describe human beings so well that they seem real; if he sometimes
laughs at, sometimes is irritated with, sometimes loves these people
who come to life in the pages of the story, he has his first great
point. If he can write conversation such as you actually hear he has
his second. If he can write good, straightforward English, at once
clear, forcible, and vivid, he has the third. But all of these are
of no use unless the author has the sense of construction that makes
him write real stories,--that is, plots that unfold and develop to a
logical conclusion, instead of mere sketches or anecdotes. The one
satisfies; the other does not.
Successful authors all work hard, and the bigger an author is the more
you can criticise his work to his face. He appreciates that it is a
technical calling and he wants and appreciates intelligent criticism.
Are there many good writers who can’t get a hearing? Practically none.
Names count in a fashion. The author who has a public gets stronger
with his readers the more he writes. If a man has a literary gift and
the energy and persistency back of it he will find fiction a good
business.
But just because story-writing has taken on some of the aspects of
commercialism it has by no means lost the romance, the humor, the
humanity, that it had in the old Grub Street days. After all, we are
dealing with the stuff that dreams are made of, the inspiration of
ambition, the literature of hope and effort and human aspiration, the
running chronicle of our ways, our manners, our civilization. Most of
it will fade and pass with the fading years; some of it will live.
CHARLES AGNEW MACLEAN.
_Popular Magazine._
STREET AND SMITH CORPORATION,
Seventh Avenue and Fifteenth Street,
New York City.
THE RED BOOK MAGAZINE
Karl Harriman, the editor, had promised a statement as he said that he
welcomed this opportunity to point out to would-be contributors the
differentiation in editorial policy between The Red Book Magazine, The
Blue Book Magazine and The Green Book Magazine. However, a press of
unexpected work made it impossible for him to do this before this book
had to be sent to press. At that time he spoke in a general way of
the fact that for The Red Book Magazine he was constantly looking for
stories of the different sections of the United States; then again for
stories of the different interests that were absorbing the attention of
the people at the moment, such as stories of oil, psychic stories, etc.
For The Blue Book Magazine he wanted more out-and-out adventure and
tales that would primarily appeal to men; for The Green Book Magazine
stories that would find their immediate audience among women.
_The Red Book Magazine._
_The Blue Book Magazine._
_The Green Book Magazine._
36 South State Street,
Chicago, Ill.
THE SATURDAY EVENING POST
George Horace Lorimer, the editor-in-chief of _The Saturday Evening
Post_, said quite frankly when asked to write briefly his attitude and
point of view in the selecting of fiction for his magazine that neither
he nor his staff were willing to regard the _Post_ as a training school
for young writers.
He went on to say that he and his associates felt that the circulation
of the magazine, the fact that it bought more fiction than any other
American periodical, paid well and quickly, and published without great
delay, made it inevitable that most writers who entered the profession
would in the course of events submit material to the _Post_. Should a
story by an unknown writer please one of the staff readers it would
then be submitted to him and to his immediate associates for acceptance
or rejection. Should this same writer succeed equally with subsequent
stories, the _Post’s_ editors would then personally consult with this
author as to the magazine’s immediate needs and help by suggestion
and advice to make his or her material more available from the _Post_
viewpoint.
In this connection it is interesting to note that while their list of
writers includes many of the best-known names among American short
story writers, the magazine has also accepted and published the stories
of many writers who had had no previous audience and whose names were
until the time of their appearance in the _Post_ wholly unknown.
While it is perhaps impossible to state tersely what the _Post_ wants,
and while Mr. Lorimer may hesitate to speak didactically as to what
is and what is not a good short story, the earnest student can easily
discern certain of the _Post_ requirements by a study of the magazine.
That the stories are inclined to run to a certain more or less definite
length; that the majority are American in both setting and characters;
that they conform to a certain standard of writing and method of
treatment is at once apparent, and certain errors of judgment in
submission may easily be avoided.
_The Saturday Evening Post_,
CURTIS PUBLISHING CO.,
Independence Square,
Philadelphia, Pa.
