the late Col. Prentiss Ingraham was one of the giants. These "ready
writers" thought nothing of turning out a thousand words of original
matter in an hour, in the days when the click of the typewriter
was unknown, and of keeping it up until a novel of 70,000 words
was easily finished in a week. But to Col. Ingraham belongs the
unique distinction of having composed and written out a complete
story of 35,000 words with a fountain pen, between breakfast and
breakfast. His equipment as a writer of stories for boys was most
varied and valuable, garnered from his experience as an officer in
the Confederate army, his service both on shore and sea in the Cuban
war for independence, and in travels in Mexico, Austria, Greece and
Africa. But he is best known and will be most loyally remembered
for his Buffalo Bill tales, the number of which he himself scarcely
knew, and which possessed peculiar value from his intimate personal
friendship with Col. Cody.
XXI.
A WRITER'S
READING
That old Egyptian who put above the door of his library these words,
"Books are the Medicines of the Soul," was wise indeed. But the Wise,
ever since books have been made, have harped on the advantage of good
literature, and have said all there is to be said on the subject a
thousand times over. If one has any doubts on this point let him
consult a dictionary of quotations. No intelligent person disputes
the value of books; and it should be self-evident that no writer,
whose business is the making of books, will do so. To the writer books
are not only "medicines for the soul" but tonics for his technique,
febrifuges for his rhetorical fevers and prophylactics for the
thousand and one ills that beset his calling. A wide course of general
reading--the wider the better--is part of the fictionist's necessary
equipment; and of even more importance is a specializing along the
lines of his craft.
"Omniverous reader" is an overworked term, but it is perfect in its
application to Edwards. From his youth up he has devoured everything
in the way of books he could lay his hands on. The volumes came
hap-hazard, and the reading has been desultory and, for the most part,
without system. If engaged on a railroad story, he reads railroad
stories; if a tale of the sea claims his attention, then his pabulum
consists of sea-facts and fiction, and so on. The latest novel is a
passion with him, and he would rather read a story by Jack London, or
Rex Beach, or W. J. Locke than eat or sleep--or write something more
humble although his very own. He is fond of history, too, and among the
essayists he loves his Emerson. Nothing so puts his modest talents in a
glow as to bring them near the beacon lights of Genius.
Edwards has a library of goodly proportions, but it is a hodge-podge
of everything under the sun. Thomas Carlyle "keeps company" with Mary
Johnston on his bookshelves, Marcus Aurelius rubs elbows with Frank
Spearman, "France in the Nineteenth Century" nestles close to "The
Mystery" from the firm of White & Adams, and four volumes of Thackeray
are cheek by jowl with Harland's "The Cardinal's Snuff-Box." A most
reprehensible method of book keeping, of course, but to Edwards it
is a delightful confusion. To him the method is reprehensible only
when he wants a certain book and has to spend half a day looking for
it. Some time, some blessed time--he has promised himself for years
and years,--he will catalogue his books just as he has catalogued his
clippings.
Books that concern themselves with the writer's trade are many, so
many that they may be termed literally an embarrassment of riches.
If a writer had them all he would have more than he needed or could
use. Books on the short story by J. Berg Eisenwein and James Knapp
Reeve, Edwards considers indispensable. They are to be read many times
and thoroughly mastered. "Roget's Thesaurus" is a work which Edwards
consulted until it was dogeared and coverless; he then presented it to
an impecunious friend with a well-defined case of _writeritis_ and has
since contented himself with the large "Thesaurus Dictionary of the
English Language," by F. A. March, LL. D. This flanks him on the left,
as he sits at his typewriter, while Webster's "Unabridged" closes him
in on the right. The Standard Dictionary is also within reach. Dozens
and dozens of books about writers and writing have been read and are
now gathering dust. After a writer has once charged himself to the
brim with "technique," he should cease to bother about it. If he has
read to some purpose his work will be as near technical perfection
as is necessary, for unconsciously he will follow the canons of the
art; while if he loads and fires these "canons" too often, they will
be quite apt to burst and blow him into that innocuous desuetude
best described as "mechanical." He should exercise all the freedom
possible within legitimate bounds, and so acquire individuality and
"style"--whatever that is.
