Short Funny Jokes |
| Posted: 11 Nov 2009 07:27 AM PST "It took me nearly ten years to learn that I couldn't write stories." "I suppose you gave it up then?" "No, no. By that time I had a reputation." "I dream my stories," said Hicks, the author. "How you must dread going to bed!" exclaimed Cynicus. The five-year-old son of James Oppenheim, author of "The Olympian," was recently asked what work he was going to do when he became a man. "Oh," Ralph replied, "I'm not going to work at all." "Well, what are you going to do, then?" he was asked. "Why," he said seriously, "I'm just going to write stories, like daddy." William Dean Howells is the kindliest of critics, but now and then some popular novelist's conceit will cause him to bristle up a little. "You know," said one, fishing for compliments, "I get richer and richer, but all the same I think my work is falling off. My new work is not so good as my old." "Oh, nonsense!" said Mr. Howells. "You write just as well as you ever did. Your taste is improving, that's all." James Oliver Curwood, a novelist, tells of a recent encounter with the law. The value of a short story he was writing depended upon a certain legal situation which he found difficult to manage. Going to a lawyer of his acquaintance he told him the plot and was shown a way to the desired end. "You've saved me just $100," he exclaimed, "for that's what I am going to get for this story." A week later he received a bill from the lawyer as follows: "For literary advice, $100." He says he paid. "Tried to skin me, that scribbler did!" "What did he want?" "Wanted to get out a book jointly, he to write the book and I to write the advertisements. I turned him down. I wasn't going to do all the literary work." At a London dinner recently the conversation turned to the various methods of working employed by literary geniuses. Among the examples cited was that of a well-known poet, who, it is said, was wont to arouse his wife about four o'clock in the morning and exclaim, "Maria, get up; I've thought of a good word!" Whereupon the poet's obedient helpmate would crawl out of bed and make a note of the thought-of word. About an hour later, like as not, a new inspiration would seize the bard, whereupon he would again arouse his wife, saying, "Maria, Maria, get up! I've thought of a better word!" The company in general listened to the story with admiration, but a merry-eyed American girl remarked: "Well, if he'd been my husband I should have replied, 'Alpheus, get up yourself; I've thought of a bad word!'"  |
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