SCRIBNER’S MAGAZINE
Robert Bridges, the editor of _Scribner’s Magazine_, felt that he would
do injustice to his periodical were he to attempt to say in a few short
paragraphs the type of stories they preferred. He went on to say that
the magazine had been in existence for so long that its reputation for
good art and good craftsmanship in everything that appeared in its
pages was so well established that nothing he could say would either
add to or make more definitely practical from the neophyte’s approach
the type of fiction wanted.
_Scribner’s Magazine._
599 Fifth Avenue,
New York City.
SHORT STORIES
The best, indeed the only reply to the question as to the needs of a
magazine that I can think of is--read it. That is the answer for _Short
Stories_.
When a writer asks me what we want for _Short Stories_, I am apt to
feel a bit hopeless for, as I see it, my first duty is to seek and
develop talent, and my second is to select material. I cannot feel
that it is good for a fiction magazine, nor good for a fiction writer,
to have the editor suggest ideas, or plots. (General magazines using
non-fiction articles are different. In the nature of things they must
suggest articles and ideas to their writers.) An intelligent reading of
a fiction magazine will give a better idea of its aims and field than
any amount of talking by the editor. We can at best, in the time at our
disposal, give an idea of our field. The more important thing is the
spirit of the magazine, and that can only be taken in by reading it.
Once a writer gets the spirit of the magazines he wishes to write for
and has determined their respective fields, it is up to him.
Within the scope of his publication, and in its general spirit, what an
editor wants most of all is _ideas_--something new, fresh, different.
There is one more preliminary point--self-analysis. Many writers suffer
from lack of understanding of their own material. The field is so
large to-day that any writer can develop his own natural imaginative
expression and find a market for it. If one is more interested in
outdoor adventure--write it. If a writer’s mind runs to psychological
problem stories--write those. There are magazines looking for adventure
and others looking for psychological character analysis. But don’t,
Mr. Writer, try to force yourself to write something you yourself do
not like. You cannot write down to a field successfully, and you must
develop into a higher literary class naturally, by hard work.
As for _Short Stories_: Being primarily a magazine of adventure and
the outdoors, our interest naturally lies in that field first. Our
public is a wide one embracing many kinds of people. Yet, when they
buy a fiction magazine like _Short Stories_, we are convinced they
do so in pretty much the same frame of mind. They want to be amused.
They want a good story. They want to read it in a hurry, on a railroad
train, in a spare hour, or to relieve a tedious wait. We believe they
do not want too much complexity, nor too highly polished a style.
Literary excellence is all to the good. We want it and our readers
appreciate it, but it must be within our field and done in our spirit.
For example, imagine the joy of our public if we could publish as brand
new to-day some of Kipling’s early short stories--“The Man That Would
Be King,” “William the Conqueror,” and the rest. They fall perfectly
“within our scope,” and in spite of the fact that they were done by the
greatest literary craftsman of the age, they are not, like some of his
later work, too subtle for our public. They are mostly on the objective
plane, full of action, stories straight from the shoulder.
Of course, our public like stories of the far places, of the West, both
old and new, of the North and the Tropics. Yet, even to these there
are some strange exceptions such as the question of remoteness from
the reader’s understanding. Miles are nothing to the author or to the
reader of the printed page, but unless the author succeeds in making
the reader feel his locality, the sense of remoteness creeps in and the
story fails. Naturally, with this small world and the fairly limited
number of situations possible to a human being in adventure, variety
becomes a very desirable thing with us--variety, remember, within our
field.
The public that reads _Short Stories_ likes mystery stories. That in
itself is a broad field and includes the tales of the tracking down
of the perpetrators of crime--detective stories. We have mighty few
hard and fast rules, but we never use a story in which we make crime
and criminals heroic. If the hero of a story is a burglar, we want the
story to show his redemption, the failure of crime with its ultimate
punishment, or we want his actions within the story to be for a
laudable purpose. Our attitude may best be summed up by the phrase,
“the effect on the young.” We want no story which will have an evil
effect on any reader.
