out bad and turn good later (like Ebenezer Scrooge), make at least one good thing about him at the start so the readers will like him and want him to turn good.
o Don’t always make him handsome

2. The Villain
The Villain is sometimes the most important character, and is sometimes even the main character (but usually not).

o Don’t introduce him at the outset
This is only important if readers are not supposed to know who the villain is until near the end (because some readers can smell him through any disguise).
o Don’t disguise him by making him nice
A villain should be a villain.
o Use him wisely
He is often the best person, so do something interesting with him when you are done with him: make him reform, or die (in an interesting way), or escape to come back in a sequel.
o Make him really clever
o Don’t always make him ugly

3. Foil
There is not always a Foil. He is a person whose purpose is to make something about the hero stand out. If the hero is supposed to be nice, the Foil is bad, or vice versa; if the hero is a coward, the Foil will be brave. Sometimes the villain is the Foil. Example of a Foil: In II Samuel 11, Uriah is the Foil. He shows by his good actions how bad David’s are.

4. Catalyst
He stays the same but, by his actions, makes others of the characters change. Example: Cinderella’s fairy godmother is a catalyst. She sends Cinderella to the ball where she meets the prince and loses her slipper, etc. Nothing happens to the fairy godmother, but she changes the rest of the story for Cinderella.

5. Others
There are lots of other characters you can put in, although they don’t exactly have titles. I have given them titles here so I could have something to call them.

o Sidekick
He is the hero’s friend. In some stories he is better than the hero, but in a good story he shouldn’t be. Sometimes he is the foil. Example: Little John from Robin Hood.
o Little brother/sister
This is somebody the hero has to look after, although it does not have to be his brother or sister. Example: Little Eva from Uncle Tom’s Cabin.
o Protector
This is someone who looks after the hero. He is especially useful in stories where the hero is a child. Example: Aunt Miranda from Rebecca of Sunny Brook Farm.
o “Good” bad guy
He is a “bad” guy that you like, so of course you have to reform him. Sometimes he is bad just because he is on the other side, for instance, Japanese; Indians; Frenchmen. Example: Muff Potter from The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
o Girl friend
Alternately, Boy friend. No example necessary (there is one in nearly every story).
o Unpleasant personage
He is just there to make trouble for the other characters. Example: Mr. Collins from Pride and Prejudice.
o Other
There are probably lots of other types of characters that you can put in a story; I have just put the ones I can think of.

Make good combinations of characters. Put in both children and adults, both boys and girls, and both nice people and nasty people.

IV. The Setting
It is important to do research about the setting (unless you are making it up). It consists of two things: Place and Time.

1. Place

o Is the story set in Europe, Asia, or (for silly people) another planet?
o Is it set in the jungle, tundra, plains, etc.?
o Is it on a steamer, in a hotel, or in a barracks?
o Or, does it cover lots of different places? (As in Around the World in Eighty Days.)

2. Time

o What time of year is the story set in?
This is not always important, of course.
o What time period is the story set in?
Is the story about Picts, Knights, or Anthropologists? What things were invented at that time? How did people talk? (American—yeah, wow, cool, great, etc.—wasn’t spoken until more recently.)
o Historical fiction
This is a story about an actual historical event. Please don’t make it like most historical fiction. If it is about WWII do not make the hero a Jew in Poland; if it is about the Civil War do not make the hero meet either Gen. Jackson or Abraham Lincoln. The hero also should not meet up with his best friend (if they are on opposite sides) in the middle of a battle.

V. Other Ingredients

1. Sentiment
Sentiment is the sort of things that make a story sad or mushy. Some people don’t like Sentiment, but it has its place. Here are some ways to put it in your story:

o Make someone die
I like to do this (and so do lots of writers), but don’t make the story too sad, or people may not want to read it again.
o Make the readers feel sorry for someone
This is very useful for making readers like your hero, especially if he is going to be bad before he gets good. People will be easier on someone they feel sorry for. You can also make them feel sorry for the villain if you are going to reform him.
o Put songs in
o Put in birds and flowers

2. Romance
I mean the kind that is about a man and lady falling in love.

o Omit if possible
Romance, unless it is absolutely necessary, detracts more than it puts in. Besides, the seasoned writer can tell right from the beginning who will marry who, even if it is supposed to be a surprise.
o If impossible,
DO NOT make it sappy. Make the lovers sensible at least. The best way to do that is to make it funny. Put them in a ridiculous situation.

