a blow between the eyes. He had been commissioned to write another
"Stella Edwards" rhapsody, but was overconfident and did not take time
to surround himself with the proper "Stella Edwards" atmosphere. Two
installments went forward, and this letter came back:
"I have just finished reading 'Two Hearts Against the World.' I
regret to say that the story will not do, and it would be as well for
you not to attempt to remodel it. In other words, the way you are
handling the subject is not satisfactory to us and is not a question
of minor detail. We shall be obliged to give this work into other
hands to do. The story, as far as it goes, is wildly improbable
and has a lack of cohesion in the incident. I think you wrote it
hurriedly, and without mature thought. These stories have to seem
probable even if they deal with unusual events."
There was bitterness in that, not so much because Edwards had lost $300
but because he had failed to make good. His pride suffered more than
his pocket. Later, however, he wrote some more "Stella Edwards" stories
for Harte & Perkins and they were highly praised; but that type of
fiction was not his forte.
The year 1894 closed with Harte & Perkins giving Edwards a chance at
a new five-cent weekly they were starting. It was merely a shift from
_The Weekly Guest_ back to the libraries again.
His work for Harte & Perkins, during the year, showed as follows:
10 Ten-Cent Libraries at $100 each $ 1000.
Two "Stella Edwards" stories at $300 each 600.
"The Brave and Fair" 500.
"The Man from Montana" 450.
2 Five-Cent Libraries at $50 each 100.
1 Juvenile serial 100.
---------
Total $2,750.
The work tabulated above approximates 850,000 words, and takes no
account of work sold to other publishers. By industry alone Edwards had
secured a fair income.
W. Bert Foster, a friend of Edwards', who for twenty-five years has
kept a story-mill of his own busily grinding with splendid success,
has this to say about a slip he once made in his early years:
"When I was a young writer I sold a story to a juvenile paper. It
was published. And not until the boys began to write in about it did
either the editor or I discover that I had my hero dying of thirst
_on a raft in Lake Michigan_!"
VII.
INSPIRATION
ALIAS INDUSTRY.
Jack London advises authors not to wait for inspiration but to "go
after it with a club." Bravo! It is not intended, of course, to lay
violent hands on the Happy Idea or to knock it over with a bludgeon.
Mr. London realizes that, nine times out of ten, Happy Ideas are drawn
toward industry as iron filings toward a magnet. The real secret lies
in making a start, even though it promises to get you nowhere, and
inspiration will take care of itself.
There's a lot of "fiddle-faddle" wrapped up in that word "inspiration."
It is the last resort of the lazy writer, of the man who would rather
sit and dream than be up and doing. If the majority of writers who
depend upon fiction for a livelihood were to wait for the spirit of
inspiration to move them, the sheriff would happen along and tack a
notice on the front door--while the writers were still waiting.
More and more Edwards' experience, and the experience of others which
has come under his observation, convinces him that inspiration is
only another name for industry. When he was paymaster for the firm of
contractors, he went to the office at 8 o'clock in the morning, took
half an hour for luncheon at noon, and left for home at half-past 5.
When he broke away from office routine, he promised himself that he
would give as much, or more, of his time to his Fiction Factory.
What he feared was that ideas would fail to come, and that he would
pass the time sitting idly at his typewriter. In actual practice, he
found it almost uncanny how the blank white sheet he had run into his
machine invited ideas to cover it. After five, ten or fifteen minutes
of following false leads, he at last hit upon the right scent and was
off at a run. With every leap his enthusiasm grew upon him. A bright
bit of dialogue would evoke a chuckle, a touch of pathos would bring
a tear, an unexpected incident shooting suddenly out of the tangled
threads would fill him with rapture, and for the logical but unexpected
climax he reserved a mood like Caesar's, returning from the wars and
celebrating a triumph.
In the ardor of his work he forgot the flight of time. He balked at
leaving his typewriter for a meal and went to bed only when drowsiness
interfered with his flow of thought.
Whether he was writing a Five-Cent Library, a serial story or a novel
which he hoped would bring him fame and fortune, the same delight
filled him whenever he achieved a point which he knew to be worth
while. And whenever such a point is achieved, my writer friend, there
is something that rises in your soul and tells you of it in words that
never lie.
