Excerpt

"The decision to be a writer had come over [Briggs] while the fleet was cruising in the Caribbean, pausing in St. Thomas, Montego Bay, Port-au-Prince and other playlands where he met fellow Americans and British ladies and gentleman lounging around swimming pools with tall frosted drinks in their hands, being fanned by tireless natives.

"'Who are these people', Briggs had asked, and on being told that these fortunate folks were all writers - novelists, playwrights, journalists - Briggs cried out, 'Then that's the life for me! How do I begin?'

"With the flattering letters these genial professionals obligingly wrote for someone they felt could never be a rival, Briggs had no trouble landing the magazine job when he got out of the service. His honest statement that he had never written anything but clear, straightforward reports for superior officers charmed the City Life editor. Briggs had hoped for assignments in the field of sports but the editor felt that literary training and education were required for that, whereas art was a department where inexperience and ignorance would not be noticed."

Dawn Powell, The Wicked Pavilion