No sane man in any line of trade or manufacturing will attempt to
do business without subscribing to one or more papers or magazines
covering his particular field. He wants the newest labor-saving
wrinkle, the latest discoveries, tips on new markets, facts as to what
others in the same business are doing, and countless other fresh and
pertinent items which a good trade paper will furnish. A writer is such
a man, and he needs tabulated facts as much as any other tradesman or
manufacturer. Periodicals dealing with the trade of authorship are few,
but they are helpful to a degree which it is difficult to estimate.
From the beginning of his work Edwards has made it a point to acquire
every publication that dealt with the business of his Fiction Factory.
In early years he had _The Writer_, and then _The Author_. When these
went the way of good but unprofitable things, THE EDITOR fortunately
happened along, and proved incomparably better in every detail.
From its initial number THE EDITOR has been a monthly guest at the
Factory, always cordially welcomed and given a place of honor. Guide,
counsellor and friend--it has proved to be all these.
Edwards subscribes heartily to that benevolent policy known as "the
helping hand." Furthermore, he tries to live up to it. What little
success he has had with his Fiction Factory he has won by his own
unaided efforts; but there were times, along at the beginning, when he
could have avoided disappointment and useless labor if some one who
knew had advised him. Realizing what "the helping hand" might have done
in his own case, he has always felt the call to extend it to others.
Assistance is useless, however, if a would-be writer hasn't something
to say and doesn't know how to say it. Another who has had some success
may secure the novice a considerate hearing, but from that on the
matter lies wholly with the novice himself. If he has it in him, he
will win; if he hasn't, he will fail. Edwards' first advice to those
who have sought his help has invariably been this: "Subscribe to THE
EDITOR." In nearly every instance the advice has been taken, and with
profitable results.
This same advice is given here, should the reader stand in need of
a proper start along the thorny path of authorship. Nor is it to be
construed in any manner as an advertisement. It is merely rendering
justice where justice is due, and is an honest tribute to a publication
for writers, drawn from an experience of twenty-two years "in the
ranks."
XXII.
NEW SOURCES
OF PROFIT
The out-put of the Fiction Factory brought excellent returns during
the years 1908 and 1909. Industry followed close on the heels of
opportunity and the result was more than gratifying. The 1908
product consisted of forty-four nickel novels for Harte & Perkins,
two novelettes for _The Blue Book_, four serials for the Munsey
publications, and one novelette for _The People's Magazine_. This work
alone would have carried the receipts well above those of the preceding
year, but new and unexpected sources of profit helped to enlarge the
showing on the Factory's books.
The rapidity with which Edwards wrote his serial stories--sometimes
under the spur of an immediate demand from his publishers, and
sometimes under the less relentless spur of personal necessity--seemed
to preclude the possibility of profit on a later publication "in
cloth." Only a finished performance is worthy of a durable binding.
Realizing this, Edwards had never made a determined effort to interest
book-publishers in the stories. In the ordinary course of affairs, and
with scarcely any attention on his part, two serials found their way
into "cloth." "Danny W.," accepted and brought out by Dodd, Mead & Co.,
was written for book publication, and serialized after it had appeared
in that form. It fell as far short of a "best seller" as did the two
republished serials.
Nevertheless, in spite of the fact that additional profit through
publication in cloth seemed out of the question, Edwards wondered if
there were not something else to be gained from the stories besides the
serial rights.
His stories were dramatic and, in several instances, had appealed to
play-writers. For a time he had hopes that dramatic rights might prove
a source of additional income. His hopes, in this respect, have not
been completely dashed, inasmuch as competent hands are at this date
(September, 1911) fitting some of his stories for the stage. Something
may come of it, but his experience has made him wary and he is not at
all sanguine.
Eliminating book and dramatic rights from the equation, and what
remained? A letter from Waltham, Mass., dated April 23, 1908, uncovered
possibilities of which Edwards had never dreamed. Most of these
possibilities, as it transpired, _were_ a dream, but, as in the matter
of dramatic rights, some day the dream may come true in a large and
substantial manner. Here is the letter:
"Dear Sir:
If you have not yet disposed of the sole and unrestricted rights
of translation into the GERMAN language of your books: 'The
Billionaire's Dilemma' and 'The Shadow of the Unknown,' will you
permit me to submit them to my GERMAN correspondents--some of the
best known GERMAN PUBLISHERS--with the idea of effecting a sale?