No matter what you are writing, unless you can thrill to every detail
of excellence in what you do, unless you can worry about the obscure
sentence or the unworthy incident until they are sponged out and
recast, it is not too much to say that you will never succeed at the
writing game. Love the work for its own sake and it will bring its
inspiration and its reward; look upon it as a grind and melancholy
failure stalks in your wake.
There can be no inspiration without industry, and no industry without
inspiration. Start your car on the batteries of industry and it will
soon be running on the magneto of inspiration. Drive yourself to your
work, and presently interest will be aroused and your eager energies
will need a curb instead of a spur.
Edwards has written two 30,000-word stories a week for months at a
time; he has written one 30,000-word story and one 40,000-word serial
in one week; he has begun a Five Cent Library story at 7 o'clock in the
morning and worked the clock around, completing the manuscript at 7
the next morning; and he has done other things that were possible only
because industry brought inspiration, and inspiration takes no account
of time.
Edwards knows a writer of short stories who is like a crazy man for
days while he is frantically groping for an idea. When the idea
comes, he figuratively sweats blood for a week in pulling it through
his typewriter; and then, when the story is in the mails, he takes
to his bed for a week from physical exhaustion. Result: Three weeks,
one story, and anywhere from $50 to $75. He is conscientious, but his
method is wrong. Instead of storming through the house and tearing his
hair while the idea eludes him, he should roll in a fresh sheet, sit
calmly down in front of the keys, look out of the window or around the
room and start off with the first object that appeals to him.
There are writers who will have a Billikin for inspiration, or some
other fetich that takes the place of a Billikin. Edwards has an
elephant tobacco-jar that has occasionally helped him. Sometimes it is
a pipeful of the elephant's contents, and sometimes it is merely a long
look at the elephant that starts the psychology to working.
Of course it isn't really the Billikin, or the elephant, or the tobacco
that does the trick. They merely enable us to concentrate upon the work
in hand: from them we gather hope that work will produce results, so we
get busy and results come.
The main thing is to break the shackles of laziness and begin our
labors; then, after that, to forget that we are laboring in the sheer
joy of creation with which our labor inspires us.
New York, Sept. 2, 1911.
My dear Mr. Edwards:
You fairly have me stumped. With the greatest pleasure in the world
I would give you what you ask for your book, but I am not certain
that I can recall any humorous anecdotes; and as for "quips," I
look the word up and discover that it means: "A sneering or mocking
remark; gibe; taunt." And I am afraid I am not equal to evolving
any of these.... All I can recall now is that in my early days an
editor of the _New York Herald_ wanted to kick me down the editorial
stairs because I asked pay for amusement notes they had been printing
for nothing. I fled, leaving my last Ms. behind me--which they also
printed gratis. Now this wasn't humorous to anybody at the time, and
if there was any 'quip,' that editor uttered it, and I don't remember
now just the language he used.
Very truly yours,
Matthew White, Jr.,
Editor _The Argosy_.
VIII.
THE WOLF ON
THE SKY-LINE.
For Edwards, the year 1895 dawned in a blaze of prosperity and went out
in the gathering shadows of impending disaster.
Spring found him literally swamped with orders, and he tried the
experiment of hiring a young man stenographer and typist to assist
him. The young man was an expert in his line and proved so efficient
an aide that Edwards hired another who was equally proficient. Two
stenographers failing to help him catch up with his flood of orders, he
secured a third.
One assistant put in his time copying manuscripts and cataloguing
clippings, to another the library work was dictated, and the third was
employed on "Stella Edwards" material.
Edwards was versatile, and he experienced no difficulty in passing from
one class of work to another. He was able to chronicle the breathless
adventures of the hero of the Five-Cent Library to one stenographer,
then turn to the other and dictate two or three chapters of a serial
of the class written by Laura Jean Libby, and then fill in the gaps
between dictation with altogether different work on his own machine.
