helpless situation by mark twian morel
Answers
Answer:
PLEASE MARK ME BRAIN LIST
Explanation:
It is about a letter Mark Twain has received from a woman writer, who asked him to praise
her work to the publisher because her uncle and Twain used to know each other. She hoped
that by Twain’s influence in the literary world, her work could get the attention from the
publisher. Instead of replying her letter by a straight-to-the-point refusal, Twain imagined the
conversation he would have with the publisher and put it in the letter. The talk was lively and
interesting, but its aim was not to amuse, but to move. He wanted the woman to believe that
one’s ability judges his/her work, not the influence of anyone because the influence only
remains for a short period of time while the best work is not dependent on anyone’s influence.
As he said in the end of his letter to that lady:
No matter from which pen a work is written or from where it is written, the publisher always
glances at your work. It is not dependent of any influence of writer but rather the influence of
the work.
A Helpless Situation
A Helpless Situationby Mark Twain
A Helpless Situationby Mark TwainOnce or twice a year I get a letter of a certain pattern, a pattern that never materially changes, in form and substance, yet I cannot get used to that letter--it always astonishes me. It affects me as the locomotive always affects me: I saw to myself, "I have seen you a thousand times, you always look the same way, yet you are always a wonder, and you are always impossible; to contrive you is clearly beyond human genius--you can't exist, you don't exist, yet here you are!"
A Helpless Situationby Mark TwainOnce or twice a year I get a letter of a certain pattern, a pattern that never materially changes, in form and substance, yet I cannot get used to that letter--it always astonishes me. It affects me as the locomotive always affects me: I saw to myself, "I have seen you a thousand times, you always look the same way, yet you are always a wonder, and you are always impossible; to contrive you is clearly beyond human genius--you can't exist, you don't exist, yet here you are!"I have a letter of that kind by me, a very old one. I yearn to print it, and where is the harm? The writer of it is dead years ago, no doubt, and if I conceal her name and address--her this-world address-- I am sure her shade will not mind. And with it I wish to print the answer which I wrote at the time but probably did not send. If it went--which is not likely--it went in the form of a copy, for I find the original still here, pigeonholed with the said letter. To that kind of letters we all write answers which we do not send, fearing to hurt where we have no desire to hurt; I have done it many a time, and this is doubtless a case of the sort.
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