The story is not a story. It is not narrative, and nothing occurs. It is a record of mental mutations--of spiritual vicissitudes--states of mind. That is the most difficult thing that you could have attempted. It can be done acceptably by genius and the skill that comes of practice, as can anything. You are not quite equal to it--yet. You have done it better than I could have done it at your age, but not altogether well; as doubtless you did not expect to do it. It would be better to confine yourself at present to simple narrative. Write of something done, not of something thought and felt, except incidentally. I'm sure it is in you to do great work, but in this writing trade, as in other matters, excellence is to be attained no otherwise than by beginning at the beginning--the simple at first, then the complex and difficult. You can not go up a mountain by a leap at the peak. I'm retaining your little sketch till your return, for you can do nothing with it--nor can I. If it had been written--preferably typewritten--with wide lines and margins I could do something _to_ it. Maybe when I get the time I shall; at present I am swamped with "proofs" and two volumes behind the printers. If I knew that I should _see_ you and talk it over I should rewrite it and (original in hand) point out the reasons for each alteration--you would see them quickly enough when shown. Maybe you will all come this way. You are _very_ deficient in spelling. I hope that is not incurable, though some persons--clever ones, too--never do learn to spell correctly. You will have to learn it from your reading--noting carefully all but the most familiar words. You have "pet" words--nearly all of us have. One of yours is "flickering." Addiction to certain words is an "upsetting sin" most difficult to overcome. Try to overcome it by cutting them out where they seem most felicitous. By the way, your "hero," as you describe him, would not have been accessible to all those spiritual impressions--it is _you_ to whom they come. And that confirms my judgment of your imagination. Imagination is nine parts of the writing trade. With enough of _that_ all things are possible; but it is the other things that require the hard work, the incessant study, the tireless seeking, the indomitable will. It is no "pic-nic," this business of writing, believe me. Success comes by favor of the gods, yes; but O the days and nights that you must pass before their altars, prostrate and imploring! They are exacting--the gods; years and years of service you must give in the temple. If you are prepared to do this go on to your reward. If not, you can not too quickly throw away the pen and--well, marry, for example. "Drink deep or taste not the Pierian spring." _My_ vote is that you persevere. With cordial regards to all good Robertsons--I think there are no others--I am most sincerely your friend, AMBROSE BIERCE. [Washington, D. C., April 20, 1911.] DEAR LORA,