except that of believing that a certain mood is necessary for writing.
Ninety-nine hundredths of the best literary work is done by men who
write to live, who know that they must write, and who do write, whether
the weather is fine or rainy, whether they like their breakfast or not,
whether they are hot or cold, whether they are in love, happily or
unhappily, with women or themselves. Of course, a man who has lived by
his pen for years, finds out by experience the hours for working which
suit him best; but a beginner should be methodical. He should go to his
desk as any other workman goes to his work, after breakfast; rest and
eat in the middle of the day, and work again in the afternoon. He should
never begin by writing at night, unless he is obliged to do so. He
will, of course, often sit at the table for an hour or more without
writing a word, but if he will only think conscientiously of what he
meant to do, he will find the way to do it. The evening is the time to
read, and the night is the time to sleep."[48]
This dependence on genius and inspiration is one of the reasons why
the world is so full of unliterary writers, and why so many of real
talent fail of success. It is very easy, in the flush of composition,
to consider yourself gifted above your fellows, and to go on writing
reams of bosh that even you would despise, if you could view it with
an unprejudiced eye; and it is equally easy to persuade yourself that
anything that comes from your pen must be incapable of improvement,
and that if your writings sell, you have reached the goal. But either
delusion is fatal. In short, "inspiration" and all its attendant
follies are but the conventional accompaniments of literary toil,
which may be affected by the _dilettante_ for the furthering of his
pretense at art, but which have no place in the thoughts or plans of
the serious worker.
Such inspiration as you may need to keep your work fresh and artistic
will come to you from the zeal and interest with which you approach your
task. If you go to it half-heartedly, lazy in body and mind, and ready
at the first opportunity to put it all off till the morrow, you will
accomplish little, then or ever; but if, on the contrary, you will
square yourself to your writing as to a physical labor, and will
concentrate all the powers and energies of your mind upon the work in
hand, the very force of your will and your desire will create within you
an enthusiasm which will be of far more practical value to you than any
cheap inspiration drawn from some Parnassian spring. You can, in fact,
by this very business-like method of working, create on demand a species
of inspiration, or mental vigor, which will enable you, not exactly to
dash off a masterpiece with no real effort on your part, but to achieve
by actual labor those things which you desire to do. There is much, too,
in going to your work regularly, even as a carpenter to his bench; for
the mental processes that produce good short stories are capable of
cultivation and control; and, like all functions of the brain, they
approach the nearest to perfection when they fall into something of a
routine of habit. Indeed, they may be so far regulated that at the
usual hour for their exercise they will be not only active but urgent,
so that you will go to your work with an appetite as hearty as that with
which you welcome the dinner hour.
Do not be afraid of the manual labor of authorship--the writing and
rewriting, the testing and correcting, the persistent and thorough
"licking into shape" which gives the final polish to your work. Never
send an editor a penciled, smutched, and disorderly MS., with a note
saying, "I just dashed this off last night and send it right on." Such
work is foredoomed to failure. But when your story is finished lay it
away without even reading it over and let it get "cold;" leave it for a
week, or two weeks, or even longer if possible--don't even think of it;
then bring it forth and read it over carefully and critically, take your
blue pencil, harden your heart, and rework it ruthlessly. In the first
draft you are bound to slight certain places or to make certain errors,
which you would correct in the course of a careful revision. There will
be some half-formed thought which will need elaboration, or some word
which was not quite the right one, but which you let pass lest you lose
your train of thought; and there is almost sure to be some wordiness
which will need cutting away.