3. Poetry
This is the kind of Poetry that the pirates of Penzance sang about.
“Hail, Poetry…
Thou gildest even the pirate’s trade!”
What they meant were the sort of things in a story that don’t generally happen in real life, but everyone wishes they would happen—like a hero riding up on a white horse. The pirate’s life is not very nice, but people like to think of it as being so, because it is full of adventure. Now, up to this time, I have been telling you to be true to life, but there are times when writing stories when it is better not to be true to life. So, although people don’t usually escape from prison by filing the window bars and diving into the moat, make them do it anyway because it makes it more interesting. And although people don’t usually say anything interesting for their last words, you can make them have an eloquent deathbed speech, because that is poetical and makes for a good story. Here are some ways to put poetry in.

o Make people wear effective costumes
You can describe the clothes a little bit if they are interesting.
o Put in secret passages and hidey-holes
o Put in buried treasure
o Make coincidences
People will willingly suspend their disbelief while they are reading a story, and you can exploit this by making unrealistic coincidences, like doubles (people who look exactly alike, though unrelated); or long-lost somebody-or-other showing up at an opportune moment.
o If someone is sick make it a nice, poetic illness, like scarlet fever or consumption (don’t make him get chicken pox.)

4. The Other Kind of Poetry
This is lots of fun to put in too—if you are a good poet. Some people don’t like poetry, so don’t put too much in or they will get bored. The beginning and end of a story are two good places to put a poem.

o If you put one before the story:
It should give a hint as to what the story is about. Some authors use other people’s poetry or quotations as chapter headings instead of a chapter title (called an epigram), but it is difficult to come up with ones that fit unless you are very widely read. Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations can help.
o If you put one after the story:
It should sum up the story. This is fun to do if you can make up a poem to go with your story. If you can’t, that is all right too, because it makes you look smart if people can’t tell how the story and poem go together.

You can also put a poem in the story itself, of course.

5. Suspense
This is very good to make your readers keep reading your book—just don’t over-do it.

o Don’t make obvious suspense
Everybody knows that the hero is not going to have a gigantic rock dropped on him and fall a million feet to the canyon floor.
o Don’t make every chapter end in suspense
The story will get very predictable if you do.
o Mystery
Mystery makes some splendid suspense, but it has to be important to the story and it has to be explained at some point. The bad guy shouldn’t do the explaining, by the way (over-done in mystery stories).

Suspense has so often been misused in cheap thrillers that it is very important to use it carefully or it will spoil a good book.

6. Food
I cannot understand why this is so neglected in most stories. People seem to think that talking about food is uncultured. The truth is that it can add a lot of flavour to your work (I do not mean to make a joke). You shouldn’t describe the food in too much detail for fear of becoming tiresome, but it is splendid to read about someone enjoying a good meal with a brief list of what he had to eat—it is almost as good as having a meal yourself.

VI. The Appearance
This is how your story looks when finished.

1. Length

o Don’t make the story too long
Some people do not read Les Miserables or War and Peace because they are intimidated by their size, so if you cannot help but make a long story publish it in two or three volumes.
o Too short
I do not think there is such a thing as too short a book. I especially like a book that can fit in one’s pocket. It is splendid for carrying about and is more likely to be read.

2. Title
There are lots of ways to name your story.

o Name it after what the story is about
Example: A Tale of Two Cities.
o Name it after the main events in the story
Ex: Crime and Punishment.
o Name it after a place in the story
Ex: Mansfield Park.
o Name it after a famous quotation
Ex: The Grapes of Wrath.
o Name it something catchy
Ex: Men of Iron.
o Name it after the main character
This is only if you can’t think of anything else to name it. Ex: David Copperfield.

3. Extras
There are many things that can be added to a book afterwards.

o Frontispiece
o Foreword
o Preface
o Introduction
o Acknowledgements
o Dedication
o Prologue
o Epilogue
o Afterword
o Footnotes
o Bibliography
o Appendices
o Biographical Note

VII. Tone
You can tell the readers what sort of fellow you are by the way you write your story. This is called the Tone of the writing.

1. Style
Two kinds of style are Casual and Formal

o Casual
style is when you write as if you were talking to a friend, or someone you like.
o Formal
style is when you write as if you were talking to a professor, or someone you don’t like.

You can use either when writing a story, but I do not think you ought to use both (although I think I have in this publication).

2. Clean Language
I put this in because in this degenerate age it is so rare to hear people be careful with their language.

o Nice
Avoid references to the bathroom.
o Reverent
“A volley of oaths” will suffice to convey your meaning to your readers without broadening their vocabulary in certain forms of communication. Substituting blanks or asterisks for language unprintable in dialogue also works nicely.