I shall require a single copy of 'The Billionaire's Dilemma,' but
not of 'The Shadow of the Unknown' having preserved the story as it
appeared first in the POPULAR,[J] to send abroad, with a statement of
the best terms you will make for the _cash out-right purchase of both
book and serial rights_.
If the serial rights of translation in GERMAN belong to the POPULAR,
you will have to come to a satisfactory understanding with them,
in order to legally assign to me the SERIAL, as well as your own
individual, book-rights, because all GERMAN publishers insist on
serial rights, although they seldom or never use them, as MAGAZINES
are not good and little used there.
My experience has been, that the MAGAZINE COMPANIES are very broad in
their treatment of their writers, and usually willing to re-transfer
their SERIAL rights of translation, in order to facilitate a sale,
and make them universally known.
Of course less is paid for translation rights of stories that have
only appeared in SERIAL form in the STATES.
If any of the publishers I represent purchases your stories, you
have the best possible guarantee of perfect translation and speedy
publication.
Awaiting the courtesy of an early reply and the necessary copy of
'The Billionaire's Dilemma,' I have the honor to be, dear Sir,
Yours very truly,
"Eugene Niemann."[K]
Several guns were fired during this invasion of Germany, but only
one shell "went home." This was not the fault of Mr. Niemann. In
Edwards' brief experience with him he found him always a scholar and
a gentleman. Sincerity and courtesy were his never-failing traits.
The pleasant little twists he gave his English, and the occasional
naive expression that struggled through his typewriter, along with the
prodigal use of "caps," will perhaps excuse a further offering from the
correspondence. Here is the shot that hit the mark:
"May 12, 1908.
"Dear Sir:--
Before I have even had time to forward 'The Billionaire's Dilemma'
and 'On the Stroke of Four', and to await your other announced
stories, a letter comes from one of my German correspondents, saying
he had run through your short story: 'The Shadow of the Unknown' and
would purchase the rights of translation if you will accept an offer
of FORTY DOLLARS.
Perhaps you will say, "such an offer is absurd," but first let me
state to you, that the best books placed in GERMANY bring at the most
ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS, and oftener anywhere from FIFTY to ONE HUNDRED,
that the chief profit, is not a monetary one, rather the spreading
of the writer's name and fame.
'The Shadow of the Unknown,' writes the publisher, is a very short
story, and if you will be guided by my long experience, dear Sir,
you will accept the offer, in order to make our name popular and
facilitate a better sale of your following stories, which I shall
take double pleasure in forwarding, feeling surer of a good offer.
Were I guilty of business indiscretion, you would be surprised
to know the names of the already published 'BOOKS' I have sold
and am daily selling the GERMAN rights of, for hardly a monetary
consideration at all, and yet the literary satisfaction quite
out-balances all other considerations, does it not?
I enclose the customary form of assignment, which you can sign and
have duly witnessed by a NOTARY PUBLIC, if you see fit to accept the
offer, and which you will please then send me per AMERICAN EXPRESS C.
O. D. subject to examination to avoid every possible chance of error.
The personal receipt need not be signed before the NOTARY PUBLIC,
your signature without witness suffices.
Hoping to do much better for you with your other fine stories and
appreciating your confidence, I remain, dear Sir,
Very truly yours,
"EUGENE NIEMANN."
After the dust had settled, and the invasion was finally completed,
$40 had been added to the year's receipts of the Fiction Factory; but
Edwards clings to the hope that some day more of his "fine stories" may
be greedily bought by the German publishers. These German publishers
are honorable enough to buy, where they might pirate, and there are a
few American publishers who might take lessons from them in business
probity. With a small tidbit from a letter of May 18, the pleasant Mr.
Niemann will be dismissed:
"Later, with your permission, I will take up the stories I sell in
GERMANY for sale in FRANCE, DENMARK, NORWAY and SWEDEN?
The monetary remuneration in the SCANDINAVIAN countries is yet
smaller than in GERMANY, but the people are fine readers, and that
for all, who truly LOVE their ART is the chief standpoint I take it?!"
During the latter part of July and the earlier part of August Edwards
was in New York for a couple of weeks. As usual when in the city he
worked even harder than he did at home. Two nickel novels were written,
a serial was put through the Factory for Mr. Davis, and he collected
$200 for a novelette which he sold to _People's_. There was an
interesting, almost a humorous, circumstance connected with the serial.