"For, if the practice of composition be useful, the laborious work of
correcting is no less so: it is indeed absolutely necessary to our
reaping any benefit from the habit of composition. What we have written
should be laid by for some little time, till the ardor of composition be
past, till the fondness for the expressions we have used be worn off,
and the expressions themselves be forgotten; and then reviewing our work
with a cool and critical eye, as if it were the performance of another,
we shall discern many imperfections which at first escaped us. Then is
the right season for pruning redundances; for weighing the arrangement
of sentences; for attending to the junctures and connecting particles;
and bringing style into a regular, correct, and supported form. This
'_Limae Labor_' must be submitted to by all who communicate their
thoughts with proper advantage to others; and some practice in it will
soon sharpen their eye to the most necessary objects of attention, and
render it a much more easy and practicable work than might at first be
imagined."[49]
It is this last careful, minute testing and polishing which will
determine whether or no you are serious in your endeavor to break into
literature, for here the real labor of authorship begins. All that went
before was simply child's play compared to this grubbing, plodding,
tinkering, and patching, and pottering; so if you have no stomach for
this, you had better learn a trade. "Whatever you do, take pains with
it. Try at least to write good English: learn to criticise and correct
your work: put your best into every sentence. If you are too lazy and
careless to do that, better go into a trade or politics: it is easier to
become a Congressman or millionaire than a real author, and we have too
many bad story-tellers as it is."[50] If you will pursue this labor of
revision courageously you will speedily find an improvement in the
quality of your finished work. You will also find that your manuscripts
need less after attention, for the lessons learned in these careful
re-workings will be unconsciously applied during composition.
"From the alphabetic slovenliness which will not form its letters
legibly nor put in its commas, to the lack of self-acquaintance which
results in total disability to judge one's own products, it is too
constantly in evidence that those who aspire to feed other minds are
themselves in need of discipline.... It is within bounds to say that not
one accepted manuscript out of ten is fit to go to the printer as it
stands."[51] Do not be so lazy or so careless as to slight the little
things, the mere mechanical details, which go to make a perfect story
and a presentable manuscript. "There are several distinct classes of
errors to look for: faults of grammar, such as the mixing of figures of
speech. Faults of agreement of verbs and participles in number when
collective nouns are referred to. Faults of rhetoric, such as the mixing
of moods and tenses, and the taste, such as the use of words with a
disagreeable or misleading atmosphere about them, though their strict
meaning makes their use correct enough. Faults of repetition of the same
word in differing senses in the same sentence or paragraph. Faults of
tediousness of phrasing or explanation. Faults of lack of clearness in
expressing the exact meaning. Faults of sentimental use of language,
that is, falling into fine phrases which have no distinct meaning--the
most discordant fault of all. Faults of digression in the structure of
the story."[52]
Faults in grammar and rhetoric are too easily corrected to be allowed
to stand in the way of your success, and I have already showed you how
you may perfect yourself in these essentials. For they are essentials,
and so much more important than many young writers think, that I believe
I am perfectly safe in saying that no one who makes glaring rhetorical
or grammatical errors has ever written a successful short story. In
spelling, too, there is absolutely no excuse for errors; you surely know
if you are weak in this respect, and the use of even a small dictionary
will enable you to avoid mistakes. Every magazine has its own rules for
punctuation and paragraphing, in accordance with which an accepted MS.
is edited before it is given to the compositor; but that is no good
reason why you should neglect to prepare your MS. properly. The general
rules are few and easily understood, and they enable you to give your
work definite form and arrangement, and make it much more easy to read.
An editor who finds a MS. lacking in these lesser essentials will be apt
to throw it aside with but a superficial perusal, naturally judging that
it will also lack the higher attributes.
Finally, just before sending your story out for editorial
consideration, go over it once more with the utmost care and
painstakingly test every paragraph, every sentence, every word, to see
first if it is necessary, and second if it is right. If at any point you
find yourself questioning what you have written, do not call your work
complete until you have revised it, not only to your own satisfaction,
but so that you honestly feel that the reader, too, will be satisfied.
If you cannot at the time arrive at a satisfactory expression of your
thought, put the story aside for the time being and try again later when
you can come to it afresh. It is this unwearied labor which in the end
spells success.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 46: "Some Advice to Young Authors," by Edward Fawcett. _The
Independent._ May 14, '96.]
