| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson by Robert Louis Stevenson: wonderful? Add that I have now finished, in draft, the fifteenth
chapter of my novel, and have only five before me, and you will see
what cause of gratitude I have.
The weather, to look at the per contra sheet, continues vomitable;
and Fanny is quite out of sorts. But, really, with such cause of
gladness, I have not the heart to be dispirited by anything. My
child's verse book is finished, dedication and all, and out of my
hands - you may tell Cummy; SILVERADO is done, too, and cast upon
the waters; and this novel so near completion, it does look as if I
should support myself without trouble in the future. If I have
only health, I can, I thank God. It is dreadful to be a great, big
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Tales of the Klondyke by Jack London: fact that the truth was not in him, can explanation be hazarded.
But for five whole days he plunged the land in wailing and sorrow,
and for five whole days he was the only man in the Klondike. The
country gave him its best of bed and board. The saloons granted
him the freedom of their bars. Men sought him continuously. The
high officials bowed down to him for further information, and he
was feasted at the Barracks by Constantine and his brother
officers. And then, one day, Devereaux, the government courier,
halted his tired dogs before the gold commissioner's office.
Dead? Who said so? Give him a moose steak and he'd show them how
dead he was. Why, Governor Walsh was in camp on the Little
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Rewards and Fairies by Rudyard Kipling: Ferry, across the Shanedore, over the Blue Mountains, through
Ashby's Gap, and so south-east by south from there, till we found
the President at the back of his own plantations. I'd hate to be
trailed by Indians in earnest. They caught him like a partridge on a
stump. After we'd left our ponies, we scouted forward through a
woody piece, and, creeping slower and slower, at last if my
moccasins even slipped Red Jacket 'ud turn and frown. I heard
voices - Monsieur Genet's for choice - long before I saw anything,
and we pulled up at the edge of a clearing where some
niggers in grey-and-red liveries were holding horses, and half-a-
dozen gentlemen - but one was Genet - were talking among felled
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