Edwards called the story "The Man Who Left." When the manuscript was
completed he took it in to Mr. Davis, and two or three days later
called again to learn its fate.
The Munsey offices are up close to the roof in the Flatiron building.
The lair of the editor who presides over the destinies of _The
All-Story Magazine_, _The Railroad Man's Magazine_ and _The Scrap
Book_[L] is flanked on one side by a prospect of space that causes
the occasional caller to hang on to his chair. Across from this dizzy
void is a partition hung with framed photographs of contributors--a
rogues' gallery in which Edwards, when he last saw the collection,
had a prominent place. North of an imaginary line drawn between the
window and the partition sits the editor, grimly prominent against a
motto-covered wall. As the caller faces the editor he is, of course,
confronted by placards reminding him that "This is My Busy Day--Cut it
Short," and "Find A Man for the Job not A Job for the Man," and others
cunningly calculated to put him on tenterhooks.
To this place, therefore, came Edwards, proffering inquiries about "The
Man Who Left." He read fateful things in the august countenance, and
he was not surprised when Mr. Davis handed him a lemon, but he _was_
surprised when he took the lemon back.
"Rotten," said Mr. Davis, "r-r-rotten! When I'm out for peaches,
Edwards, I side-step the under-ripe persimmons. 'The Man Who Left'
ought to have made his get-away along about line one, paragraph one,
chapter one; and then if he had staid out plumb to the place where you
have written 'Finis' this gorgeous but unconvincing tale would have
been vastly improved. Am I a Jasper that you seek thus to inveigle me
into purchasing a gold-brick? Here, take it away! Now let me have it
again. I am going to give you three hundred for it and tuck it away in
the strong-box. Later you are to evolve, write and otherwise put upon
paper a fictional prize for which 'The Man Who Left' will be returned
to you in even exchange. Do you get me? 'Nuff said. I think you're out
of mazuma, and that's why I'm doing this. My friends'll ruin me yet!"
Now the humor, if there is any, fits in about here: Edwards went back
to Michigan and wrote a serial which he sent on to replace "The Man Who
Left." Here is the letter in reply:
My dear Edwards:
While I was away on my vacation, some one spilled a pitcher of
milk. In other words, they put "The Man Who Left" to press for _The
All-Story Magazine_, and it is now too late to yank it back. That's
the trouble of leaving anything in the safe that should not be there.
You and I, however, being practical men, can understand the facility
with which the yarn was nabbed up.
Now, the point is, I can use the "Mydus" yarn and get a check off
to you next week, provided I have some basis on which to operate.
What's the lowest price for which you will give me 'Mydus,' call
all previous arrangements equal, and let things stand as they are.
The way to trim me and square accounts is to come back with a quick,
short, sharp, cheap reply, and let it go at that.
Hurry up this 'Mydus' business and we'll see what we can do.
Sincerely yours,
"R. H. DAVIS."
The spilling of that "pitcher of milk" while Mr. Davis was away on his
vacation had netted Edwards just an even $300.
Another source of profit from the serial stories which the Fiction
Factory had been turning out for years was revealed to Edwards in
a letter dated Nov. 19, 1908. This, like the matter of translation
rights, came to Edwards as a pleasant surprise; but, unlike the "German
invasion," it was to prove vastly more profitable. Here is the letter:
"Dear Sir:
Upon looking over the files of _The Argosy_ we find that you have
written the following serial stories. Are the book rights of these
your property? If not, can you get Mr. Munsey to give them to you? If
you can, and will lengthen the stories to about 75,000 words, we will
pay you $100 each for the paper book rights of same.
We cannot offer you more, as we would put these out in cheap
paper edition, but this publication would do a great deal toward
popularizing your name and work with the class of readers who buy
_The Argosy_ and other fiction magazines.
The stories are as follows: (Here were listed the titles of seven
_Argosy_ serials.)
Very truly yours,
"STREET & SMITH."
Edwards caught at this opportunity. He failed to realize, at the
time, just how much work was involved in lengthening the stories for
paper-book publication. In his reply to Street & Smith he offered a
list of forty-five serials, and promised others if they could use
so many. He was requested, on Dec. 4, to forward copies of all the
stories for reading. The same letter contained this paragraph:
"I note that your letter is dated December 2nd and that you state you
expect to be in New York inside of three weeks. I think it might be
to our mutual advantage if you could come on in a week or ten days,
for there is a new line of work which I think you could do for us
about which I would like to talk with you."