Mystery stories tend to run along conventional lines. We would like
some variety there. The playwrights have accomplished something new and
thrilling in pieces such as: “The Unknown Purple,” “The 13th Chair,”
“The Alibi” with excellent results. Why cannot some equally ingenious
writers work out mystery tales as far from the ordinary murder or jewel
mysteries as these?
And humor! Oh, give us humor! Not too subtle, nor too rough. But give
us a laugh. Human interest stories too. Business stories and the sports
interest our readers. They are fairly scarce, the good ones, so we are
always on the lookout for them.
_Short Stories_, like its contemporaries, including _The Saturday
Evening Post_, was created by a reading public’s _demand_. Therefore,
with the exception of the purely love stories and speaking quite
generally, any story that would hit _The Saturday Evening Post_ would
hit us. Many and many a writer appearing regularly in that great weekly
has found himself through the medium of _Short Stories_ and similar
magazines.
The love theme is desirable in our field. Our public, we believe, likes
it, but only as a normal motive in a plot. We do not use love stories,
as such, but love naturally enters into and strengthens any story,
adventure, mystery, business, humor, sports, or what not.
We are not squeamish, yet we never forget that phrase, “the influence
on the young.” We do not want to print any story that leaves a bad
taste in the mouth. Our public do not want nor expect that in _Short
Stories_. Hence, the so-called sex story is not for us.
A word as to dialect. We try to print stories that read easily and
smoothly. Too hard or too consistent a dialect repels readers.
Likewise, the widely popular slang “roughneck” story. We use ’em of
course, but we do not want ’em _too_ rough. Every reader likes the
relief of straight English rather than to go through page after page of
dialect or slangy misspelling.
But, read the magazine, and then _within our scope_ give us something
different.
HARRY E. MAULE.
_Short Stories._
DOUBLEDAY PAGE & COMPANY, Publishers,
Garden City, N.Y.
THE SMART SET
As Editors of _The Smart Set_, Mencken and I buy any story that appeals
to us personally. We employ no so-called “readers.” Every manuscript
submitted to the magazine is read by the one or the other of us. We
have no rules. But, we have prejudices. Style is a most important
factor. The viewpoint of a cultured man or woman is a most important
factor.
GEORGE JEAN NATHAN.
_The Smart Set._
25 West Forty-fifth Street,
New York City.
SNAPPY STORIES
I am setting forth, more or less briefly, what _Snappy Stories_
desires from its contributors. From its inception, this magazine has
specialized in fiction and other material with a strong sex interest,
and this policy is being adhered to--not because this is the only type
of story that appeals to us, but because we feel that there are a vast
number of readers who enjoy tales with themes based upon the relations
between the sexes. This is by no means a depraved taste, but a healthy,
natural one, characterizing most normal men and women. Many of the
most famous stories ever written have had this so-called sex interest,
and this applies also to plays and grand operas. Vulgar or salacious
material is barred, but we have no objection to stories that are a
trifle audacious or that have a dash of the risqué.
Each bi-monthly issue of _Snappy Stories_ contains a complete novelette
of from 15,000 to 18,000 words. This is the length we prefer, although
we sometimes publish longer novelettes or shorter ones. They should
be strongly plotted, with plenty of action and a real climax. Happy
endings preferred, but not absolutely insisted upon. Occasionally
a good humorous novelette or an ingeniously plotted mystery story,
without a pronounced sex interest, is used.
We publish one short serial of from 20,000 to 30,000 words, suitable
for two or three parts. Longer stories are occasionally taken, and
used in a greater number of installments. What we have said about
the novelette applies also to the continued story: stories with sex
interest stand the best chance of acceptance. Of course we desire good
“breaks” where they are to be divided.
Short stories, of which we use about eight to a number, may be of
almost any length, although those of 5,000 words or less are most in
demand. We don’t want them either padded or unduly compressed. Sex
interest here also, although we sometimes use other kinds--humorous,
say, or a good occult or mystery tale. We do not object to unhappy
endings. Action is a desideratum. Slow moving stories, depending
principally on atmosphere and characterization, are not desired.
