[Sidenote: A practical point]
I feel a particular pleasure in writing this paper. In the articles
which have preceded mine, valuable hints have been given for the
guidance of the fictionist. Broad rules have been laid down, and some
of that personal experience, far more valuable than mere empty rules,
has been related for the benefit of the student. I have written stories
of all sorts, and can endorse the excellence of the suggestions given.
But in this paper I want to touch on a very practical point indeed,
namely, how best the fiction writer, when he has produced his work, can
dispose of it.
To effect this most desirable end, he has got to please either a
publisher or an editor. I have had a great deal to do with publishers,
and find them most kind and encouraging when they are approached in a
proper business spirit. But as I am not a publisher, and have been an
editor, I can perhaps best help my readers by telling them a few of my
own experiences during several years.
[Sidenote: Writing for magazines]
Articles of all sorts, written by all classes of people, are offered to
magazines. A comparatively small number are accepted, for the simple
reason that a magazine can only hold a certain amount of letter-press;
and not all the cramming and pushing and squeezing in the world will
allow an extra line to be printed, if the pages of the magazine are
already full.
This patent fact is quite forgotten by would-be contributors, who feel
themselves aggrieved when this most truthful reason is given for the
return of their articles. In exceptional cases of striking brilliancy
room of course is made for the article, but brilliant articles, like
brilliant people, interfere but seldom with the ordinary routine.
Magazines, however, are so numerous that the chances of average work
being accepted become greater day by day, and as there is no better
opening for a young writer than to become a contributor to a good
magazine, he ought to leave no stone unturned to effect this desirable
end. By so doing, he has the opportunity of having his work immediately
presented to an assured public. A book, however clever, has to find
its own public, and this—except in a few cases—is a slow and laborious
process. It is a mistaken idea that books are sold in thousands. This
is only the case with authors who have made a very wide reputation. The
magazine is, therefore, the best opening for the young writer, and the
sooner he knows the right way to set to work to get his articles taken,
the better.
[Sidenote: Pitfalls to avoid]
Primarily, of course, he _must_ have the necessary talent, or, at
least, the knack of gauging popular taste, but, granted that he
possesses this important gift, it is well for him to know certain
pitfalls into which he may stumble.
To quote from my own Editorial experience may be the best method of
showing some of these.
[Sidenote: Rejected contributions]
A contribution like the following was not accepted, although the author
had a great deal of learning, and other valuable qualifications to
recommend him. _An epic poem to run as a serial through six months
of the magazine—to occupy six pages monthly, printed double column;
the subject to be devoted to a description of Indian life._ For
quite different reasons the following proposal was also rejected—_a
series of six papers on “Rogues,” in which every type of wickedness
was elaborately discussed_. Neither of these subjects was in the
least suitable for the magazine to which they were offered, and the
writers who sent them made the grand mistake of knowing nothing of
the periodical to which they offered their contributions. Their work,
however excellent it may have been, was useless to us, and a glance at
our magazine would have told them this, for themselves.
[Sidenote: Different classes of contributors]
Another class of would-be contributor is the utterly silly person who
thinks that it would be great fun to have something in print, and
imagines that this desirable result can be attained with no labour
or previous study. On a certain summer’s afternoon, my co-editor and
I were startled by hearing violent giggles outside the office door.
Presently two blushing, rosy-faced girls entered. The spokeswoman said
she didn’t know our magazine at all—she had never written anything
before in her life, but she and her friend thought they would like
to make an attempt, if we would give them something to do. We were
to suggest a subject, they did not mind in the least what they wrote
about. I need scarcely say that the services of these accomplished
ladies were not secured.
[Sidenote: The obtuse]
The obtuse, though earnest-minded aspirant is also a hopeless example.
Her utter lack of perception as to what is necessary for periodical
literature makes it useless to argue with her, and hopeless to advise
her. I recall a case in point. I was asked to give advice on the
desirability of the applicant’s resigning a good post as resident
governess with a large salary, in favour of literature.
I inquired if she had had much experience as a writer, and if she had
been encouraged by the success of her books.
The lady in question stared at me with round eyes.
“I have never printed a word in my life,” she said; “but I am tired
of teaching, and should like to take up literature. I have brought a
little article with me, which you may care to see. The subject I am
sure ought to interest—it is on _Hamlet_.”
