much about art, but I know what I like!” I am aware that the knowing
will look askance upon this avowal of the Philistine, but it is a good
creed and wears well. And I believe that the editor who pleases himself
in the selection of manuscripts stands a better chance of pleasing
others than he who guesses at the tastes of a fickle general public
whom he fancies as remote from himself in their likings as a race of
Martians.
Simplicity and Sincerity are the true gods in art as in life; of that I
am sure.
You ask me to mention several short stories published in _The Century_
within four or five years that we like particularly and to tell you
why. I think first of “The Friends,” by Stacy Aumonier, printed in
October, 1915. This story is an unplotted, realistic study of two
drunkards, friends whose only bond was drink. It is perhaps the most
powerful prohibition tract ever published and not a word of prohibition
in it! An analysis of Aumonier’s work--any bit of it--will reveal a
sureness of touch which is a refreshment to the soul. Some of his
stories are finer than others, of course, but like Phyllis Bottome and
Anne Douglas Sedgwick, there is always distinction about his work.
Some of the critics were good enough to call “The Friends” the best
story published in any magazine that year. To me, besides my admiration
for it as an artistic creation, it stands for two things: one, an
example of an interesting phenomenon,--Mr. Aumonier was a man in middle
life, I am told, when he began writing, and evidently found a beautiful
and finished technique in his pocket!--the other, a warning never to
judge a story by what it is not. It would be fatally easy to write “no
plot” across such a manuscript and lose it forever.
“A Source of Irritation,” also by Stacy Aumonier, published in _The
Century_ for January, 1918, is a delicious bit of humor to my way of
thinking. It is pleasant to know that Aumonier’s many-sided mind has
humor and gaiety, too, in its composition.
“The Wedding Jest” and “Porcelain Cups” by James Branch Cabell, printed
in September, 1919, and November, 1919 seem to me very lovely. In the
stodge of every-day literary expression, such delicacy and grace are
rare indeed. These stories are remarkable for that almost obsolete
quality, “style.”
“The Fat of the Land,” by Anzia Yeszierska, a study of the Russian
Jew in America and the reaction of the older generation to the loud
prosperities of the younger, is excellent work, full of the intangible
quality of race and keen in its psychology. It was published in _The
Century_ for August, 1919.
One wishes to mention, too, the black magic of “The Black Key,” by
Joseph Hergesheimer, the rich embroideries of H. G. Dwight and Achmed
Abdullah, the bold portraiture of Harvey O’Higgins, the subtly fine
work of Marjory Morten. Also that exquisite study of innocence, “Red
and White,” by Roland Pertwee; and Myla Jo Closser’s dog-story, “At the
Gate.”
It is impossible for any magazine to sustain regularly the level of its
best fiction, for the simple reason that such stories do not happen
frequently--would there were more of them! Those I have mentioned are
among the best, in my judgment, that _The Century_ has published for
several years, and it is towards work of such character that we are
aiming.
I take it, dear Miss Wick, that you have asked me to characterize some
of our most cherished stories in order to show by concrete examples the
kind of fiction _The Century_ wants; and I believe that you are right
in thinking this plan the best way of saying it.
Sincerely yours,
ANNE STODDARD.
_The Century Magazine._
353 Fourth Avenue,
New York City.
COLLIER’S, THE NATIONAL WEEKLY
When a writer wants to please an editor, the surest way is to forget
all about him. The editor is not reading the story for his own
entertainment. He reads with only one idea in mind: “Will this story
appeal to all kinds of people? Is it a good story?”
An editor of a magazine of general circulation seldom seeks one
particular kind of story. He wants the best stories written. The
quickest way to his favor is to write them.
There are no set rules for accomplishing this. Only a few landmarks are
on the road. Know your subject. Have something to tell. Be sure that
something happens in the story.
If nothing happens, if there is no action, you have perhaps written a
very good essay or a very convincing argument--but you will not be able
to sell it as a short story.
Remember that you are writing a short story, not a condensed novel. A
short story, once started, has only one object--to end as quickly as
possible.
