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OREGON EXCHANGES

RITING for the trade journals is not so very edifying in itself, far from thrilling or romantic, it’s plainly commercial, but the “long, thin” envelopes that carry friendly slips of blue, buff, and green bond compensate in a material way for the lack of fame and glory attached to the career of the trade journal writer.

I am asked to tell how I “did it.”

It all happened like this. After several years of real STRUGGLE, during which time I had been compelled to forget that I had ever written or wanted to write, I landed in a stenographic position where the work was light, and, best of all, the “boss” was out most of the time! My “previous experience” was some few years of correspondence and special work for the daily papers of Portland, and any one who has a “writing vein” but no time to let it flow, can appreciate what it meant to me, to receive my weekly salary check for $25 and still find time to write during this working day—more time than I had ever dared to hope for.

The very first thing I did was to invest $3 in a year’s subscription to The Editor. Let me add that if I only had been able to do this several years sooner, I would have been spared the tedious years of mastering the difficulties of office routine, and weary weeks of looking for work.

My ambitions ran high, ever so high, nothing less than a book would do, and I spent two months of my spare time in the office writing a story of some 20,000 words. After two or three rewritings, I felt that I had polished it up quite beautifully, copied it on bond paper, fixed it up for lots of travel, and off it went to the Saturday Evening Post. You see, I didn’t believe in aiming low, as there is just as much room at the bottom as at the top, and it’s much quicker tumbling down than climbing up! Then I reeled off a 10,000-word story, and it went, too. Two 5,000-word stories, and off they went too. All were sent to leading magazines; naturally one with the nerve to send off such truck as I wrote would not get easily discouraged when my brain children came promptly home to mama, just as fast as U. S. mail could bring them. Then I wrote exactly seven jokes and wished them on various unsuspecting editors. All the while I was tumbling dizzily downward, soon to reach the bottom! I wrote two juvenile stories during this time, but sent them out in a rather perfunctory manner, as I felt that the bottom was, after all, really easier than the top to attain!

All this while I dutifully read The Editor and became interested. (I’ll admit unwillingly) in articles that told young hopefuls to cater to the needs of the trade press, if they really would like to see some ready kale. At first I did not take these articles seriously, as I kept hoping that at least one of my sextette of stories would find a resting place, other than my own cubbyhole in the office desk. Four months had now elapsed since I commenced to “literate,” and I had nothing to show for it but an expenditure of $20 for postage stamps and stationery, and overstrained eyesight watching for the mailman. Half-heartedly, I decided to give the trade press a tryout.