Pulp Fiction, 1938 · page 22 of 64
10 Story Book, August 1938 — page 22: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two illustrated short stories from an early pulp magazine. On the left is "Murder" (author unclear), depicting a scene with multiple figures in what appears to be a crime scenario, accompanying prose about a writer struggling with literary composition. On the right is "In the Bronx" by Clara Chanin, showing an interior domestic scene with figures, accompanying text about a character named Jenny and concerns regarding romantic relationships and a visit to a clinic. Both stories are presented with line-drawn illustrations in the typical pulp magazine style, with text wrapping around the artwork.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
for an inspiration, I’ve got to write a love story and it simply won’t come to me. I look at my typewriter and then I look out of the window. It’s more interesting to look out of the window. But my home study literary correspon- dence teacher says the only way to learn how to write is to write and today is my turn to compose a great romantic mas- terpiece. It’s about ten in the morning and the view from my court window is quiet and dreamy like. Any minute now I ought to start bulging with a love story. Ah, I feel a romantic mood com- ing on. |: sitting here on hour now, waiting There, drat her! I knew she’d spoil it. Write about the tender passions with a young hippo like that blotting out the landscape from your window. Two hun- dred and sixty pounds on the hoof. It’s her sweet tooth, the gland specialist told her mother. I’m sorry for her mother. That poor woman’s done nothing to de- serve such an infliction. Infliction? That girl’s a visitation, a “dibbik.” Maybe she’s hit on the right solution now, Mrs. Brown. Won’t give the girl another penny spending money. So she'll have no more sweets. You see, Fatty’ll do anything but work! She’s bound to get thinner now. She must be on her way to the clinic. Yep, there’s her mother prod- ding her from behind. You see how crazy she is to go. Look at that pan! What’s she done with all the medicines they’ve given her? N THE BRONX BY CLARA CHANIN “Yuh gotta go, Jenny. Never mind if the doctor hollers. Tell him you'll listen to him now. Can’t be like this all your life. Who’s gonna marry you?” I know a lot of guys who won't. Thank Heavens they’ve passed. Now I can concentrate on love sweet love again. Where did the Muse of Romance go this morning? Maybe I ought to give her a rest and try my hand at a murder mystery. Wonder what kind of people write murder mysteries? Bet they’re pretty mild looking, at that! Look who’s writing love stories! Well, this isn’t get- ting me anywhere. I'll try going into a trance or something. Heck, here comes the Roman Senator! Hope to goodness she doesn’t stop. Taken a liking to me, she says, but she upsets my concentration. There’s something so relentless, so potentially savage in her staring eyes, her heavy powerful face. And her walk. Like an oals tree, straight, COMMNUCVOOKS . CONN