There are only two people who can infallibly detect padding in a story.
One is yourself. The other is the reader.
It pays, always, to be clean. A questionable story will attract many
people--but it will repel more.
Few writers succeed in being convincing when they wander into fields
they don’t know. Every man collects a mass of information concerning
the road over which he has traveled, and the people he met on the way.
Use this information. It will furnish all the short stories you can
ever write.
Just as people strive for “happy endings” in their own affairs, so
they like them in stories which they read for entertainment.
The enduring themes for short stories are the enduring themes in
life itself; the old copybook virtues, like self-sacrifice, courage,
generosity, resourcefulness and faith.
The writer succeeds in proportion as he makes his reader eager for
another story by him. Editors have ways to judge this reaction. Forget
the editor, and what you think he wants. Write directly to the man or
woman who is going to buy the magazine and read your story.
HARFORD POWELL, JR.
_Collier’s, The National Weekly._
416 West 13th Street,
New York City.
AINSLEE’S MAGAZINE
_Ainslee’s_ publishes yearly a total of approximately a hundred and
twenty short stories (from 5,000 to 8,000 words in length), twelve
novelettes (from 20,000 to 30,000) and, in monthly installments, about
four serials (from 50,000 to 70,000). And, to cull this relatively
small amount of fiction, innumerable manuscripts are painstakingly
gone over. At a rough estimate, erring on the side of too few rather
than too many, ten thousand manuscripts are submitted yearly from
various sources for consideration by _Ainslee’s Magazine_. Of these,
eight thousand, I should say, are absolutely unsuited to publication
anywhere, while the remaining number are perhaps creditable enough,
but have been sent by their authors or the authors’ agents to the
wrong magazine--which brings me to the registering of a simple, but
curiously disregarded, bit of advice to those whose goal is writing
for magazine publication. _Study the magazine to which you contemplate
submitting material._ After all, each issue of a magazine, whatsoever
its character, represents the nearest approach to their ideal for the
publication, which the editors have been able, at the time to achieve,
and should therefore constitute a fairly good working pattern for
those whose stuff is to be “aimed at” that magazine. A rejection slip
from a given publication is just as apt to mean that the story, albeit
distinctive, does not fit the special needs of the magazine as to
indicate total unfittedness for publication anywhere.
_Ainslee’s Magazine_ aims to be a high-class, clean, distinctive
fiction magazine. It has no room for, nor time for, the frankly
salacious, or “sexy.” It is looking always for the proverbial good
story, well told. That story may move around any clean, healthy,
up-to-date theme, but it should have in it, preferably, woman and love
interest. The people of the story should be human, not wooden. They
should talk like you and I talk, not like Maria Edgeworth’s people
“conversed.” And the tale itself must be colorful. If a story is to
have any holding quality whatever, it must transfer its readers to
the scene of the action. And to do this, the thing must have in it
real atmosphere. Plot basis, then, along with good characterization,
atmosphere, and love and woman interest are essentials for the typical
_Ainslee’s_ story.
We like to think that stories in _Ainslee’s Magazine_, though varied
in character, are uniformly good. We hesitate, therefore, to talk of
“better and best.” But, by way of illustration of the points we have
sought to make, we call attention to Marie Van Vorst’s “The Week-End
Guest” in the December issue of _Ainslee’s_--a good story on all
counts, and well suited to _Ainslee’s_.
HELEN L. LIEDER.
_Ainslee’s Magazine._
STREET & SMITH CORPORATION,
Seventh Avenue and Fifteenth Street,
New York City.
COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE
The first essential for editing a popular magazine for Americans is
that the editor be a sane, normal, every-day American. No mystical
genius is required.
He is merchandising a commodity to the American public. If his taste
is the taste of the average American, and he puts within the covers of
a magazine stories which he has enjoyed reading, other Americans of
similar taste in reading will buy his magazine in quantities sufficient
to make it a success.
At least, that is the theory I have followed. I know quite well that I
am no genius, yet I have seen magazines grow under my direction. And
I have no rule for buying a story except that it must be sufficiently
interesting and sufficiently well told to interest me.
