characters and far-flung incidents, in order to unite them all into one
convincing conclusion, you must not dally, nor divert the reader's
attention from the main issue.
You will see from the foregoing that it is necessary to fix the length
of your story before you start to work--otherwise you will not get it
properly balanced. I do not mean that you must tie yourself down to an
exact number of words for each part, any more than for the whole; but
you should settle, before you start, an approximate estimate of the
amount of space you will allow to each part, and then see that you keep
somewhere near it.
For instance, the probability is that, unless you keep an eye on
yourself, you will overdo the detail in the first part. So many novices
start writing their story before they have half thought it out in all
its bearings; the result is that all sorts of new ideas come to them,
and fresh developments, and different aspects of the plot; and they add
to their original plan, work in fresh characters, amplify those that are
already there, till all sense of proportion is gone. Or they may have a
special liking for one particular character (invariably it is the one
who, they secretly think, represents their own tastes and aspirations),
and they will overdo this one with detail, and unduly spin out that
portion of the book.
Then again, when we are fresh, and only starting a work, we are more
inclined to stroll leisurely among voluminous particulars, and write
all that comes into our head, than we are when we have written forty
thousand words, and are wishing we could get the rest of it out of our
brain, and down on the paper, with less physical, as well as less
mental, effort!
Therefore, when you eventually revise your MS. as a whole, overhaul the
first section very thoroughly, cutting it down ruthlessly if you find
you have been unduly diffuse.
Nowadays a story that drags at the outset is doomed.
[Sidenote: Form as Applied to Articles]
But fiction is not the only class of writing ruled by Form; articles,
essays, verse are all subject to a certain order of presentation, and
certain restrictions, which no writer can ignore without lessening the
effectiveness of his work--and in the main the threefold basis applies
to all.
When writing an essay or an article, it is useful to make your divisions
as follows--
1. State your theme and your reasons for its choice. (In other words:
make it quite clear to your readers what you are going to write about,
and why you decided to write about it.)
2. Say what you have to say about it.
3. Give the conclusions to be drawn therefrom.
Here, as in the case of fiction, it is desirable to get right into your
subject quickly, never "side-tracking" the readers' mind on to a
subsidiary topic until they have a firm hold of your main theme. Ruskin
was particularly tiresome in the way he would turn off at a tangent, and
start talking about some minor matter, before the reader had grasped
what subject he was proposing to deal with.
After you have turned your theme inside out, in the second part, and
told all the points about it that you think will be new to your reader,
make your third part a climax, in that it works up to a definite
conclusion.
It does not matter what the subject of your article, broadly speaking it
should be built on these lines, since this is the form in which the
human mind seems best able to take in information. You cannot expect
people to follow your descriptions, your arguments, or your objections,
if they do not know what you are talking about; hence the need for a
very clear presentation of your subject at the beginning.
And, in order to leave your reader in a satisfied frame of mind, _i.e._
with a sense of certainty that things were brought to their logical
conclusion--also an essential in a work of art--the third section must
be primarily occupied with the reasons for, or the outcome of, or the
deductions to be drawn from, that which has gone before.
This leaves the middle section of the article for digressions, side
issues, or any other form of amplification.
Once the student recognises how desirable are the laws of Form, how they
give shape and proportion and cohesion to matter that would otherwise be
void and hopeless, he will realise how impossible it is to do good work
without preliminary thought, and careful planning. And he will also
understand how it is that MSS. which are merely "dashed off" without any
preparatory work, those that "just came of their own accord," as the
authors sometimes boast, invariably fail to arouse a spark of enthusiasm
in the soul of an editor.
Right Selection Is Important
The mere fact that the sun never sets on the British Empire does not
necessitate our including the whole of it in one MS. Yet some beginners
seem most industriously anxious to do this.
Amateurs may be divided roughly into two classes: those who tell too
little, and those who tell too much. The majority come under the latter
heading. The literary artist is he who knows exactly what to select from
the mass of material before him (in order to make the reader see what he
himself sees); and what to discard as non-essential.
I am inclined to think that the instinct for selection is largely born,
not made. It is one of the channels through which genius betrays itself.
Very few great artists can explain why they chose one particular set of
items for their canvas, or their book, and ignored others; or why that
particular set conveys a sense of beauty to the observer, when another
set would make no such appeal.
Yet the sense or instinct can be cultivated to some extent, and the
first step is to recognise the necessity for careful selection. Few
beginners give a thought to the matter. They imagine that all they have
to do, when they set out to tell a story, or describe some incident or
scene, is to say all they can about it--the more the better.
"I never spare myself where detail is concerned," a would-be contributor
wrote when offering a magazine article. Unfortunately she did not spare
me either; there were fifty-seven pages of close, nearly illegible
writing, describing the tombs of some long-dead unknowns in an
out-of-the-way Continental church.