Although Edwards kept these three stenographers for several months, and
although he has since frequently availed himself of the services of an
amanuensis, yet he is free to confess that he doubts the expediency of
such help. Successful dialect cannot be wrapped up in a stenographer's
"pothooks," and so much dialect was used in the library stories that
the young man at work on them had to familiarize himself with the
contorted forms and write them down from memory. It took him so long to
do this, and required so much of Edwards' time making corrections, that
the profit on his work was disappointing.
With such an office force grinding out copy, during the early months
of 1895 the Fiction Factory was a very busy place. During January and
February the cash returns amounted to $1,500. This, Edwards discovered
later, was no argument in favor of stenographer assistance, for he has
since, working alone, earned upward of $1,000 in a month.
In February Edwards was requested by Harte & Perkins to submit a story
for a new detective library which they were starting, and of which
they were very choice. The work was as different as possible from the
two or three detective yarns Edwards had written in 1893. He wrote
and submitted the story, and Mr. Perkins' criticisms are given below
by way of showing how carefully the stories were examined. The letter
from which the excerpt is taken was written Feb. 13, 1895. The mythical
detective, who has become known throughout the length and breadth of
the land, shall here be referred to as "Joe Blake."
"There is one point to which I would call your attention. On page
5, Chapter II opens in this way: 'A young man to see Dr. Reynolds;
no card.' Joe Blake, otherwise 'Dr. Reynolds,' told the boy to show
the visitor in. The place was Chicago. Scene in room in prominent
hotel the second day after Joe Blake had had an interview with Abner
Larkin, 9 o'clock in the evening.
This is too trite and not easily expressed. Such references to time,
place, etc., impress the reader with the fact that he is reading
a romance and not a real story of Joe Blake's experiences. This
particular point should be kept in mind. We want these stories to
appear as natural as possible.
In the opening of the installment, where Mr. Larkin presents himself
to Joe, you have duplicated the common-place method of most writers.
There should be more originality in the way Joe Blake's attention
is called to various cases and not a continual repetition of calls
at his office, which, though natural enough, become tiresome to the
reader. In this same opening there is not enough detective flavor,
and here, as well as in other places, Joe does not appear to be the
man of authority, which he is usually found to be. These are little
things, but I believe if you will take care of them they will help
the story greatly."
This will illustrate the care with which Harte & Perkins looked over
the manuscripts submitted to them, to the end that they might be made
to reflect their ideas of what good manuscripts should be. If a writer
could not do their work the way they wanted it done he was not long in
getting his _conge_. In the case of the story mentioned above, it was
returned, rewritten, and made to conform to Mr. Perkins' ideas.
On Jan. 9 Harte & Perkins had written Edwards:
"It is more than apparent that the library business is not very
flourishing, and hereafter we shall only be able to pay $40 for these
stories. I think this will be satisfactory to you, for I know you can
do this class of work very rapidly."
This meant a loss of $10 a week, and Edwards endeavored to make up
for it by increasing his output. Particularly he wanted a chance to
write another "Stella Edwards" story, just to show the firm that he
could do the work. Mr. Harte gave him an order for the serial, stating
that the new story was to follow "The Bicycle Belle," then running
in _The Weekly Guest_. The story was to be in twelve installments of
5,250 words each, totalling some 63,000 words. For this Edwards was to
receive $200. This hint was given him:
"Have plenty of romance, without too great extravagance, and make
sure of at least one wedding and that in the beginning of the story."
With the order came a picture which it was desired to use in
illustrating the opening installment. Edwards was to write the
installment around the picture. He completed the story, called it
"Little Bluebell," and received the following commendation after two
installments had been received and read:
"I have just finished reading the first two installments of your
story, 'Little Bluebell,' and I have to say that the same is entirely
satisfactory, unquestionably the best thing you have given us in this
line of work."
Although he was turning out Five-Cent Libraries, Stella Edwards
serials, short sketches for _Puck_ and stories for other publishers
than Harte & Perkins, Edwards was constantly on the alert for more
work in order to keep his stenographers busy. He asked Mr. Perkins for
orders for the Ten-Cent Library, and for juvenile serials for the boys'
paper. He was allowed to send in some "Gentlemen Jim" stories for the
dime publication. The pay was not munificent, however, being only $50
for 37,000 words.