All sorts of stories interest me. Some time ago, for the satisfaction
of a friend of mine, I named the ten short stories which I had liked
best of all those I had published. It was interesting even to me to
see how they varied. The ten stories were: BACK PAY by Fannie Hurst;
HASSAYAMPA JIM by Peter B. Kyne; KAZAN by James Oliver Curwood; THE
STORY I CAN’T WRITE by Rupert Hughes; THE LAST ADVENTURE by Frank R.
Adams; BOSTON BLACKIE’S MARY by Jack Boyle; THE JUGGLER by Arthur
Springer; THE SNIDE by Harris Merton Lyon; THE GHOST’S STORY by Basil
King; THE DUMMY CHUCKER by Arthur Somers Roche. That’s about as
catholic a list as I can imagine.
“Back Pay,” “The Snide” and “The Last Adventure” might be classified
as “sex” stories, although I dislike that term. “The Story I Can’t
Write” was a trick story; “Boston Blackie’s Mary” was a prison story;
“Hassayampa Jim” was a Western story; “The Dummy Chucker” was an
O’Henry-ish bit of writing; “Kazan” was a dog story; “The Ghost’s
Story” was a story of the supernatural (it was the story from which
Mr. King later built his photoplay “Earthbound”); “The Juggler” was a
character study with an extraordinary twist in the ending.
No two of these stories in any way resembled each other. I suppose
that’s because I believe in variety, not because of any rule that
variety makes a good magazine, but because my taste in reading
varies. I am likely this evening to read Cellini for relaxation;
tomorrow evening to read Mark Twain, the following evening to read De
Maupassant. I like each one of them while I am reading him, but I don’t
want too much of any one of them.
That probably is true of the average reader of American magazines. He
has his favorite authors but he doesn’t want too much of any of them.
I think Peter B. Kyne, James Oliver Curwood, Fannie Hurst, Ben Ames
Williams, and Frank R. Adams are doing the best work of any magazine
writers of to-day, but I feel quite sure that a magazine filled with
their work and only their work, month after month, would become a bore.
Each one of these writers is a friend of mine; yet, I am quite sure,
neither they nor I would enjoy talking together every evening for a
year. I find that I am the average American in virtually everything;
that I like what he likes without stopping to find out why; and I
believe, too, that there is no reading too good for the American
public--that there is nothing real and worth while that is “over his
head.”
RAY LONG.
_Cosmopolitan._
_Good Housekeeping._
_Harper’s Bazar._
_Hearst’s Magazine._
119 West 40th Street,
New York City.
THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN
The _Country Gentleman_ addresses a class of readers whose interests
are keyed to country life and the industry of agriculture. This field
is big enough to include more than half of the nation’s population.
Our editorial problem is not one of tying in narrowly to scientific
discussions of only the growing phases of farming but ranges throughout
the innumerable business and social problems of the American
country-side. It is our aim to discuss everything that should help
to broaden the farmer’s vision of his own problems and also of all
interrelated problems that help to make him a vital factor as a citizen
of the United States.
In presenting fiction, we aim, so far as possible, to confine the
themes to country life and the open spaces of the world outdoors. We
eschew jazzily up-to-date urbanized fiction, sex novels, the eternal
triangle and the purely psychologic story. Naturally we will always
give a preference to fiction related to farming by first-class writers
who are thoroughly familiar with farming.
It is our feeling that the American farmer is interested in everything
that has any contact with country life. Hunting and fishing and outdoor
adventure are his life-long sports. He has a deep and genuine affection
for animals that serve him. He manifests a very live interest in
stories that deal with his marketing problems, and his ever-pressing
problem of financing his business. He has an alert interest in his
schools, his newspapers, in local, state and national government.
He enjoys character studies and has a vastly sharper sense of humor
than he is commonly credited with. Likewise he is a shrewd critic and
quickly resents the sort of attempted slurs that are so frequently made
upon rural folk by those who are wholly ignorant of farming.