To enumerate every single item is not Art; it is cataloguing.
Slight themes require but few details.
[Sidenote: Training Yourself in the Matter of Selection]
Look your subject well over before you write a line; decide what are its
outstanding features, which are its most prominent characteristics, and
what it is absolutely necessary to say about it, in order to give a
clear presentment. At the same time, note what is irrelevant to the main
purport of your writing, and what is comparatively unimportant.
After all, the mind can only take in a certain amount of detail, a
certain number of facts; and as it cannot absorb everything, a limit
has to be placed somewhere. Common sense tells us that since something
must be left out, it is well to omit the colourless, unimportant data
that never will be missed!
In every scene there are always definite points that arrest the
attention and give character to the whole, and many other points that
really do not make very much difference one way or the other. The artist
(whether he be making word-pictures or colour-pictures) selects those
points that give the most character to the scene, those incidents which
convey the most comprehensive idea of the place and the people and their
doings, in the fewest words.
If you are writing a story, it is seldom necessary to describe every
thing appertaining to, and every one connected with, the heroine, for
example--at any rate, not on her first appearance. Her home, her
relations, her dress, can often be dealt with in a few sentences; but
those sentences must contain just the facts that give the key to the
whole situation.
Probably it will not throw any vivid light on the lady if you state that
her drawing-room was upholstered in old rose, and she herself devoted to
chocolate; because the virtuous no less than the wicked, the most
advanced feminist as well as the silliest bundle of vanity, might all
have equal leanings toward old rose and be addicted to chocolate. But if
you state, either that she was reading a first edition of Dante, or
cutting out flannelette undergarments for the sewing meeting, or
powdering her chalky nose in public--the reader will have some sort of
clue as to your heroine's personality. An instinct for selection will
tell you which item will characterise a person most accurately.
In the same way some incidents will directly affect the whole trend of a
story, others leave the main issues untouched. Select the incidents that
matter, and leave those that merely mark time without taking the reader
any further.
[Sidenote: Caricature is not Characterization]
But while it is desirable to record outstanding features, it is not
wise, as a rule, to emphasise mere peculiarities, as this only tends to
stamp one's writing as unnatural, exaggerated, or caricature. Far better
seize on general topical characteristics, only select those that are
prominent, colourful, and vigorous, rather than neutral, insipid traits
or happenings.
People reading Kipling's story, "The Cat that walked by itself,"
invariably exclaim, "That's just like _our_ cat!" Yet in all
probability Kipling's cat was not at all like either of their cats. He
merely chose the typical characteristics common to all cats, and each
person immediately sees his own individual pussy in the picture.
A lack of an instinct for selection is one of the commonest failings in
amateurs, and is responsible for the rejection of an endless stream of
MSS. For this reason it is desirable that the beginner should pay
special heed to the subject, and note to what extent he is making actual
selection, or whether he is merely jotting down all and sundry in
haphazard unconcern.
When Writing Articles
There are two main difficulties in writing an article; one is to get a
good beginning, the other is to get a good ending. If you know your
subject well (and it is useless to write on a subject you do not know
well), it is wonderful how the middle portion takes care of itself in
comparison with the care that has to be bestowed on the entrance and
exit.
I have seen amateurs write and write and re-write their opening
paragraphs (with intervals of perplexed pen-nibbling in between),
crossing out a sentence as soon as they put it down, interpolating fresh
ideas that ran off at a tangent, suddenly jumping back a hundred years
or so in their anxiety to start at the very beginning of the
subject--and finally tearing up their by-now-unreadable MS., and
commencing all over again.
Here are two methods by which you may more easily get under way--and the
great thing is to get under way, and write _something_, then you at
least have a concrete MS. to pull to pieces and re-arrange and hammer
into shape. It is the blank paper, or the page you have crossed out and
then torn up in despair, that is so irritatingly non-productive!
[Sidenote: Settle your Chronological Starting-point--and Stick to it]
Decide, before you write a line, the exact point in the life-story of
your subject at which you will start. Remember that it is impossible to
say _everything_ about it, or give the whole of its history; therefore
settle quickly what can safely be left out concerning its antecedents
and early childhood without detriment to the subject as a whole.
Once you have made up your mind as to the precise chronological starting
point, stick to it (half the initial trouble of getting into your
subject will be over if you do); and do not in the course of a few
paragraphs hark back to some previous happening or era, because you have
suddenly remembered something that might be made to bear on the subject.
The way anxious writers will endeavour to tell every mortal thing that
can be told regarding the most distant prehistoric family connections of
their subject, is on a par with a certain type of chairman at a meeting,
who will persist in dilating on the sayings and doings of his
great-grandfather instead of dealing with the topic in hand.
