go to school, and give a little margin so that she needn't worry But it鈥檚 a lost art, as Scott Carrier would spend the next decade discovering. Something strangehappened out there on the Wyoming plains: the lure of the lost art got into Scott鈥檚 blood andwouldn鈥檛 let go. Despite the hopelessness of that expedition, Scott spent years researchingpersistence hunting on his brother鈥檚 behalf. He even created a nonprofit corporation devoted tofinding the Last of the Long Distance Hunters, and recruited elite ultrarunner Creighton King鈥攖heDouble Grand Canyon record holder before the Skaggs bros came along鈥攖o join an expedition tothe Sea of Cortez, where word had it that a tiny clan of Seri Indians had preserved the link to ourdistance-running past. There are those who would be ashamed to subject themselves to such a taskmaster, and who think that the man who works with his imagination should allow himself to wait till 鈥?inspiration moves him. When I have heard such doctrine preached, I have hardly been able to repress my scorn. To me it would not be more absurd if the shoemaker were to wait for inspiration, or the tallow-chandler for the divine moment of melting. If the man whose business it is to write has eaten too many good things, or has drunk too much, or smoked too many cigars 鈥?as men who write sometimes will do 鈥?then his condition may be unfavourable for work; but so will be the condition of a shoemaker who has been similarly imprudent. I have sometimes thought that the inspiration wanted has been the remedy which time will give to the evil results of such imprudence. 鈥?Mens sana in corpore sano. The author wants that as does every other workman 鈥?that and a habit of industry. I was once told that the surest aid to the writing of a book was a piece of cobbler鈥檚 wax on my chair. I certainly believe in the cobbler鈥檚 wax much more than the inspiration. been the Golden Age of husbands. Isn't this a touching entry? (those are a few of his abusive adjectives; the rest escape me), 东京热一本道高清免费_一本道伊人官方在线 Strictly by accident, Scott stumbled upon the most advanced weapon in the ultrarunner鈥檚 arsenal: Of Wilkie Collins it is impossible for a true critic not to speak with admiration, because he has excelled all his contemporaries in a certain most difficult branch of his art; but as it is a branch which I have not myself at all cultivated, it is not unnatural that his work should be very much lost upon me individually. When I sit down to write a novel I do not at all know, and I do not very much care, how it is to end. Wilkie Collins seems so to construct his that he not only, before writing, plans everything on, down to the minutest detail, from the beginning to the end; but then plots it all back again, to see that there is no piece of necessary dove-tailing which does not dove-tail with absolute accuracy. The construction is most minute and most wonderful. But I can never lose the taste of the construction. The author seems always to be warning me to remember that something happened at exactly half-past two o鈥檆lock on Tuesday morning; or that a woman disappeared from the road just fifteen yards beyond the fourth mile-stone. One is constrained by mysteries and hemmed in by difficulties, knowing, however, that the mysteries will be made clear, and the difficulties overcome at the end of the third volume. Such work gives me no pleasure. I am, however, quite prepared to acknowledge that the want of pleasure comes from fault of my intellect.