We feel justified in being guided by several successful experiments we
have made with our fiction. We persuaded Mr. Freeman Tilden, who is a
farmer himself and thoroughly familiar with all phases of agriculture,
to create a character in Old Man Crabtree who might be defined as “a
Wallingford baiter.” Mr. Crabtree is a shrewd retired country banker.
His experience had taught him all the tricks of “high finance” and he
was always on the lookout for the specialists in shoddy and sham when
they came to town. In the climax the skinners were invariably neatly
flayed by Old Man Crabtree. These stories of Mr. Tilden were real and
drew in a continuous flow of favorable comment.
Zane Grey has always been able to strike a responsive chord with the
lovers of outdoor life, of whom the American farmer is undoubtedly in
the majority. They like his descriptions of the frontier as it was
in the 70’s and they seem to be keen for his vigorous characters,
notwithstanding how strenuous.
We like good dog stories of the sort Albert Payson Terhune has been
writing for us. And we like small town stories when they are as good
as those Tom P. Morgan is writing; but then, Tom Morgan lived these
stories for fifty years before he began to write them.
The great majority of our contributors have specialized in some
agricultural pursuit. Many of them are living on their farms and
conducting them as successful business enterprises. We number among our
most valued contributors the heads of leading agricultural colleges,
federal and state government experts, graduates of agricultural
colleges who are now devoting all their time to writing, county
agricultural agents, engineers who are specializing in agricultural
mechanics and so on. Among them are such well-known men as Eugene
Davenport, Dean of the Illinois College of Agriculture, Herbert Quick,
until recently a member of the Federal Farm Loan Board, Frank A. Waugh,
Professor of Horticulture, Massachusetts College of Agriculture, E. V.
Wilcox and J. Sidney Cates, for many years employed as farm management
experts by the United States Department of Agriculture, and P. S.
Lovejoy, Professor of Forestry, University of Michigan.
Such writers as I have described above supply the bulk of the contents
of _The Country Gentleman_ and consequently to preserve a balanced
ration, as a livestock feeder would say, we try our utmost to obtain
the sort of fiction that will round out the ensemble.
BARTON W. CURRIE.
_The Country Gentleman._
CURTIS PUBLISHING CO.,
Independence Square,
Philadelphia, Pa.
THE DELINEATOR
We _Delineator_ editors think that we know a good story when we see it;
_vide_ the magazine. Yet no issue of the magazine, and perhaps no six
issues, contain all the types of good stories that we like.
The average intelligent American woman or girl, in the home or in
business, is the person we have chiefly in mind when choosing stories.
The above-the-average woman, of course, is not forgotten.
Nor do we exclude any special type of story. We prefer stories that
will interest everyone--men, women and high-brows--but we want stories
for women first. Other things being equal, the hero should be a woman.
We think we have no prejudices and we certainly have no rules.
JAMES E. TOWER.
_The Delineator._
THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING CO.,
Spring and Macdougal Streets,
New York City.
THE DESIGNER
Both Arthur Tomalin, the editor, and Emily R. Burt, his assistant,
felt hesitant to express their ideas on what constituted a good and
therefore a desirable story for _The Designer_. They both made much of
the fact that a story to appeal to women readers should mirror life as
it is, and as it daily affects the great body of both men and women
who are seeking to weather its problems and complexities. Sympathy
and understanding are perhaps the two qualities upon which they put
greatest stress.
_The Designer._
THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING CO.
12 Vandam Street,
New York City.
THE DIAL
I do not believe it is possible to formulate any laws in accordance
with which one can judge the merit of fiction any more than it is
possible to formulate such laws for the judgment of any other æsthetic
object. In deciding whether or not we accept for publication in _The
Dial_ a story submitted to us we are guided almost wholly by the
intensity of the impression made upon us by that story. Of course the
means by which the author attains this intensity are very varied and of
course each manner of attack presupposes its own technique. However, it
would be inappropriate for me in this letter to endeavour to sketch out
my personal opinion of what would be the technique of any particular
type of story.