A short play is published in every issue. These may be funny or
serious. We want especially good acting plays, clever and skilfully
plotted.
We use a number of poems, mostly tense love verses or those of a
humorous or whimsical sort. Occasionally blank verse is used. Poems may
vary in length from the quatrain to forty lines. We seldom buy longer
ones, although this is not a hard and fast rule.
There is a good market here for short bits of prose, of six hundred
words or less. These may be grave or gay, cynical or satirical. Jokes
and epigrams are also in demand.
Writers should make a little study of the magazine to which they desire
to contribute, as in this way they will save their own time as well as
the editor’s. We are only too glad to get in touch with new writers,
and do all we can to encourage and develop them.
THE EDITOR.
_Snappy Stories._
THE NEW FICTION PUBLISHING COMPANY,
35-37 West Thirty-ninth Street,
New York City.
TELLING TALES
In the ten years or so that I have been editing magazines that question
“Why I Buy the Stories I Do” has been asked of me dozens and dozens of
times, and I am as far as ever from being able to answer it.
Authors and would-be authors are constantly coming and saying: “Mr.
Clayton, what kind of stories do you want for your magazine?” and the
only answer I can give them is, that I want any good story, providing
it is not a sex story, and when they want to pin me down to what
constitutes a good story I am utterly lost, and can only say that my
idea of a good story is any story that I like.
I presume that every magazine to be successful must be an expression
of its editor’s individual taste. In other words, it must have a
personality of its own, and that personality can only come from the man
who makes it.
Perhaps the point that appeals to me most strongly about a story is the
_humanness_ of its characters. They must really _live_, so that the
reader is impressed with their reality. Only thus may he come to feel
toward them a friendly spirit which will lead him to take an actual
interest in their adventures or misadventures, their love affairs,
their successes or failures.
The _writing_ of a story is not, to me, the most important part of it.
If the story is there, careful editorial work will smooth out many of
the crudities of expression or careless short-comings of its author,
but no editing can supply a plot where none exists, nor make human or
interesting characters that are obviously mere wooden puppets to their
creator.
Of course, the better written a story is, the larger is apt to be the
check that is sent in return for it, because naturally, an editor,
like the buyer of any commodity, cannot afford to pay as much for raw
materials requiring a great deal of work to put them into usable shape,
as he can for a finished and perfected article.
To sum up, I would say that before writing a story an author should
first have a story to tell, and then be as careful as possible in the
telling. The main quality needed after that, if one is to become a
successful writer, is, I should say, inexhaustible perseverance.
WILLIAM M CLAYTON.
_Telling Tales._
114 Bible House,
New York City.
TODAY’S HOUSEWIFE
You ask me to give you some indication of the fiction requirements of
_Today’s Housewife_. I can give you this very briefly: About all that
we require is that the story shall be clean and interesting. It may
deal with the home and child interest, it may be a married love story,
a young love story, a humorous story or one of adventure and mystery.
There must be no sex problem; no repulsive crime. It may be as much of
a thriller as any one can desire, but it must lead to ultimate good; it
must leave the reader in a satisfied frame of mind, although this does
not necessarily mean that it needs have a “happy ending.” It must have
a satisfactory ending and it must lead the reader along an upward path.
We like our stories to be full of action, plenty of sparkling dialogue,
and they must be well written. We use but few stories in _Today’s
Housewife_, but we demand that these be of an excellent type.
DELLA T. LUTES.
_Today’s Housewife._
Cooperstown, N.Y.
TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE
It always seems to me so futile to talk to people who do not know how
to write stories about the way they should be written. I feel that when
I attempt it, I speak a language they do not understand. I never have
a feeling that I am being understood when I talk on the subject to
amateurs. And experience tells me that I am not understood. I must ask
you, therefore, to excuse me from holding forth on this very illusive
topic.
Thanking you for the compliment you pay me in asking me to write
something, I am
Yours very truly,
HENRY W. THOMAS,
_Editor_.
