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American Amateur Journalism
IF this magazine is your first meeting with the great American hobby of amateur journalism, then pray be seated and become better acquainted with it, for it is the fastest growing hobby in the country, and organized as it is, represents the only free press in existence.
Publishers of amateur magazines print, for the love of it, small and large journals that present work written by amateurs without remuneration. In every corner of the country there are amateur poets, authors, and essayists who are writing daily for the amateur magazines, contributing material of real value to literature.
Believing these beginners, and veterans, as well, deserve a chance to place their efforts before a wider audience than their own associates, The Yankee is spreading out to reach the everyday reading public. People who have been accustomed to the professional magazines are turning to the amateur publications for a breath of fresh air, for the little magazines are not hampered by political connections or debts to advertisers. They have evolved the secret of freedom of the press, and the reading public has taken a liking to it, for here they can read stories and articles that are unrestricted and honest.
Thus your subscription to The Yankee not only brings you the finest material written by amateur journalists, but helps build the magazine that means to give the amateurs a chance to appear before the public.
Amateur Activities
As Reviewed by the Editor
A most prolific amateur publisher is blond, bespectacled Edgar Hanson, promising son of West Concord, N. H. Eddy is editor and printer of the New England Amateur, official organ of the New England Amateur Press Club. Now he is editing, publishing and printing his own journal as well, which for some inexplicable reason he has titled The Cannonball. It is distributed to the New England club’s growing membership and contains a chatty editorial and small pieces by other members.
Recently the Michigan Amateur Press Association, a statewide group of active amateurs, distributed a bundle of journals published by the members. The package was a pleasant surprise indeed, the little magazines being plentifully sprinkled with fine literary efforts, bright green in what has recently been a sea of worthless babble. Hail, Michigan!
Optimistic reports recently received from Robert Dunlap, president of the Central States Press Club, show that the amateur scribblers of that section are on their toes. Membership in the club is continually growing and a glance at Dunlap’s Queen City Amateur, published by him in Cincinnati, is evidence that the mid-western amateurs are not sacrificing literary quality for quantity. Amateurs in the Central States can well be proud of their organization, for it is producing good literary effort on every hand, and wasting little space on the petty squabbles that are unfortunately the bane of other localities.
Don’t miss the splendid symposiums on important questions in amateur affairs being conducted each month in this journal by Barry Herbster, our nomination as amateurdom’s most consistently interesting writer. Barry’s tops, we think!
I Wonder
by Norman Hathaway
I wonder who could reach so high
To put the moon up in the sky?
Who did it? How? I wonder why?
I don’t know, do you?
I wonder what my life will be?
I wonder if I’ll ever see
Him? But that’s not for me –
For I don’t know, do you?
Short Story Contest
The unfinished story below is the basis of a contest to be conducted by The Yankee, in which first prize is one dollar, second prize a one year subscription to The Yankee, and third prize of a six month subscription. Prizes will be awarded for the best short story submitted which is continued from the paragraphs following. Read the opening of the story, and then finish the yarn any way you please. Contest closes June first and is open to any amateur writer.
BLACK. Out of the black a tongue of wind licked the water into foam-flecked crests. Mobile mountains, they dropped, white on the decks of the drifting freighter. The ship plunged helplessly in the valleys, skidded to the next peak, only to be flung down and wrenched by the wind. The steel superstructure was whipped clean by the hurricane above, the steel hull twisted and hammered by the water.
A figure clung to the ladder that ran to the upper deck. He paused as the ship was shaken by a heavy wave. The boat turned this time and came broadside to the wind. The man quickly scrambled up the wet iron steps and sprinted up the open deck. He was blown across and banged against the ladder that led to the bridge. Then the ship was struck broadside. The chunky little vessel plunged her lee rail deep, flinging the spray high to the funnels. The man at the ladder clung desperately until slowly the boat righted itself. The cargo had not shifted. He took a deep breath of the freezing air and plunged forward, the wind blowing the spume stingingly about him.
Eventually he reached the bridge and leaned heavily against the door, breathless. The steel beneath his feet was a wet, slippery surface that sank away one moment and pushed up at him the next. He tried to peer through the bridge windows, but could not see through the steamed glass. Gathering strength, he tugged at the door, fighting the force of the wind that whistled at his back. He managed to slip inside, and let the door click fast behind him. Panting, he cleared the water from his eyes and looked around the room. His gaze focused on the wheel. It spun crazily; the compass quivered meaninglessly… then he saw the Captain, wedged between the binnacle and the wheel, his body sprawled upon the floor, wet with reddened water…
Using this as your opening, finish this short story in 1,000 words.