[Footnote 47: "Some Advice to Young Authors," by Edgar Fawcett. _The
Independent._ May 14, '96.]
[Footnote 48: "The Art of Authorship." Edited by George Bainton. Chapter
by F. Marion Crawford.]
[Footnote 49: "Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Letters," by Hugh Blair.
Lecture XIX.]
[Footnote 50: "Bad Story-Telling," by Frederick M. Bird. _Lippincott's._
Oct., '97.]
[Footnote 51: _Ibid._]
[Footnote 52: "How to Write Fiction." Anonymous. Bellaires & Co.,
London. Part II. Chapter IV.]
XIII
THE QUEST OF A MARKET
Even when his story is complete the writer has not yet come to the end
of his difficulties, for he has still to find a market for his work.
Since he is writing for publication, and not for the mere love of
composition, this quest of a market is an important matter, for by his
success in this respect the writer must judge his chances of ultimate
and material success as a short story writer. There is no disputing the
fact that good work will find acceptance eventually, but sometimes the
delay is so long that the writer almost loses hope. He usually goes
about marketing his wares in a haphazard fashion; and a warning word or
two at this point may enable him to remedy some of the mistakes which
may retard if not prevent the success of really meritorious work.
In the first place, then, consider your story honestly and without
prejudice, and make sure that it does deserve publication. Get an
unbiased opinion on it from some real critic, if you can, and give some
weight to what he says. Never, like many novices I have known, send out
a MS. with an accompanying note saying that you know your story is not
quite up to standard, and that you could improve it if you had the time,
but that you hope the editor will make an exception in your favor in
order to encourage you. Editors are not paid to do that sort of thing;
and if you yourself have not complete confidence in your story you have
no business to inflict it upon an editor. If you enter the profession of
story writing in that spirit you will fail, absolutely and deservedly,
to gain aught but rebuffs by your labors; and indeed, your labor will be
so slight and half hearted that you cannot honestly expect any
satisfactory return from it.
Emerson's advice, "Hitch your wagon to a star," is an excellent rule for
the young writer. With you literature may be a profession as well as an
art, but you should not permit yourself to be too easily satisfied with
material success. Do not be content just because you get your work
published, or because you are sure you write as well as some of your
contemporaries; always try to rise above the crowd and to be one of
the few who set the standard for the multitude. If your stories are
accepted by one magazine, try to "break into" another that is a little
more particular; if you succeed in one style of literature, try to win
laurels in a higher class of work. It is this constant striving that
brings ultimate success--financial and artistic. If you allow yourself
to be easily content with your work and your receipts therefrom, you
will speedily fall into a rut, become "old fogy" and dull, and one day
will find yourself with a desk full of rejected MSS., and no hope for
a brighter future.
At the same time, there are almost as many grades of stories as there
are publications using them, and with but few exceptions you may
endeavor to satisfy all tastes. A story which is too slight for a
high class magazine may be well adapted to the needs of a newspaper
syndicate; and though it would be fatal for you to take the newspaper
story for your standard, there can be no objection to your making
occasional contributions to that class of literature. Indeed, it is
probable that at the outset you will be forced to content yourself with
writing for syndicates and minor magazines, though you may aim for the
pages of the best monthlies: those old established publications are both
conservative and overstocked, and though they are ready enough to
examine MSS., they are slow to accept the work of a young writer. But
even among the few magazines which can be called first class there are
wide differences of opinion as to what constitutes a good story, and a
MS. which one will reject decidedly another may accept gladly. It is
your first business to acquaint yourself with the general style of the
magazine to which you desire to contribute; or, if your story is already
written, to make sure that its acceptance is not forbidden by the policy
of the publication to which you submit it. It is a waste of time and
postage to send a story of adventure to a magazine which publishes only
tales of love.