3. Opinion
One way for people to find out what you are like is if you put your opinions in your writings, but you must be careful.

o Don’t express an opinion too strongly
Perhaps you may change your mind later, and of course not everyone will agree with you, so politely offer it as an opinion and do not force it on your readers.
o Make sure it is your own
It is all right to agree with other people’s opinions, but make sure you have a good reason for doing so and not just because you like the person.
o Make sure it agrees with the truth

4. Right and Wrong
The Bible is the basis for what is right and wrong.

o Punish bad people
Don’t let the villain get away with his villainies. He must be punished somehow, although you can save it for a sequel. Reforming him is all right as long as you make him sorry for what he’s done.
o Punish bad actions
If your hero does something bad, make sure he learns his lesson. Don’t ever make the end justify the means.
o Don’t make Evil the winner
Overcome Evil with Good. That is the point of a hero.
o Don’t put in bad things
Some writers (the French, generally) like to put in some really wicked deeds, but it is easier for you if you put in more easily punishable things. Death penalties are always unpleasant and murders, etc. are not generally edifying. Don’t worry if people call your stories tame. That is a compliment nowadays.
o Don’t make excuses for bad causes
Like the Confederacy, Germany, etc.
o Make the story teach a lesson
Then it is a useful story.

5. Happy and Sad

o Humour
Humour is ever so much fun to put in. You should especially make the hero have a good sense of humour and the villain too (although his will, of course, be somewhat warped).
o Make the hero an optimist
That is the way he solves his problems. If he were always moping about with a defeatist attitude he would never get anywhere. (If he is a pessimist make him learn his lesson.)
o Make sad parts useful
Sad things in the story can be used to teach valuable lessons to the characters and to make them better chaps. Otherwise, please leave out sad episodes for the readers’ sakes.
o Make a Happy Ending
I discussed the end in the plot section, but I would like to add here that you should always make a happy ending. In life, things don’t always have happy endings, but people don’t read stories so they can find out what life is like; they already know that. They generally read stories about how they would like life to be. Pessimistic writers tend to tell how awful life is (and they are right), but optimistic writers tell how one can make life better and this is much pleasanter and more useful. And having finished with that, I will here