Just before Christmas Edwards and his wife arrived in New York. On some
of the serials which had appeared in the Munsey magazines Edwards owned
all but serial rights, but there were many more wherein all rights were
held by the publishers.
The folly of a writer's selling all rights when disposing of a story
for serial publication dawned upon Edwards very strongly, at this
time. The conviction was driven "home" at a little dinner which
Edwards tendered to several editors and readers. During the course of
the dinner one of the guests--an editor in charge of a prominent and
popular magazine--averred bluntly that "any writer who sells all rights
to a story to a magazine using the story serially, is a fool."
With Edwards this sale of all rights had resulted from carelessness
more than anything else, and had he not been dealing with friends
like Mr. White and Mr. Davis he might have suffered financial loss
because of his folly. Two or three interviews with Mr. Davis secured
the paper-book rights, but with the understanding that if any of the
lengthened stories were brought out in cloth, one-half of the royalties
were to go to The Munsey Company.
In the whole list there were only seven stories long enough for
immediate issue in paper-book form. These were paid for, at once.
The other stories fell short of the required number of words all
the way from 5,000 to 30,000 words. There was no profit to Edwards
in lengthening the stories at the price of $100 each. What benefit
he derived--and is now deriving, for the work continues--was in the
advertising which the wide circulation of the paper-covered books
afforded him. Also, Edwards considered the value of cementing his
friendship with the old-established publishing house of Street & Smith,
a house noted for the fairness of its dealings with contributors and
for the prompt payment for all material upon acceptance. "Making good"
with publishers of such high standing is always of inestimable value to
a writer.
One of Street & Smith's editors, at this time, was St. George
Rathborne, author of "Dr. Jack" and dozens of other popular stories
that have appeared in paper covers. Here was another author who had
become an editor, bringing to his duties an experience and ability
that made for the highest success. Mr. C. A. MacLean, another member
of the Street & Smith editorial staff, was also a gentleman with whom
Edwards had occasional dealings. Mr. MacLean, beginning at the lowest
rung of the ladder, had mounted steadily to the post of editor of
_The Popular Magazine_ and _Smith's Magazine_, by sheer force of his
own merit pushing those publications to the forefront of magazines of
their class. To these gentlemen, and particularly to Mr. Rathborne,[M]
Edwards is indebted for unfailing kindness and courtesy, and takes this
means to acknowledge it.
The special work which was mentioned in Street & Smith's letter of
Nov. 19 consisted of a new weekly publication for which Edwards was to
furnish the copy. Seventy-five dollars each was to be paid for these
stories.
With all this work ahead of the Fiction Factory, the year 1909 dawned
in a blaze of prosperity. During 1909 Edwards found himself so busy
with the paper-books and the other publication that he had no time
for serial stories. After thirty-four issues the new publication was
discontinued, and Edwards went back to writing novels for Harte &
Perkins, at $60 each.
During 1909 Edwards tried his hand at moving pictures. The alluring
advertisements under the scare-head, "We Pay $10 to $100 for Picture
Plays," caught his eye and fired his ambition. He wrote a scenario,
sent it in, and waited expectantly for his $100. He had been only two
hours preparing the "photoplay" and it looked like "easy money." When
the check arrived it was for $10! He wrote in to ask what had become of
the remaining $90? Thus answered The Vitagraph Company of America, Oct.
27, '09:
"In regard to the payment for a manuscript of this character, we
never give more than ten dollars, for two or three reasons.
In the first place, we only use the idea. The manuscript has to be
revised in almost every instance in order to put it in practical
shape for the directors.
Again, they contain an idea which is more or less stereotyped or
conventional and cannot be claimed as entirely original only as
applied to the action of the play.
Regarding your own idea, I will frankly say that the same idea has
often been embodied in other plays, but the general suggestion of it
gives a new phase to the action of the idea.
THE EDITOR merely surmises, or so we think, that a thoroughly
original manuscript in practical shape would be worth at least $25,
but we seldom get one of that kind. We would welcome one at any time
and would pay its full value.