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The Perfect Amateur Journal
The second in a series of symposiums compiled by Barry Herbster dealing with some phase of amateur journalism. This month four amateurs, who have had very little or no experience in editing or publishing, give their views on the “perfect journal.” You will note that both the masculine and feminine viewpoints were obtained. Perhaps same editors will profit by this discussion.
TO be perfect, an amateur paper must be both interesting and entertaining, and as writing is of vital interest, I suggest: Editorials that deal with all branches of writing; interesting articles on writing style; and articles that discuss modern writers and their work. Poems, short, short stories and a column of humor. (Humor seems to be lacking in the little journals; are we afraid to fabricate a funny fib?). Contests offering small prizes are always popular, and so is a page of comments from readers.
“There is a bit of dissension about ads appearing in an amateur paper. Why? All popular magazines and papers publish an ad department. It is a source of revenue. I say, encourage the amateur editor to use ads to help him publish a bigger and better paper.” – E. Jean Palmer.
“I am afraid that the amateur journal I would consider perfect would necessitate a considerable fortune on the part of the publisher, to say nothing of the ingenuity and versatility of the contributors and editor.
“In the first place, I think it should be issued monthly and mailed on the date of publication. The size of Amateur Giggles is about the proper size, but the type should be smaller, thus assuring more reading matter. A few extra pages would not hurt.
“Its editorial policy should be the golden rule. It should not enter into politics. As to contents, I think nothing is more essential than humor. Being fond of the funnier side of life, I believe in humor in writing, and familiarity between author and reader. Humorous remarks, numerous cartoons and caricatures, photographs, short stories of humorous or semi-serious nature, and one or two short, light poems. Interviews or biographical sketches of people affiliated with amateur or professional journalism or allied subjects are always welcome, if not done in a cut-and-dried-manner.
“A good, longwinded gossip column with humorous illustrations is always popular, and is bound to bring success to a journal if nothing else will.” – Henri Ivan Kanter.
“The perfect amateur journal would contain humorous essays, instructive articles, an entertaining short story, and special interest department column. A large percentage of the readers are held by interest in contests or letter columns where they have some part in the makeup of the paper.
“Editorials should spur writers to higher journalistic peaks; they would not be the waste of ink and space which usually expresses editors’ personal opinions of fellow amateurs. Also the editor would leave himself entirely out of his articles.
“The Utopian would contain at least four pages about 6” x 9” or eight pages 4½” by 6”. The more pages the better. Good printing and attractive general appearance of the paper speak worlds for the editor wherever his publication is seen.
“Boosting of amateur journalism and a feeling of goodwill among all of its followers would be the outstanding motive of The Utopian.” – Bee Barnes.
“In preparing what I consider the perfect amateur journal, I would remember that its appearance would lead a potential reader to investigate its contents. I would not regulate page size, since all size journals can be equally interesting. Even with limited resources, materials and equipment, it takes only neatness and care to bring about good appearance.
“Now for the contents. Since the editorial gives the reader an insight into the ideals and general tone of the journal, it would be carefully prepared, always omitting senseless political wrangling, but permitting intelligent discussion of politics.
“If my perfect journal was small, I would use the trick ending, O, Henry type of short story; if large, the lengthy, more varied type. I would exert caution lest I give the reader an overdose of poetry. I would include an article on any subject of interest. A brief column of respectful comment on personalities, activities, etc. would command a reader’s attention. Humor would be injected, either in a bit of verse or in prose. The conventional joke, however, would never be used. My journal is completed.” – James Francis.
Amateurs! A year’s free subscription to The Yankee will be given for the best topic submitted for discussion in this column. Send to Barry Herbster, St. Louis, Mo.
Keep Smiling
[Trizad]
by Mary Morgan Ware
Tell me not
Your love your lot
When it is full of woe.
Tho rain fall
Upon us all,
If we be high or low.
Smile a lot
And like as not,
The sun begins to show.
Forget
by Jaroslav Chmelicek
Installment three of this exciting serial by Jaroslav Chmelicek… Continued from March issue.
THE group was in a panic – they beat against the massive obstruction with their tools, others having nothing else used the butts of their guns. They only produced deep, hollow echoes, resounding through the room. The realization of being shut in the room, escape impossible, sent a prickly sweat over my whole body. Something, instinct perhaps, caused me to turn my head. If I ever felt utter terror, I experienced it now.
Standing in the center of the room, surrounded by a swirling mist, stood a figure, gigantic in size, horrible to describe, in entirety. Its head reminded me of a feline with piercing eyes. Its body was shrouded in a bright purple robe which seemed to blend with the red mist about it, paws extending forward, as if tempting me to come near.