But of course all stories, whatever their character, depend in part for
their intensity upon the delicacy of the writer’s perception of verbal
values as well as upon the delicacy of his perception of character and
environment. And of course prose rhythms are quite as important as
those in verse.
Perhaps I might add that my personal feeling is that dialogue is much
over-done in American fiction of to-day and that the best writers
depend upon it merely to relieve pure narrative.
I regard fiction as quite as pure an art as poetry or as music and
therefore give no preference to one story because it delineates real
life rather than Ultima Thule.
I am sorry I am not able to go into the subject more thoroughly and
more satisfactorily.
SCOFIELD THAYER.
_The Dial._
152 West 13th Street,
New York City.
DETECTIVE STORY MAGAZINE
_Detective Story Magazine_ is a weekly publication. It is therefore
a large market, and is constantly in need of short stories of 2,500
to 6,000 or 7,000 words, novelettes of 12,000 or 15,000, and novels
of 25,000 words. Serials should run from 36,000 to 100,000 words in
length, and break up approximately in about 12,000 word installments.
It must not be deduced that only detective stories are needed for
this publication. When one speaks of a detective story we think of
a narrative which begins with the murder of somebody, the police
being called in, and then the efforts of the police or the efforts of
some wise investigator of crime to solve the mystery of who killed
the deceased. Of course, this story with variations--if it is well
done--is always acceptable. While we are dealing with it we might say
that, in general, such stories are divided into two types, one in
which the method is the predominating theme, and the other in which
the motive is played up prominently. The first type of story suggests
the puzzle. There is always a type of mind which revels in puzzles. A
person mysteriously disappears from a room, and after wading through
60,000 or 70,000 words, mostly questions and answers, we learn that the
method of removing the body was through, we will say, the fireplace,
which was on hinges. Of course, this is the easiest type of detective
story to write, and, as is quite obvious, it is written backwards. We
mean by that, an author first evolves an ingenious method of killing
some one, or of removing some one, and then builds about this a story,
leaving the disclosure of the method of killing or removal to the end
of the story. We think a far better way to do this story, and a way
that interests more people, is to have the motive the predominating
feature. The method by which, we will say, a young woman disappears,
either through her own efforts or through the efforts of others, is
interesting enough in its way, but that which interests the public
generally, and her friends in particular, is not how she disappeared,
so much as why she disappeared.
Now to take up the other types of stories that _Detective Story
Magazine_ is interested in: We are glad to consider any story into
which crime enters. When one stops to consider a moment, one must
realize how important a feature crime is in the life of every person.
In using the word crime, we mean deception in any form. All persons
constantly resort to some types of deception. Thus the crime story,
so called, lends itself to an infinite variety of situations from the
Atlantic to the Pacific. For instance, in almost every family there is
the urge for money, in many for the bare necessities of life, while in
others simply for more luxury. Thus hundreds of thousands of persons
are being sorely tempted every day to deceive. The stories of their
temptations cannot help, if well told, but be interesting. Above all
things in a detective story or a crime story, the narrative must get
on, move along. While character work is much desired, it is demanded
that this type of story have suspense and be written in such a way
that one is urged on from page to page to see what is going to happen
next. While this can be accomplished without dramatic situations and
unexpected happenings occurring every so often, it is usually found
necessary to resort to these methods for keeping up interest. Authors
must not fall into the common mistake, however, of feeling that when we
say a story should get on we simply mean that there should be action,
physical movement in it. Running up and down stairs alone does not make
for excitement, but very often does make for confusion. Also, saying
that people are excited or nervous or in fear does not interest the
reader very much. The author must show by the actions of his characters
that they are excited or frightened. A crime story, then, is one which
gets on, has plenty of strong situations, and in which the motive,
conflict, is the dominating feature. It is, perhaps, needless to add
that in a crime story the author must be fair to his readers--that
is, he must not explain the mystery by introducing a reason for the
commission of the crime of which the reader has not been made aware.
F. E. BLACKWELL.
_Detective Story Magazine._
STREET AND SMITH,
79 Seventh Avenue,
New York City.
EVERYBODY’S MAGAZINE