Since this book is not only written for the most part by others than
myself and since, for a second reason, its coming into being is the
result of an accident, not of any inspiration on my part, there is no
reason why I should not state frankly my opinion of its practical value
and exceptional interest.
The mere statement of that value is its own proof:--There have been
hosts of books, classes and correspondence courses claiming to teach the
writing of fiction, but in all but a handful of cases these teachers
have been eminently unqualified for the work. The majority have no sound
right to speak at all, lacking sufficient accomplishment or even
experience of their own and showing in their attempt the lack of ability
as critic or teacher often evidenced by those who are themselves unable
to create. Of the remainder a very few have proved any considerable
ability as creators of fiction and these, as a group, are inclined to
proceed on the dangerous principle that what is good for one case, their
own, is therefore good for all other cases. Another few, with some
editorial experience (though generally almost none) and, therefore, at
least some understanding of the general field, are mostly barren of
accomplishment as creators and so unable to enter satisfactorily into
the inner problems of those who do create. Still another few, while
versed in the academic requirements of literature are unfamiliar with
both the actual magazine and book field and the actual work of creating.
All of them are sadly handicapped in their undertaking by an obsession
for reducing the art of writing to a performance almost altogether
governed by general formulas and ironclad rules for universal
application.
But here is a book written not by an author of negligible standing, an
editor who can not create, a college professor speaking from the
outside, or any other theorist whatsoever, but _by the successful
writers themselves_, each telling in detail his own processes of
creation. No one else in the world can bring us so quickly to the real
heart of the matter or come so close to speaking the final word. While
the words of any one of them are of value, the contrasted and collective
cases of one hundred and sixteen of them are beyond estimate of value.
For either the beginner or the established writer. Even for each of
these one hundred and sixteen themselves.
As to the accident that brought the book into being, my own
justification for venturing to act as collector and summarizer, and the
reason for choice of the particular lines of investigation:
Having been a magazine editor for twenty years (_Adventure_, _Romance_,
_Delineator_, _Smart Set_, _Transatlantic Tales_, _Watson's_,
_Chautauquan_), I had become more and more rebellious against present
methods of teaching fiction writing, for year by year their fruits
poured across my desk by the thousands--stories often technically
correct but machine-like, artificial, lacking in real individuality.
American fiction as a whole is characterized by this result of the curse
of formula and, until that curse is removed, American fiction can never
attain the place to which native ability entitles it.
Many who attempt to write can never succeed. Some succeed despite all
obstacles. But in between are a great number with varying degree of
ability, many of them appearing in books or magazines, some of them
attaining a fair degree of real success, some of them failing of print,
but no one of them who could not do far better if he would shake himself
free from the influence of machine-like methods and give opportunity to
whatever of individuality may lie within him. A long procession of
possibilities unrealized, regrettable because of the loss to American
fiction, pathetic if one looks behind the manuscripts at vain struggles
and hopes unfulfilled.
The only chance for remedy seemed a direct attack upon the school of
formula and rule itself, followed by whatever could be done in a
constructive way. A lone editor could accomplish little by himself, but
he could accomplish even less than that if he didn't try. He was not the
only editor grumbling over the situation and among experienced writers
were many in agreement as to the evils of too much formula; perhaps,
once the challenge were definitely made--
As equipment, besides editorial experience, I had been "a contributor of
fiction to our leading magazines" sufficiently to appreciate creative
problems from the other side of the editorial desk, and at two
universities and elsewhere had absorbed sufficient of the academic for
foundation and background. There had been, too, sufficient rebellion
against general editorial precepts and precedents to keep me from
falling so deep into the editorial rut that I couldn't at least see over
the edges. Most of all, I was sick and tired of seeing the
formula-worshippers doing all they could to increase the flood of
fiction that, however perfect by formula and however skilfully polished,
is inevitably and forever hack.
So I wrote a book in protest and in the hope that it might to some
degree serve those who were willing to turn from formalism to individual
expression if only they could find some small guide-posts along the way.