The "Little Bluebell" story was followed by another "Stella Edwards"
serial entitled "A Weird Marriage." This yarn hit the bull's-eye with
a bang. In fact, it was said to be the best thing ever done by "Stella
Edwards." And then, after scoring these two successive hits, Edwards
tripped on a third story called "Beryl's Lovers," and he fell so hard
that it was ten years before the firm ever asked him to do any more
writing in that line.
In the Fall of 1895 Edwards discovered that he had been working too
hard. A doctor examined his lungs, declared that he was threatened
with tuberculosis and ordered him to the Southwest. In November he and
his wife left Chicago, Edwards carrying with him his typewriter and
a plentiful supply of typewriter paper. He transformed a stateroom
in the compartment sleeper into his Fiction Factory, finishing two
installments of the ill-fated "Beryl's Lovers" while enroute.
These installments, forwarded from Phoenix, Arizona, by express, went
into a wreck at Shoemaker, Kansas, and were delivered to Harte &
Perkins, torn and illegible, two weeks after the story had been taken
over by another writer. Edwards filed a claim against the express
company for $300, and then compromised for $50--all the express people
were liable for by the terms of their receipt.
From November, 1895, until April, 1896, Edwards was located on a ranch
near Phoenix, Arizona, writing Five-Cent Libraries for Harte & Perkins
and sketches and short stories for other publishers. His health was
steadily declining, and he could bring himself to his work only by a
supreme effort of the will and at the expense of much physical torture.
In May, 1896, he was told that he must get farther away from the
irrigated districts around Phoenix and into the arid hills. To this end
he interested himself in a gold mine, and went East to form a company
and secure the necessary capital to purchase and develop it.
About the middle of July he returned to Phoenix, still writing
but hoping for golden rewards from the mining venture which would
ultimately make his writing less of a business and more of a pastime.
His health continued to decline and he was ordered to give up writing
entirely and exercise constantly in the open. He at once telegraphed
Harte & Perkins to this effect. On Oct. 13 they wrote:
"We have heard nothing from you since receipt of your telegram to
take all work out of your hands. This, of course, we attended to at
once, but on your account, as well as our own, we were very sorry to
learn that you found it necessary to give up the work, and trust that
the illness from which you are suffering will not be lasting.... If,
in future, you should be able to write again, we shall try to find a
place for your work."
So the old firm and Edwards parted for a time. A few weeks proved the
mining venture a failure, and $10,000 which Edwards had put away out
of the profits of his writing had vanished--gone to make the failure
memorable. Nor had his health returned.
In some desperation, just before New Year's of '97, Mr. and Mrs.
Edwards entrained for New York, Edwards pinning his hopes to Harte &
Perkins. He had less than $100 to his name when he and his wife reached
the metropolis.
One hundred dollars will not carry a man and his wife very far in New
York, even when both are in good health and the man can work. Ambition
alone kept Edwards alive and gave him hope for the future.
The Factory out-put for 1895:
3 Five-Cent Libraries at $50 each $ 150.
29 Five-Cent Libraries at $40 each 1160.
2 Detective stories at $40 each 80.
2 Ten-Cent Library stories at $50 each 100.
"Little Bluebell," serial 200.
"A Weird Marriage," 300.
---------
$ 1990.
Detroit Free Press, Contributions 22.
---------
Total $ 2012.
For 1896:
24 Five-Cent Libraries at $40 each $ 960.
Short fiction 71.50
--------
Total $ 1031.50
For cold brutality perhaps the rejection slip worded as below is
unequalled:
We are sorry to return your paper, but you have .
Respectfully yours,
The Editor.
* * * * *
Before Mr. Karl Edwin Harriman, of The Red Book, had ventured into
the editorial end of the writing trade, he wrote an article on an
order from a certain Eastern magazine. Later, that magazine decided
that it could not use the article, although it had been paid for,
and, with Mr. Harriman's permission, turned it over to an agent to
market elsewhere.
The agent, not knowing Mr. Harriman had associated himself with a
certain magazine, sent the manuscript to that publication, in the
ordinary way.
It was up to Mr. Harriman, then, to consider it in an editorial
capacity. He was unable to purchase the manuscript, and returned it
to the agent with a reproof for having submitted such an article, and
indicating that the author had a great deal to learn before he could
feel justified in seeking a market among the best known magazines.