END

The Martian

By C.C. Gaylord

McAdams was returning home late one evening when he found his way barred by an impediment. It was an out-dated model Franklin stove which some local townsperson, evidently tired of it cluttering up his attic, had surreptitiously dumped. McAdams soon discovered the culprit climbing out of an inner compartment wherein he had managed somehow to secrete himself.
“Excuse me,” said McAdams attempting to be civil, “could you possibly move this thing aside? My horse can’t get past.”
“Solid ground,” the man muttered. “After three years.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing. I was only talking to myself. Could you inform me if I am on the planet Earth?”
“I’m afraid you’ve missed your way. This is Harrisville.”
“Dear me.”
The man took from the stove a map covered with constellations and studied it anxiously.
“You are really very far out of your way,” said McAdams. “We are several hundred miles from the ocean.”
“What of that? Who cares for an ocean?”
“I thought you must be a sailor.”
“So I am.”
“Then I should think you’d be looking for the water.”
“Water?”
The man’s eyes gleamed.
“Where?”
“Why, in the ocean.”
“Do you mean there is water in the ocean?”
“What do you mean? The water is the ocean.”
“Then the ocean is not just a great depression?”
“Whatever are you talking about?” asked McAdams angrily.
“Is there a great deal of water in the ocean?”
“Of course there is!”
“How much?”
“Millions and millions of tons. The world is ¾ water. I should think anyone would know at least that much.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“Of course! What is the matter with you?”
“Ah!” said the man, gazing raptly at the stars. “Then it is true what we have been told about the watery planets.”
“Look here,” said McAdams, “I think you are not well. Perhaps you ought to take some headache powder.”
“No, no. I am quite all right. I’ll have some of this,” said the man, taking out a small flask and swallowing a spoonful of the contents.
He looked at McAdams amusedly.
“Do you still use headache powder? Why, that is obsolete! This drug is what is in use now. It will cure anything—from corns to consumption.”
“Will it? I see now; the man is a peddler,” McAdams thought. “No doubt he will try to sell me some of his quack-medicine.”
“Yes; a late medical breakthrough. I’m afraid your planet is very backwards. What do you use for transportation?”
“Trains and steamships.”
“No airships?”
“There are dirigibles.”
“Oh. Well, we have mainly air traffic. There are three different levels of altitude to travel in and they all must be intensely regulated to avoid collisions.”
“It sounds as if everyone where you come from is in a great hurry.”
“Oh yes, we are. But even with our technology it took me three years to reach this planet, although my ship is considered the fastest—or was when I left. Would you like to see inside it?”
McAdams thought that the fellow could not possibly show him anything about a Franklin stove that he did not already know, having once worked for a company that sold them, so he politely declined.
The fellow, not at all put out, continued his questions.
“What sort of government do you have here?”
“I’m an American.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“We have a president.”
“Oh, I see. Very out-of-date. We’re communists. So I ought not to have called this ship mine: it’s the government’s really. I am on a government mission. I really ought to determine where I am, for they’ll want a detailed report.”
He dove inside his piece of junk and brought out a curious little instrument with which he proceeded to take the height of different stars in relation to the horizon.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, “I think you have been mistaken. This is Earth.”
“What is?”
“This. Where we are.”
“There is earth everywhere.”
“The planet, man; the planet!”
“Well, what about it?”
“This planet is Earth!”
“Don’t you think I know that? What do you take me for, as big a booby as yourself?”
“I’m afraid I have gotten a little too excited,” said the man, “but you see, this is a momentous discovery—a planet so near our own with water resources! Where I come from we have no water.”
“I suppose you come from Utah.”
“No; Mars.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, and we have no water—occurring naturally, that is.”
He looked slyly at McAdams.
“I suppose you wonder how we survive without water?”
“Not at all. I don’t much care for the stuff, myself.”
“Yes, well, we synthesize it. By an ingenious process we take the elemental components (hydrogen and oxygen) and combine them to make a pure water—no nasty minerals.”
“How do you do it?” asked McAdams, wondering if he could get a patent.
“I can’t tell you. It’s a carefully guarded secret. There are lots of folks who would like to know the Martians’ formula, believe me. If they once had it they could begin to populate the waterless planets.”
“Just a moment,” said McAdams. “When you say that there is no water on Mars, do you mean that it never rains?”
“Oh no, it never rains.”
“Then how does anything grow?”
“Nothing grows.”
“What do your animals eat?”
“There aren’t any animals.”
“Then what do you eat?”
“Synthetic foods. We synthesize everything. We take the basic elements and put them together to form whatever we wish—chops, sardines, Yorkshire pudding—“
“I don’t suppose it tastes very good.”
“It doesn’t really, but one gets used to it. We do have a few plants in our laboratories which we use to synthesize things, but soon we will have progressed far enough as not to need them. They use up too much oxygen. That is another thing we must synthesize—air. The atmosphere has scarcely any oxygen, so we have to take it from other sources.”
“How did you get along before you learned to make everything from scratch?”
“Oh, Mars hasn’t always been this way. Hundreds of years ago it had plenty of water and air and plants and animals. Some folks say that all our experimenting with synthesis used up too many resources and that is why the planet dried out, but I say it was a jolly good thing we learned to do it, or we’d have all died out long ago.”
“What did you do all that synthesis nonsense for if you didn’t need to?”
“You wouldn’t ask that if you were a true scientist. Have you never felt the exhilaration of discovering a new substance or a new method?”
“No. I’m rather fond of the old ones.”
“So you see, you will never move forward.”
“I would be able to if you would move your property out of the road.”
“Is that what you travel in?” asked the fellow, looking in surprise at McAdams’s buggy.
“Yes,” said McAdams looking it over with satisfaction. “It’s only four years old and is in quite good condition, although the leather is wearing out in places.”
“How is it propelled?”
“My horse pulls it.”
“Oh. Is it really machinery?”
“I suppose it is—of sorts.”