I shut my eyes tightly, expecting to blot out this scene, but upon opening them again I beheld it more sinister than before. Shouting wildly I ran on watery legs toward the men, who were so intent upon gaining freedom that they did not see it as yet. I flung myself among them, for enemies as they were, they were humans of my color. At length I managed to draw their attention to their new menace, the feline figure in the center of the room.
What followed was a terror stricken mob of desperate criminals, shooting like madmen at their target, the strange figure. Automatics spurted vivid orange-red, and the noise was deafening. Strangely, no results of their marksmanship could be seen or heard. I thought I saw the figure move slightly, and a smile broaden itself upon the features as if alive. Not even daring to reload, the hirelings hurled their guns, others their tools. I even saw several throw the most precious articles in their possession – the flashlights.
“I suppose,” screamed one as the terrible din somewhat subsided, “that this is just another trick of the Egyptians, eh? Nothing but dynamite can free us from here now, you hear? Even that would not save us, for the air will be used up in no time. We’ll all die just like rats… helpless… because a guy like Swartz got a notion to smuggle a mummy to America. And don’t tell me this thing rose up from the floor, that it’s controlled by a counterbalanced stone.”
I forced myself to laugh at a gunman known to be fearless – going stark, raving mad. Several men were holding the blubbering man back, but as a supernatural strength surged through his body, he tore himself from their clutches and ran screaming toward the figure. Shaking his fists, he ran as if to meet it in combat. Scarcely less than a dozen feet from it he was, when again was heard the quivering twang, followed by several others in rapid succession. The screaming stopped abruptly, and as the stricken man lurched around, we could plainly see that his body was pierced by several long thin arrows. Surely no mechanism could shoot with such deadly accuracy. Or was it mechanism?
The men calmed down a bit now, realizing that to attack the gruesome figure meant certain death, and the sight of their friend being brought down by arrows from nowhere acted on them strongly.
A new sound caught my ears; was I too going mad, hearing the impossible. Absurd, and yet I strained my ears to catch the sound again. I heard it distinctly – water! How had it come there, from where, and how? Water. I felt it about my feet, soaking through my light shoes and stockings. Plainly I saw our destination – death by drowning! “Better than dying from lack of air,” I muttered grudgingly to myself.
The remaining group of men had resumed their fruitless attempts to break into the corridor, where safety lay if they could reach the entrance to the tomb before the water mounted the ceiling and completely flooded the long passageway.
The cooling liquid was now up to my waist and rising constantly. I sent my beam of light quickly about me, but nothing showed above the surface of the water. Where was the pottery, the tools, and the body in the tomb? The professor had been positive of his belief, and yet the room was utterly empty!
Don’t miss the next installment of this thrilling story in the May issue.
Keep A’Smiling
by Morna Irene Rowley
If things look dark and bleary
Keep A’smiling!
If you feel sad and dreary
Keep A’smiling!
If your friends all leave you
Keep A’smiling!
If people won’t believe you
Keep A’smiling!
Don’t feel so down and out
Keep A’smiling!
Just begin to sing and shout
Keep A’smiling!
If days are not so nice and bright
Keep A’smiling!
They will turn out all right
Keep A’smiling!
The Cynic
by Walter W. Hamill
They shriek aloud and rightly blare
That winter’s gone, and spring so fair
Has once again engulfed the land
And made of it a thing so grand
That even Mr. Shaw should fail
To write of it a slighting tale.
But I, with air both sane and sound,
Remind them of those times they found
That flies had gotten in the house.
They hiss and call me “bum” and “souse.”
Still I, the cynic, ramble on
But when I look, the folks have gone!
A curse on all those optimists!
I’ll show them with swords or fists;
But words are still my biggest stay;
I learn a new one every day.
And denounce all who would declare –
“Tis always spring if thoughts are fair.”
BOYS!!
If you want thrills, chills, laughs and excitement, HASH will furnish them in 12 big packages a year. Send for a sample copy.
Norman Hathaway
Kansas City, Mo.
The Boys’ Light, a bi-monthly journal offers short stories, articles, regular columns of real interest, and other features of particular appeal to boys. Yearly subscriptions, 15c. Send stamped envelope for sample copy.
Norwood Manheim
Detroit, Mich.
The Yankee
Edited and published monthly by William Haywood, New York City, to whom all manuscripts and correspondence should be addressed. Manuscripts to be accepted must be original and previously unpublished. No other requirements are necessary. Subscription rates are 50 cents per year, 25 cents for six months, 5 cents per copy. Advertising rates on request. Publisher is a member of the United and National Amateur Press Associations and other similar organizations.
800 copies of this issue were printed.