I gently begged my would-be contributor not to throw up the certainty
of earning a comfortable living as a governess until she had tested her
powers a little further. I promised to read her expositions on Hamlet,
and she withdrew. I need scarcely say what the result of my perusal was.
An amateur’s treatment of _Hamlet_ was scarcely likely to possess
anything fresh to recommend it. I was obliged to return the Paper with
the mildest of hints that this subject was rather used up. Why must
beginners in the great Art of Literature try to give their puny ideas
on those giant problems over which the greatest minds have thought
and puzzled, and thought and puzzled in vain? Nobody wants their poor
little ideas, which are after all only feeble reflections of the
thoughts of greater minds. Such papers are only suited for Amateur
Essay Societies.
[Sidenote: Three requisites]
Equally silly are the writers who choose _hackneyed topics_ that have
been discussed and worn threadbare years ago. Such is the writer who
offers a series of twelve Papers on the Higher Education of Women, or
Woman’s Suffrage, or the Poetry of Wordsworth. The Papers that find
favour with Editors must first be fresh as regards _Subject_, second,
be fresh as regards _Style_, third, fresh as regards _Idea_. The writer
who possesses this triple gift, requires no further hints to tell him
how and where to succeed. Success with him is a certainty.
[Sidenote: What _not_ to do]
Perhaps the best way to emphasise the above remarks is to tell my
readers what to do and what _not_ to do.
Do _not_ send an article to a magazine until you have first looked
through at least one of its numbers; carefully observe its tone, try
to gather for yourself what its motive is, and to what sort of public
it appeals. If after a short or a long perusal you discover that you
and it are not in touch—that its scope is too wide for you, or your
thoughts are too big for its limits, leave it alone, and try your luck
somewhere else.
When you write, _don’t_ fly too high. Get a subject into your head and
feel that, small as this subject may be, you have something either
useful or amusing to say about it.
Do _not_ write a poem on April, and send it for insertion in the April
number of a magazine on the day that number issues from the press. This
has been a constant experience in my Editorial life. Try to remember,
if you know it already, and try to learn the fact if you do not, that
magazines take a certain number of days to print, and that, as a rule,
the number is practically made up weeks, and sometimes _months_ before
publication.
[Sidenote: False humility]
When you offer a contribution to sin Editor, _do not_ have resource
to a sort of false humility, which some writers are fond of adopting.
For instance, I have received letters with offers of verses which the
writer deprecates as “unworthy of publication, and only fit for the
waste-paper basket,” nevertheless, I am expected to read them, and
give a critical opinion, because the friends of the writer in question
have urged him or her as the case may be, to forward them. This false
humility is always prejudicial to the would-be contributor.
[Sidenote: Be business-like]
In offering contributions be as _terse and business-like_ as possible.
Editors have hearts, and sometimes these hearts are made to ache pretty
considerably. But first and foremost an Editor, if he is a good one,
must be business-like. He has to place the interests of the magazine
before your private wants, however pressing and painful they may be to
yourself. I feel that I am saying cruel things when I write like this,
but they are true, and if I would really help you, you must know the
truth.
There would be no magazines worth reading if MSS. were accepted on such
pleas, and yet they are constantly being urged.
Try to think of yourself as a merchant who has something of value for
sale. The Editor represents the public, who want to buy. He will
quickly appreciate you if he sees that you can give him what his
readers want, and, believe me, he will _never_ care for you, _as a
writer_, on any other grounds, whatever.
“My dear,” an old lady and a very celebrated author said to me many
years ago, “please bear one fact in mind. Your Publisher or your Editor
may love you as well as himself, but he will never love you better.”
Now the Editor or Publisher who takes unsuitable work from a mere sense
of pity, inevitably courts financial disaster, and he can scarcely be
expected to love the would-be contributor to that extent.
[Sidenote: Introductions]
I should like to say a word here with regard to Introductions. Many
people who wish to write have an idea that an introduction from a
successful author is “Open Sesame!” to the world of literature. This
is a vast mistake. _You stand or fall on your own merits, and on those
only._ The utmost your influential friends can do for you is to get
your MS. looked at. If it is silly or unsuitable, back it goes just as
surely as if it had not been supported by any great name. This is a
fact which is worth knowing.