Here he shows us once again the truth of that old saying, Don't look back-you don't know what may be gaining on you…
If Emmanuel Rubin knew how not to be didactic, he never exercised that knowledge.
"When you write a short story," he said, "you had better know the ending first. The end of a story is only the end to a reader. To a writer, it's the beginning. If you don't know exactly where you're going every minute that you're writing, you'll never get there-or anywhere."
Thomas Trumbull's young guest at this particular monthly banquet of the Black Widowers seemed all eyes as he watched Rubin's straggly gray beard quiver and his thick-lensed glasses glint; and all ears as he listened to Rubin's firm, de-cibelic voice.
The guest himself was clearly in the early twenties, quite thin, with a somewhat bulging forehead and a rather diminutive chin. His clothing almost glistened in its freshness, as though he had broken out a brand-new costume for the great occasion. His name was Milton Peterborough.
He said, a small quiver in his voice, "Does that mean you have to write an outline, Mr. Rubin?"
"No," said Rubin, emphatically. "You can if you want to, but I never do. You don't have to know the exact road you're going to take. You have to know your destination, that's all. Once that's the case, any road will take you there. As you write you are continually looking backward from that known destination, and it's that backward look that guides you."