If I ask the untrained amateur to write me an article on "The Use of
Pigeons in War," the chances are all in favour of his starting with the
Ark, and talking for several paragraphs round the Dove with the olive
branch. By a natural and easy transition, he would presently be quoting,
"Oh for the wings of a dove!" Pliny's doves would have an innings, the
London pigeons of St. Paul's have honourable mention, the ornithological
significance of the botanical term _Aquilegia_ might be touched upon,
with other equally irrelevant or far-fetched allusions to the _Columbae_
as a whole; and all this before any really serviceable information is
forthcoming under the heading specified.
This is no exaggerated picture; it is the type of article frequently
submitted, and is due to a writer's lack of an instinct for selection,
and his determination to leave nothing unsaid. In the end, he of course
leaves a great deal unsaid, because the inevitable limitations of an
article make it impossible to give so much past history and still find
room to say what should be said about the present-day aspect. The space
is gone before the writer has barely got there!
And because of this tendency to expend too much ink at the beginning on
details that are too far removed from the central point of interest to
be worth recording, I will give another hint that may occasionally prove
useful.
[Sidenote: When in Doubt--Begin in the Middle]
When in doubt where to start, begin in the middle; _i.e._ attack the
subject where the interest seems to focus; or launch out without any
preliminary whatever, into the very heart of the matter. It is quite
possible it may prove to be the beginning!
The desirability of shaping an article according to the definite rules
of form was dealt with on page 136. A careful planning of the form
beforehand will help the writer to keep his article properly balanced,
and to avoid over-weighting it unduly with unimportant data at the
outset.
[Sidenote: When you have Finished--Leave off]
With regard to the wind-up of an article, here again the writer has much
in common with the speaker, and happy is he who knows instinctively just
when to leave off. So few do!
Failing an instinctive perception of the right ending, or the desirable
climax, the writer can deliberately plan one and then work up to it. And
it is well to plan it fairly early, in order to make the whole of the
article gravitate toward this finale.
[Sidenote: It is the Final Impression that Counts]
In writing, as in so many other things, it is the final impression that
counts. The reader's attitude of mind, when he comes to the end of the
last page, is a powerful factor in settling your success as a writer. If
you end lamely, with non-effective sentences, or with pointless
indecision--if, in short, the reader does not feel he has got somewhere
or achieved something by reading the article, he will not be remarkably
keen on anything else you may write.
The beginner seldom pauses to inquire: What is my object in writing this
article? If I were to put the question to a number of would-be authors,
and they replied truthfully, they would say, "To see myself in print,"
or, "To make money"; yet I cannot reiterate too often that what we write
must have more in the way of backbone than this. The reason that
thousands of MSS. are returned to the senders every year is because
those senders had no other object in view, apart from money-making or
getting into print.
Decide therefore on a more useful object--useful, that is, from the
reader's point of view. The reader does not care one iota whether you
are going to make money, or whether you now see yourself in print for
the first time. The point _he_ is concerned with is what he himself gets
out of his reading--whether he has been amused and entertained, or has
gained information, or a new light on an old subject, or a spiritual
uplift, or useful facts, or some fresh interest, or a soothing narcotic
for an anxious brain.
And you must have some such object in mind, when you plan the shortest
article, no less than when you scheme out a novel.
In writing the article on "The Use of Pigeons in War" your object might
be the giving of information that would be fresh to the public (and we
never need trouble to tell them that which they know already);
information calculated to increase their knowledge of the ways in which
we waged the great war for the world's freedom, and also to give them a
new interest in these wonderful birds. Bearing all this in mind, it will
be seen at once that the preamble about the Ark would be quite
unnecessary, since it would convey no new information whatever.
Mere recapitulation of ancient well-known facts is never desirable,
outside a text-book.
[Sidenote: Keep an Eye on Topicality]
Topicality has often much to do with the acceptance of an article; but
the beginner seldom takes this point into consideration. The finest
article one could write would be turned down if the subject were out of
date--and twenty-four hours make all the difference. We move at such
express speed, and events hurry past at such a rapid rate, that the
article an editor would jump at to-day may be useless to him to-morrow;
the book that would be marketable this season may be unsaleable next.
Of course this does not apply to every MS., but it does to a good many,
and particularly in regard to articles for periodicals. If you think
your subject will have special interest for the public at the
moment--send it at once, and if it is the burning question of the day,
send it to a newspaper rather than to a magazine, remembering that
magazines have to go to press some weeks before the date of publication.
If a magazine editor receives your MS. January 1st, the very earliest he
could get it into his magazine would probably be April, and the chances
are he would have everything planned and set up until May. In the
_Girls' Own Paper and Woman's Magazine_, for instance, the final sheet
of the September number has to be passed for press the first week in
June.
Bearing these facts in mind, you will realise that it is useless to send
an article on a Christmassy subject to an editor in November. His
Christmas number was probably put together in August, and by November it
is travelling by train or steamer, bullock-wagon or native carrier, to
distant parts of the world.