“It is amazing! How does it work?”
“I say gettup when I want him to go and whoa when I want him to stop.”
“How fast can it go?”
“Faster than Dr. Smith’s automobile.”
“Oh.”
The Martian glanced around a trifle nervously.
“I suppose there are others of your countrymen about?”
“Yes, somewhere.”
“Are they as civil as you?”
“No, most of them aren’t.”
“Oh dear. Still, an explorer must take risks. What kind of weapons do you have here?”
McAdams pulled out his pocket revolver and showed it to him rather proudly. It was his prized possession.
“How does it work?” asked the fellow curiously.
“I believe it works by this hammer striking the percussion cap on the end of the cartridge which ignites the powder in the chamber and propels the bullet forward through the barrel. It is not very accurate, but it is useful in close quarters.”
“Obsolete,” said the man with relief.
He took out a similar weapon and explained its functions.
“The bullet is held in this chamber until released by the trigger. It is self-propelled by an engine on the rear. When it comes in contact with something solid it burrows several inches and then explodes. This here is a counter-espionage bullet. It does not explode, but rather releases a chemical into the bloodstream, causing intense pain. It is useful for interrogation, because after being administered slight pressure at certain points of the body produce agonizing results. We have acquired much useful information by the use of it.”
McAdams surveyed the weapon with distaste.
“We don’t use tactics like that anymore,” he said.
“Once we agreed with you. But we have since discovered that it does not pay to be too good for one’s own good. He wins who is worst first.”
“What happens to the good people?”
“They fall behind and are eventually conquered by others.”
“What do you mean by ‘fall behind’?”
“They miss chances because of silly ethical principles, like so-called ‘human decency’.”
“What’s that?”
“Oh, like keeping treaties; protecting women and children; playing fair—all that sort of thing.”
“Well, what’s wrong with it?”
“It’s just another name for squeamishness. ‘Hit hard, fast and first’ is my motto.”
“Then you don’t believe in right and wrong?”
“I only believe in results.”
“Don’t you believe in God?”
“Our god is progress.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you like progress?”
“It’s the process of making things better.”
“Not always; sometimes you can have progress in the wrong direction.”
“All right, then, we worship progress in the right direction.”
“But what is there about it that would make you want to worship it?”
“Why, it is one of the finest things there is,” said the foreigner lamely. “Well anyway, it has eliminated many of the diseases you people still suffer from.”
“But it’s helped you come up with lots of new ways to kill people.”
“Well yes, but progress also helps us get places faster.”
“You only need to go faster because you have made so many more places to go.”
“It also puts us ahead of everyone else.”
“What’s the good of that?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’s the good of that’?”
“What good does it do you?” asked McAdams impatiently.
“I already told you, it makes things better—better schools, better medicines, better machines.”
He had an inspiration.
“It’s the ticket to the future.”
“Why would you want to go to the future? What’s wrong with right now?”
“You are hopelessly old-fashioned.”
“What’s wrong with being old-fashioned?”
“You cannot stay in one place. You must continue to move forward or be ruled by those who do. We Martians believe in the future, and because of it our planet is the height of technological achievement.”
“Then why did you travel for three years to get to a different one?”
“Oh well, we’re running out of resources, so we need to settle new areas where resources are still abundant.”
“Didn’t you ever hear of the saying, ‘you made your bed, now lie in it’?”
“No. But I suspect you are having a joke at my expense.”
“I am, and I’m sorry. It isn’t polite. But there’s one thing I’d like to say in all seriousness: I don’t like fake, artificial things, whether it’s food, or whatever else it may be, and I’ve generally found that people are what they eat. I tell you for your own good that you’ve not only been fed a lot of synthetic food, you’ve been fed a lot of synthetic theories as well. There isn’t a shred of sense in them: you have been duped. They sound fine and splendid, but when it comes down to it, they don’t work and they never will.”
“Who says so?”
“I say so, and here’s why: they are based on the idea that progress is constantly making things better. It isn’t; it’s only making them different. And even if progress did make things better, you’d still die in the end and then what good does it do you? For myself, I’d prefer things to go back to the dark ages than to some silly ‘future’. At least one would know what to expect.”
“Old-fashioned! Backwards! Unscientific!”
“You can’t tell me what’s wrong with being all those adjectives. You repeat them like a machine. Your mind is trapped inside a little box so that all you can think about is synthetics and progress. I am a free-thinker. I know what I like. I don’t like progress if all it does is make dirty red planets with no water, no air, no trees, no grass, no horses, no food (that can be called food) and no private property—no thank you!”
“You,” said the voyager disdainfully, “will never experience the elevation of exploration, or taste the ecstasy of discovery.”
“Instead I shall taste turkey and mince pie at Christmas time.”
“You are a narrow-minded, contemptible, insignificant little fool!”
“I’d rather be a little fool than a big one,” said McAdams.
Before he could finish, the spaceman squeezed into his trap, pulled the door to, lifted off into the atmosphere with a lot of whistling and flashing electric lights and was gone.
Still, McAdams felt reasonably sure he’d gotten the last word.

END




The Scarlet Grail

Once a ridiculous journey was made
To a planet the color of rust.
Three simple spacemen the trip assayed
Led by a vision of dust.

“Why?” said the questioners, asking in vain,
“Why is the trip such a ‘must’?
“What is there for you to possibly gain
“But a handful of worthless red dust?”

“Ho ho!” the intrepid voyagers said,
“You can’t tell a pie by the crust!
“What though the planet is empty and dead—
“It’s covered in marvelous dust!”

Trouble and mishap arose; still they
Said, “we will get there or bust!
“What if it takes us a year and a day
“If we find the superlative dust?”

Till, silent, they stood on the sandy red plain
Staring in hopeless disgust.
Slowly they counted it grain by grain—
Counted the wonderful dust.

“And this is the object of our desire,
“For this we have labored and fussed—
“A great empty planet the color of fire
“And mountains of infernal dust?”