The timeliness, or seasonal appropriateness, of a story may have much
influence upon its success in the market. Each season of the year has
its peculiar literature, and editors in general place so much stress
upon timeliness that a glance at the contents of a magazine will often
tell you within a month of its date of issue. There are the blizzard
stories, which are due about January; and the vacation stories, which
begin to appear in July, and the stories of holly and mistletoe and
stockings, which come with the Christmas season. Likewise, we have
special stories for New Years', St. Valentine's Day, Washington's
Birthday, Easter, May Day, Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Thanksgiving,
and a host of minor special occasions. The plot and matter for these
stories of occasions are so trite and conventional that it is a wonder
that the reading public did not rebel against them long ago; but there
is a constant demand for such stories, and the writer who can give the
old plots some freshness is sure of a good market. Such stories should
always be submitted at least three months before they are to be used,
for special editions are compiled far in advance; but a story of this
character is always a marketable commodity and may be carried over
from year to year without deterioration.
Of a more ephemeral type are the stories whose timeliness depends upon
their coinciding with the current fashion in short stories. For there
are fashions in literature just as surely as in matters of dress, and
short stories are peculiarly subject to such changes. A few years ago
dialect was all the cry, and a story was judged and valued according
to the amount of unintelligible gibberish that it contained; before
that romantic adventure was most in demand; and still earlier it was
bald realism; at the time of writing (Spring of 1900) war stories hold
first place in popular esteem. The reason for the present style is
obvious, but in general these modes are difficult to explain and almost
impossible to forecast. Such stories contain no new plot, and for their
timeliness depend entirely upon the introduction of the current fashion,
whatever it may be; but they afford a grateful variety to the rather
monotonous run of light fiction. They also offer the up-to-date writer
unusual opportunities to gain editorial favor, for a story observant of
the current mode is sure of serious consideration.
You should make it a rule from the start never to give away a story for
the mere sake of seeing your name in print. What is worth writing and
publishing is worth being paid for. Don't let a publisher persuade you
that the appearance of your work in his journal will bring you a fame
and a name that will enable you to sell MSS. elsewhere. Every editor
knows how such a man gets his matter, and values his contributors
accordingly; and every publication which can assist you in your career
pays for whatever matter it uses. Besides, by giving away your stories
you injure the literary market, both for yourself and for your fellow
workers. If all writers resolutely declined to part with their work
except for a cash equivalent, those scheming editors would soon be
brought to time and forced to pay for matter to fill their columns.
Spare no pains to make your MSS. neat and legible. The fact that you
are as yet little known is undoubtedly against you; your mere name
has no power to exact a careful perusal of your story, and a judgment
in accordance with its merits; so it is your business to gain that
favor by making it easy for the editor. The question of legibility
sums up the whole tale. The average editor always has his desk piled
high with unsolicited MSS. from unknown writers which he must worry
through after a fashion, lest something really good should escape
him. He is conscientious enough, but he is always overworked, and he
has learned by experience to judge a MS. almost at a glance. If he
reads beyond the first page of your story, it is good evidence that
he found there something of merit, even though he finally reject it.
A penciled MS., or one that is written on both sides of the paper,
will hardly get a passing glance. Even a neat pen-written MS. will
fare little better, for to the editor a typewritten story means not
only easy reading but probably some experience on the part of the
author. Have your story typewritten, then, by some one who can put it
in presentable shape, so that it will look business like. For mailing
it is best to fold it as little as possible; the large legal
envelope, requiring two folds, is most used. Unless the MS. is bulky
or is on unusually small sheets, it is best to fold it at least once,
for if sent flat it usually arrives in a crumpled state. Never roll
it, under any circumstances, for a MS. once rolled can never be
smoothed out, and no editor will bother with it.
Make the letter accompanying your story as short and business like as
possible. Don't tell the editor your family history or relate how you
came to write the story; don't ask him for criticisms or suggestions;
say that you submit such a MS. subject to his approval, and give your
name and address. That is all he cares to know about you. Always enclose
stamps for return of MS.--or, better yet, a stamped and self-addressed
envelope; never be so small or so careless as to underpay the postage.