[Sidenote: Articles that are not Wanted]
And I must mention another fault common with beginners. It is useless to
offer articles that are nothing more than a _rechauffe_ of encyclopaedic
facts. Any schoolboy can string together text-book information, and
compile facts from other people's works.
If your article is on an old-established theory, or some well-known
theme, you must contribute some new personal experience, if it is to be
of any worth. Readers will not pay for books or articles that contain
nothing but what they could write themselves, given the time and the
works of reference.
Then, again, it is useless to choose a subject merely because it appeals
to you personally; if there is no likelihood of its appealing to the
majority of the readers, it is valueless to an editor.
[Sidenote: Study the Readers' Preference no less than your Own]
The business of writing is like every other business in that
self-effacement may contribute much to success. The good business man
does not spend his time talking about his own tastes and achievements
and preferences; he keeps an eye on what interests his customers and
talks about that.
The good writer does not write merely to air his own likes and dislikes
and grievances, or to impress people with his own attainments and good
fortune; he keeps his eye on what interests his readers (who are his
customers) and follows this up in some degree in his writings.
This need not mean any relinquishing of personal ideals, or pandering to
cheap tastes. The readers' ideals may be as high--or even higher--than
yours; their tastes may be quite as refined--but they are not
necessarily the same as yours. Therefore, study what will interest them
to read rather than what it will interest you that they should read.
Think it out, and you will find there may be a world of difference
between the two.
[Sidenote: Send Suitable Articles to Likely Magazines]
Writers are often told to study the type of articles appearing in the
magazine in which they are anxious to see their own work published. This
is very sound advice. The unsuitabilities that are offered at times are
past counting. A man wrote recently to the editor of a prominent
Missionary Monthly: "I notice you have no chess columns in your paper. I
could supply one regularly, and I assure you it would help your
circulation considerably." For the _Woman's Magazine_ I have been
offered murder stories of the most lurid and revolting character;
articles on "Seal-hunting in the Arctic as a Sport," "Curiosities in
Kite-Flying," "The Making of Modern Motor Roads," and others equally
outside the range of women's activities even in these days of wide-flung
doors.
[Sidenote: Editors do not want Repeat-Subjects as a Rule]
Avoid offering articles on subjects that have already been dealt with in
a periodical. Unless you have unique and valuable information to add to
that already given, space cannot be spared to repeat matter. Moreover,
the public does not want to pay twice for the same thing--and that is
what it would amount to.
It is no recommendation to write to an editor, "I see you have an
article on 'Glow-worms as a Hat-Trimming' in your last issue; I am
therefore sending you another article on the same subject." Unless you
have some new and really informing data to contribute, the probability
is that you would only be covering the same ground as the previous
writer.
Neither are you likely to get your MS. accepted if you write, "I have
read the article on 'Glow-worms' in your last issue, and disagree with
many of the statements made therein. Far from glow-worms being things of
elusive beauty and suggestive of fairyland, as your contributor calls
them. I regard them as noxious pests. I have written my views in detail,
and hope you will be able to publish the article in your next issue to
counteract the wrong impression that the other one conveyed."
Now, an editor to a large extent identifies himself with the views
expressed in the pages of the paper he edits. And had he not approved of
the statements made, he would not have been inclined to print them in an
ordinary non-controversial paper. Is it likely, then, that he would want
another contribution calmly informing his readers that the previous
article was entirely wrong and unreliable?
[Sidenote: On The Subject of "How to----"]
Most editors are overdone with the usual "How to--" articles. The public
has by now been told "How to" do everything under the sun, I am inclined
to think; but if you feel it laid upon your soul to impart still
further instruction--try to find a fresh form of title.
Do not choose too big a subject. "Heaven," "Human Nature," "Eternity,"
and kindred themes are beyond the powers of any mortal--much less the
beginner.
Get right away from hackneyed phrases and allusions. So many MSS. are
peppered throughout with such expressions as "all sorts and conditions";
"common or garden"; "let us return to our muttons"; "tell it not in
Gath"; "but we must not anticipate."
If you feel drawn to write an essay on "Friendship," it is not necessary
to start with David and Jonathan; they have already been mentioned--more
than once, in fact--in this connection. Neither is it desirable, when
writing about Jerusalem to quote, "a city that is set on a hill cannot
be hid."
Variety is always pleasing, and editors do like to come upon something,
occasionally, that they have not read more than a dozen times before.
Suggestions for Style
If you are writing with the object of giving information, avoid the
indefinite style. Either make a clear, decided statement (if you are
competent to do so), or leave the matter alone. You not only weaken the
force of your statements, and smudge your meaning, by beating about the
bush and walking round your subject, but you cast doubts in the reader's
mind as to whether you are fully qualified to write about it at all.