_Top-Notch Magazine._
79-89 Seventh Avenue.
New York City.
THE TOUCHSTONE
The kind of story I am always longing to have for my magazine must have
in it characters that affect me as human beings would, characters that
are true to their inheritance and environment, who react honestly and
sincerely to their training and surroundings. Write about any type of
man, woman or child that you choose, but make them true to type, or
rather true to character. For instance, the longshoreman must not only
_talk_, but _think_ and _feel_ like a longshoreman. It seems important
to me that the soubrette should not react to life as a bishop would,
and that the philosophy of a returned soldier should vary somewhat from
that of an elderly spinster of New England training.
In other words the fiction writer has got to know life, either by
intuition, in which case he has genius; or by experience, in which case
talent will serve.
And having achieved the power to see life profoundly and sincerely you
must then find a way to tell your public what you see, to tell it in
such a manner that you create the illusion of life in your characters,
and make the characters create the illusion of reality in their
environment.
An author may write cleverly, smartly, brightly, with quite a little
sense of drama, sell his stories easily, and have a name that you
remember, and not possess one atom of real insight into human nature,
and not one moment’s grasp of power to portray humanity through words
that convince and thrill.
I am not at all satisfied with the idea that if you amuse the public
you are a good short story writer, or even if you manage to thrill
the public that your short stories are worthwhile. Very young and
very poor writers can do both these things. And I do not think it at
all necessary to have happy endings to stories. This absurd catering
to the more feeble public mind is not thought essential in writing
an opera or a great tragedy or in painting a picture. Wagner did not
think that it was necessary at the end of “Götterdämmerung” to have
his orchestra play some tinkling little melody to send his people home
happy. He wrote his music so that you go home after the great sacrifice
of _Brunnhilde’s_ filled with mighty splendid thoughts of life, love,
death and immortality. When Rodin pictured “A Thinker,” a man facing
universal problems, he did not carve at his side a merry little clown
to cheer up the beholder, who is afraid of thought. And a poet does not
jest at the end of a beautiful rhythm that has poured out through his
heart and soul.
So why should we ask of the writer, and always of the dramatist, that
these particular works of art should invariably leave humanity smiling,
light-hearted and forgetful. I do not think it is necessary to consider
the ending at all, let it develop from the psychology of the people in
the story, and make the episode as it would be in life to the best of
your ability.
I think, perhaps, at the start, the best way to learn how to write is,
_not to write_. And, of course, I mean here, not to write thoughtlessly
and without relating life to words. Above all, I am opposed to studying
models in writing. I would like to say, forget all about the styles
that have been set before you as models. Disregard those famous old
English essayists. Turn your face away firmly, however reluctantly,
from Lamb, Macaulay and Carlyle. I even advise you to bid a sad
farewell to Edith Wharton and Henry James. And while Bernard Shaw will
amuse and delight you, he will only inspire you to imitate him. And
what could be less important to you, and more torturing to the editors
than to join the ever-swelling army of Shaw’s imitators? Because the
important thing about Shaw is--his fantastic brain, his whimsical soul,
his lack of philosophy, his ability to contort all life into witty
jeers, and these attributes for good or evil you must be born with.
It sounds very drastic, but I think it very important to empty your
minds of all literary ideals. And above all to abandon forever the
burning desire “to express yourself.” Because it is immensely more
important to gather through experience and vision and fine sympathy,
universal truths to express, than to imagine that within oneself
is hidden a great unwritten truth. Once your mind is delightfully
empty and free and at your command, begin to think, to observe, to
appreciate; but do not make the mistake of branding the people you meet
as interesting models for fiction writing. It is far more important to
think of _your characters_ as _real people_. After you have learned
to observe life honestly and very simply, all the phases of life with
which you come into contact, then write exactly what you think about
them, just as you would tell typical episodes to some one interested
in your observation--except of course that you must tell your story
conscientiously, you must bear in mind the pattern that you are
weaving. And you are not writing good fiction, until you have learned
to design a pattern of writing with beauty, and put it down with power.