In _Fundamentals of Fiction Writing_ I tried to give them, instead of
rules, an understanding of the facts of human nature upon which art and
its rules must be based, so that they might see their own way and walk
upon their own feet. To drive home the point it was necessary to show
them beyond chance of doubt that rules applied without understanding
were unsafe guides. The simplest and most effective way of proving this
was to show them that the writers who had actually succeeded did not
blindly follow general rules but chose among them each according to his
own needs and bent, and that what was one writer's meat was another
writer's poison.
So, to prove that rules must be subject to individuality, I sent out a
questionnaire to writers, planning to use the answers as an appendix to
_Fundamentals_. Some questions were added to gather further data on
facts of human nature, and still others were suggested by writers
(William Ashley Anderson and L. Patrick Greene) with whom I consulted,
answers to these last questions being sought as data of interest to
writers in general.
The answerers, of course, had not seen my book, though the body of it
was already in the publisher's hands, and in the questionnaire I took
pains that there should be no hint of any points I hoped to see
established. While the effort to keep the wording of the questions from
tending in any way against entirely uninfluenced answers made some of
them less definite and more banal than I should have liked, there was
more than compensation in the resulting wealth of data that had not been
even hoped for.
When the answers began coming in, it became at once apparent that here
was material far too valuable to be tucked away in the appendix of any
book. The questionnaire had gone to only those writers who had
contributed to my own magazine, _Adventure_, some of them beginners,
some of them established writers appearing in all our magazines and
between book-covers. It was then sent to a general list of authors and
their answers were added to those first received.
The result is a broadly representative list of authors almost perfect
for the purpose. It includes the tyro and the writer of life-long
experience, those little known along with our best and our most popular.
There are those who write avowedly for money returns alone; those who
make literary excellence their single goal. They come to authorship by
various roads from all walks in life, from England as well as America.
They run the whole gamut of difference in schooling, method, aim,
ability, experience and success.
The value of their symposium to the beginner is beyond easy calculation.
If there is an experienced writer who can not find profit as well as
interest in these ideas and methods of his fellow craftsmen, considered
both individually and collectively, I can not at the moment guess his
identity. If other editors can learn from it as much as I have, they
will find it difficult to name any other one thing from which they have
learned so much of value in so short a time. If literary critics will
bring to it a consideration of fundamentals and of facts, that their
general type is none too prone to exercise, there will be a gain both to
them and to the standards of criticism and valuation they so largely
control. To readers of fiction it is the opening up of a fascinating
world hitherto seen only in detached glimpses. And if the average writer
of text-books or teacher of class expounding the art of writing fiction
will let go of formulas and theories handed to him by others and
consider the actual laboratory facts of what he is trying to teach, the
gain to American fiction will be tremendous.
If my summaries and discussions of the answers group by group leave much
to be desired, I plead the difficulty of exactness in dealing with
matters of infinite variations and subtle shadings, the impossibility of
covering even sketchily all the points that arise, the limitation
imposed on entirely free discussion of material furnished one through
courtesy and good will, and the fact that in any case my comments are of
extremely minor importance in comparison with the answers themselves.
The answers have in most cases been given in full. What cutting was
necessary in places has been done, I think, with as little bias as is
shown in the questions. Where specific teachers, books, authors and so
on were mentioned, there have been some omissions, nearly always of
those unfavorably mentioned. If specific instances seem ill-chosen for
either cutting or exceptions, I can plead only good intent and the best
judgment I could summon. I have been editing copy for more than twenty
years and have found few cases offering greater difficulties to
consistency and intelligent handling. The specific difficulty mentioned
is, naturally, far from being the only one.
My sincere thanks go to the authors whose kindness furnished the
material for this book. While some of them were personal friends or
acquaintances, there were others upon whom I had no shadow of claim and
who responded only through an innate spirit of helpfulness--helpfulness
not just to the asker but to the host of aspiring writers who they knew
would profit from the information experienced writers could give. My
thanks, too, for the good will of those authors who were prevented from
answering by circumstances beyond their control. I have dealt with
writers most of my life and, as in any other group of people, there are
disagreeable, trying, ridiculous and even criminal exceptions, but as a
whole I have found them very kindly, human folk. Perhaps it is because
the material of their life-work is human nature, or because their
natural bent is such as to make them choose that life-work. It would, I
think, be a vastly kinder, gentler world if all who live in it were
equally ready with the helping and friendly hand.