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Updated: May 7, 2025
One said there was insufficient plot; one said the plot was too complicated; one said it was too long for a one-reel, and the next said it was too short even for a split-reel. Two places kept the return postage she had enclosed and sent the manuscript back collect. Scenario writing became a rather expensive amusement, instead of a bringer of fortune.
Ab Connors, the scenario editor, would take the script in hand to labor and bring forth the screen adaptation.
"Indeed?" he rejoined without emotion. "Where did you get the idea for that scenario?" He tapped his head with a long forefinger. "Right inside of that skull. I do my own thinking," he said. "You did not have any help about it? You originated the idea of 'Plain Mary?" He nodded. "You ain't the only person who can write a picture," he observed.
"But I don't know how to go about getting it read." Miss Gray smiled, but made no comment upon Ruth's desire. She merely said, pleasantly: "If you write your scenario, my dear, I will get our manager to read it." "That awful Mr. Grimes?" cried Ruth. "Oh! I shouldn't want him to read it." Hazel Gray laughed heartily at that. "Don't judge, the taste of a baked porcupine by his quills," she said.
For generally, delving down into memory, a man can bring up at least one clear-cut fragment, something still fervid and flashing, a remembered voice or glimpse of landscape which helps to unveil the main features of a scenario already relegated to the lumber-room.
"He's willing to be hanged or damned or anything else just for the sake of putting a bullet through the other fellow!" "What was the name of the unfortunate deceased?" "Tomasso Crocedoro a barber." "That is almost a defense in itself," mused Mr. Tutt. "Anyhow, if I've got to defend Angelo for shooting Tomasso you might as well give me a short scenario of the melodrama.
"I wish I had," her chum returned thoughtfully. "Mercy says, 'Great oaks from little acorns grow' " They turned into the hall and saw that the mail had been distributed. Ruth was handed a letter with Mr. Hammond's name upon it. She had almost forgotten the moving picture man and her own scenario, in these three or four very busy days. Ruth eagerly tore the envelope open.
"I would not feel that way if I were you, Miss Ruth," he advised, trying, as everybody else did, to cheer her. "You will get another good idea, and like all other born writers, you will just have to give expression to it. Meantime, of course, if I get hold of a promising scenario, I shall try to produce it." "I hope you will find a good one, Mr. Hammond." He smiled rather ruefully.
The juvenile lead gulped and gasped and squeezed out a sob or two. The piece was written in the style of a tragic serial story: abstract phrases, bureaucratic epithets, academic periphrases. No movement, not a sound unrehearsed. From beginning to end it was clockwork, a set problem, a scenario, the skeleton of a play, with not a scrap of flesh, only literary phrases.
Andre-Louis was assailed with nausea in that dread moment. He attempted to take a lightning mental review of the first act of this scenario of which he was himself the author-in-chief; but found his mind a complete blank. With the perspiration starting from his skin, he stepped back to the wall, where above a dim lantern was pasted a sheet bearing the brief outline of the piece.
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