It is of course your privilege to put a price upon any matter that you
may submit for publication; but unless the magazine editorially requests
a set price I should advise you to leave that matter to the editor, and
to submit your work "at the usual rates." It is a peculiarity of the
literary business that usually the buyer rather than the seller makes
the terms, and until your name has a value you are hardly in position
to run counter to custom. Nor is it likely that you have had sufficient
experience to enable you to estimate your work justly. You need have
no fear of being cheated, for a reputable publishing house is always
willing to pay a fit price for suitable MSS.
It will do you no good to get a letter from some well known author or
public person recommending your work to the publisher; and it will often
do harm. Matter from novices is accepted on its merits alone, and no
amount of praise from a man of letters or an influential friend will
make your story one whit better than it was when you gave it the
finishing touches. The most such intercession can accomplish is a
perusal of your MS., and that you can yourself obtain if you will make
it presentable. If you imagine that an editor will be influenced in his
judgment by the words of an outsider, you are sadly mistaken--he is
far more apt to be prejudiced against you. He is an experienced and
competent man, who knows exactly what he wants, and who may naturally
be expected to resent any such impertinent interference with his work.
It seems a small thing for you to ask an editor to give you a
criticism on your work, and many a young writer has long cherished a
grudge against some editor who has totally ignored his urgent and
flattering request for a candid opinion. There is no question that
even a word from an editor would be of untold value to the novice;
but the novice has no idea what his request means. Every magazine is
at great expense for the employment of trained "readers" to pass upon
the unsolicited MSS. submitted to it, and the according of even a
word of criticism to each would at least double that expense. Then,
too, three-fourths of the MSS. submitted to any editor are such that
he could not honestly say anything good of them, and no editor cares
to go out of his way to hurt the feelings of the writer; nor would it
be policy for him to do so. Every time you submit a MS. to an editor
you are in a manner imposing on him, so be as easy on him as
possible. If you feel that you must have an expert opinion on
your work, send it to one of the literary bureaus which have been
established for just that purpose. They will give you a careful and
just criticism for the payment of a nominal fee.
Do not rest your hopes of success upon the fate of one MS. If you never
write a new story until its predecessor has been placed you cannot
possibly live long enough to win success. You should be constantly
turning out new stories, each one better than the last; or reworking an
old one whose faults you have just discovered; and you should keep the
mails loaded with your work. You can never have too many good stories on
the road.
Do not become impatient if you do not receive a check for your story
within a week after sending it out. The largest magazines usually
require three months and sometimes longer to report on a MS. If you
attempt to hurry the editorial decision you will probably receive your
MS. by return mail, unread.
It is advisable that you keep a MS. memorandum book of some sort, in
which you may record the journeyings of your MSS., so that you may know
where they have been and how long they have been away. You do not want
to send the same MS. to the same editor twice, nor to continue
submitting matter to a magazine which is already overstocked, or which
is careless in returning your work. If you trust to your memory, or to
some slip shod method, you will regret it in the end, for you will not
only lose many MSS., but you will be submitting your work in a
hit-or-miss fashion that is little likely to get it into the proper
hands. There are several books of this sort on the market, or you can
easily make one for yourself from an ordinary blank book. It may take
any form you please, but I would suggest that it should include spaces
for the number of words in the story and the postage required to carry
it, besides the publishers to whom it is submitted and the dates when it
is mailed and returned.
The rejection of your MS. by one or two editors should not discourage
you: you may try twelve editors and have the thirteenth accept it. It is
seldom indeed that it finds place where it is first submitted: it may
not just meet the ideals of that editor; or he may already have too much
matter on hand. If you believe the story is good, keep it going till it
has been the rounds: you may find that the dawn of success comes from
the point whence you least expected it.
APPENDIX
"THE AMBITIOUS GUEST"
(From Nathaniel Hawthorne's "Twice-Told Tales.")