Page 231 - The Story of My Lif

A few days ago I met Tommy Stringer in the railroad station at Wrentham. He is
a great, strong boy now, and he will soon need a man to take care of him; he is
really too big for a lady to manage. He goes to the public school, I hear, and his

progress is astonishing, they say; but it doesn’t show as yet in his conversation,
which is limited to “Yes” and “No.”…

TO MR. CHARLES T. COPELAND

December 20, 1900.

My dear Mr. Copeland;

I venture to write to you because I am afraid that if I do not explain why I have
stopped writing themes, you will think I have become discouraged, or perhaps
that to escape criticism I have beat a cowardly retreat from your class. Please do
not think either of these very unpleasant thoughts. I am not discouraged, nor am
I afraid. I am confident that I could go on writing themes like those I have
written, and I suppose I should get through the course with fairly good marks;
but this sort of literary patchwork has lost all interest for me. I have never been
satisfied with my work; but I never knew what my difficulty was until you
pointed it out to me. When I came to your class last October, I was trying with

all my might to be like everybody else, to forget as entirely as possible my
limitations and peculiar environment. Now, however, I see the folly of
attempting to hitch one’s wagon to a star with harness that does not belong to it.

I have always accepted other peoples experiences and observations as a matter of

course. It never occurred to me that it might be worth while to make my own
observations and describe the experiences peculiarly my own. Henceforth I am
resolved to be myself, to live my own life and write my own thoughts when I
have any. When I have written something that seems to be fresh and spontaneous
and worthy of your criticisms, I will bring it to you, if I may, and if you think it
good, I shall be happy; but if your verdict is unfavorable, I shall try again and yet
again until I have succeeded in pleasing you…