FINDING A MARKET
A nose for news, some perseverance, a typewriter and a camera have thus
far been listed as the equipment most essential to success for a writer
of non-fiction who sets out to trade in the periodical market as a free
lance. Rather brief mention has been made of the matter of literary
style. This is not because the writer of this book lacks reverence for
literary craftsmanship. It is simply because, with the facts staring him
in the face, he must set down his conviction that a polished style is
not a matter of tremendous importance to the average editor of the
average American periodical.
Journalists so clumsy that, in the graphic phrase of a short grass poet,
"they seem to write with their feet," sell manuscripts with clock-like
regularity to first-class markets. The magazines, like the newspapers,
employ "re-write men" to take crude manuscripts to pieces, rebuild them
and give them a presentable polish. The matter of prime importance to
most of our American editors is an article's content in the way of
vital facts and "human interest." Upon the matter of style the typical
editor appears to take Matthew Arnold's words quite literally:
"People think that I can teach them style. What stuff it all is! Have
something to say, and say it as clearly as you can. That is the only
secret of style."
No embittered collector of rejection slips will believe me when I
declare that the demand for worth-while articles always exceeds the
supply in American magazine markets. None the less it is true, as every
editor knows to his constant sorrow. The appetite of our hundreds of
periodicals for real "stories" never has been satisfied. The menu has to
be filled out with a regrettable proportion of bran and _ersatz_.
The fact that a manuscript lacks all charm of style will not blast its
chances of acceptance if the "story" is all there and is typed into a
presentable appearance and illustrated with interesting photographs. A
good style will enhance the manuscript's value, but want of verbal skill
rarely will prove a fatal blemish. Not so long as there are "re-write
men" around the shop!
It is not a lack of artistry that administers the most numerous defeats
to the novice free lance. It is a lack of market judgment. When he has
completed his manuscript he sits down and hopefully mails it out to the
first market that strikes his fancy. He shoots into the dark, trusting
to luck.
A huge army of disappointed scribblers have followed that haphazard plan
of battle. They would know better than to try to market crates of eggs
to a shoe store, but they see nothing equally absurd in shipping a
popular science article to the _Atlantic Monthly_ or an "uplift" essay
to the _Smart Set_. They paper their walls with rejection slips, fill up
a trunk with returned manuscripts and pose before their sympathetic
friends as martyrs.
Many of these defeated writers have nose-sense for what is of national
interest. They write well, and they take the necessary pains to make
their manuscripts presentable in appearance. If they only knew enough to
offer their contributions to suitable markets, they soon would be
scoring successes. What they can't get into their heads is that the
names in an index of periodicals represent needs as widely varied as the
names in a city directory.
Take, for example, five of our leading weeklies: _The Saturday Evening
Post_, _Collier's_, _Leslie's_, _The Outlook_ and _The Independent_.
They all use articles of more or less timeliness, but beyond this one
similarity they are no more alike in character than an American, an
Irishman, an Englishman, a Welshman and a Scot. Your burning hot news
"story" which _The Saturday Evening Post_ turned down may have been
rejected because the huge circulation of the _Post_ necessitates that
its "copy" go to press six or seven weeks before it appears upon the
newsstands. You should have tried _The Independent_, which makes a
specialty of getting hot stuff into circulation before it has time to
cool. Your interview with a big man of Wall Street which was returned by
_The Outlook_ might find a warm welcome at _Leslie's_. A character
sketch of the Democratic candidate for President might not please
_Leslie's_ in the least, but would fetch a good price from _Collier's_.
Your article on the Prairie Poets might be rejected by three other
weeklies, but prove quite acceptable to _The Outlook_.
When you have completed a manuscript, forget the inspiration that went
into its writing and give cold and sober second thought to this matter
of marketing. _The Outlook_ might have bought the article that
_Collier's_ rejected. _Collier's_ might have bought the one that _The
Outlook_ rejected. Every experienced writer will tell you that this sort
of thing happens every day.
Don't snort in disdain because the editor of _The Ladies' Home Journal_
rejects a contribution on economics. Maybe the lady's husband would like
it. So try it on _The World's Work_, or _Leslie's_ or _System_. It might
win you a place of honor, with your name blazoned on the cover.
Too many discouraged novices believe that the bromide of the rejection
slip--"rejection implies no lack of merit"--is simply a piece of
sarcasm. It is nothing of the sort. In tens of thousands of instances it
is a solemn fact. Don't sulk and berate the editors who return your
manuscript, but carefully read the contribution again, trying to forget
for the moment that it is one of your own precious "brain children."
Cold-bloodedly size it up as something to sell. Then you may perceive
that you have been trying to market a crate of eggs at a shoe store.
Eggs are none the less precious on that account. Try again--applying
this time to a grocer. If he doesn't buy, it will be because he already
has all the eggs on hand that he needs. In that event, look up the
addresses of some more grocers.
The same common sense principles apply in selling manuscripts to the
magazines and newspapers as in marketing any other kind of produce. The
top prices go to the fellow who delivers his goods fresh and in good
order to buyers who stand in need of his particular sort of staple.
Composing a manuscript may be art, but selling it is business.
Naturally, it requires practice to become expert in picking topics of
wide enough appeal to interest the public which reads magazines of
national circulation. Every beginner, except an inspired genius, is
likely to be oppressed with a sense of hopelessness when he is making
his first desperate attempts to "break in." The writer can testify
feelingly on this point from his own experience. Kansas City was then my
base of operations, and it seemed as if I never possibly could find
anything in that far inland locality worthy of nation-wide attention.
Everything I wrote bounced back with a printed rejection slip.
At last, however, I discovered a "story" that appeared to be of
undeniable national appeal. Missouri, for the first time in thirty-six
years, had elected a Republican governor. I decided that the surest
market for this would be a magazine dealing with personality sketches.
If a magazine of that type would not buy the "story," I was willing to
own myself whipped.
On the afternoon when we were all sure that Herbert Hadley had won, I
begged a big lithographed portrait of the governor-elect from a cigar
store man who had displayed it prominently in his front window. There
was no time, then, to search for a photograph. A thrill of conviction
pervaded me that at last my fingers were on a "story" that no magazine
editor, however much he might hate to recognize the worth of new
authors, could afford to reject.
The newspaper office files of clippings gave me all the information
necessary for a brief biography; the lithograph should serve for an
illustration. By midnight that Irresistible Wedge for entering the
magazines was in the mails.... Sure enough, the editors of _Human Life_
bought it. And, by some miracle of speed in magazine making never
explained to this day, they printed it in their next month's issue.
The moral of this was obvious--that in the proper market a real "story,"
even though it be somewhat hastily written, will receive a sincere
welcome. The week after this Irresistible Wedge appeared in print I
threw up my job as a reporter and dived off of the springboard into free
lancing. A small bank account gave me assurance that there was no
immediate peril of starving, and I wisely kept a connection with the
local newspaper. In case disaster overtook me, I knew where I could find
a job again.