IX.
RAW MATERIAL
Where does the writer get his plot-germs, the raw material which
he puts through the mill of his fancy and finally draws forth as a
finished and salable product? Life is a thing of infinite variety,
and the plot-germ is a thing of Life or it is nothing. Being a mere
basic suggestion of the story, the germs must come from the author's
experience, or from the experiences of others which have been brought
to his attention. Unconsciously the germ lodges in his mind, and his
ingenuity, handling other phases of existence, works out the completed
plot.
It follows that the richer an author's experience and the more ardent
his imagination the better will be the plot evolved, providing his
fine sense of values has been adequately cultivated. But no matter how
adventurous and varied a personal experience, or how warm the fancy, or
how highly cultivated the mind in its adaptation of fact to fiction,
the experience of others compels attention if a writer's work is to be
anything more than self-centered.
Newspapers, chronicling the everyday events of human existence, have
not only suggested countless successful plot-germs but have likewise
helped in the rounding out of the plot. An editor wrote Edwards,
as long ago as March 30, 1893: "What we require in our stories is
something written up to date, with incidents new and original.
The daily press is teeming with this raw material." This fact is
universally recognized, so that very few authors neglect to avail
themselves of this source of inspiration.
As a case in point, a few years ago one noted author was accused
of appropriating the work of another noted author. Plagiarism
was seemingly proved by evoking the aid of the deadly parallel.
Nevertheless the evidence was far from being conclusive. Each author
had done no more than build a similar story upon the same newspaper
clipping! Neither was in the wrong. No one writer has a monopoly of
the facts of life, or of the right to use those facts as they filter
through columns of the daily press.
Fortunately for Edwards, he realized the value of newspaper clippings
very early in his writing career. Twenty-five years ago he began to
scissor and to put away those clippings which most impressed him. Until
late in the year 1893 his clipping collection was either pasted in
scrap-books or thrown loosely into a large box. During the winter of
1893-4 he felt the necessity of having the raw material of his Factory
stored more systematically. The services of an assistant were secured
and the work was begun.
Large manila envelopes were used. The envelopes were lettered
alphabetically, and each clipping was filed by title. On the back of
each envelope was typed the title of its contents.
This method was found to be wholly unsatisfactory. Frequent examination
had given Edwards a fair working knowledge of his thousands of
clippings, but he was often obliged to go through a dozen or more
envelopes before finding the particular article whose title had escaped
him.
In 1905 he bought a loose-leaf book and tried out a new system on an
accumulation of several thousand magazines. This indexing was done
in such a way as to suggest the character of the clipping (written
in red), and the title of the article, the page number and number of
the magazine (written in black). All the magazines had been numbered
consecutively and placed on convenient shelves. The first page of "W,"
for instance, appeared as shown below:
_Washington_ "A Job in the Senate" 771-3
_Wild Animal Story_ "The Rebellion of a Millionaire" 477-4
_Washington, Booker T._ "Riddle of the Negro" 519-4
_White Cross_ "Work of the American W. C." 129-5
_Waitress_ "Diary of an Amateur W." 543-6
_Wall Street_ "The Shadow of High Finance" 336-8
_Woman Suffrage_ "Worlds Half-Citizens" 411-8
_Woman_ "How to Make Money" 495-9
The above is only part of one of many pages of W's, and will serve to
exemplify the advantages and disadvantages of the system in practical
use. For instance, if it was desired to find out something about Booker
T. Washington, all that was necessary was to take down old magazine No.
4 and turn to page 519.
This manifestly was an improvement over the old envelope method of
indexing, but still left much to be desired. To illustrate, if Edwards
wished to exhaust his material on Booker T. Washington it was necessary
for him to hunt through all the pages under "W," and then examine all
the magazines containing the articles in which he was mentioned. It is
patent that if the indexing were properly done, every reference having
to do with Booker T. Washington should follow a single reference to
him in the index; and, further, the various articles should be grouped
together.
Two years later, Edwards discarded the loose-leaf for the card system.
This, he found, was as near perfection as could be hoped for.