I'm returning your little sketches with a few markings which are to be
regarded (or disregarded) as mere suggestions. I made them in pencil,
so that you can erase them if you don't approve. Of course I should
make many more if I could have you before me so that I could explain
_why_; in this way I can help you but little. You'll observe that I
have made quite a slaughter of some of the adjectives in some of your
sentences--you will doubtless slaughter some in others. Nearly all
young writers use too many adjectives. Indeed, moderation and skill in
the use of adjectives are about the last things a good writer learns.
Don't use those that are connoted by the nouns; and rather than have
all the nouns, or nearly all, in a sentence outfitted with them it is
better to make separate sentences for some of those desired.
In your sketch "Triumph" I would not name the "hero" of the piece. To
do so not only makes the sketch commonplace, but it logically requires
you to name his victim too, and her offense; in brief, it commits you
to a _story_.
A famous writer (perhaps Holmes or Thackeray--I don't remember) once
advised a young writer to cut all the passages that he thought
particularly good. Your taste I think is past the need of so heroic
treatment as that, but the advice may be profitably borne in memory
whenever you are in doubt, if ever you are. And sometimes you will be.
I think I know what Mr. Morrow meant by saying that your characters
are not "humanly significant." He means that they are not such persons
as one meets in everyday life--not "types." I confess that I never
could see why one's characters _should_ be. The exceptional--even
"abnormal"--person seems to me the more interesting, but I must warn
you that he will not seem so to an editor. Nor to an editor will the
tragic element seem so good as the cheerful--the sombre denouement as
the "happy ending." One must have a pretty firm reputation as a writer
to "send in" a tragic or supernatural tale with any hope of its
acceptance. The average mind (for which editors purvey, and mostly
possess) dislikes, or thinks it dislikes, any literature that is not
"sunny." True, tragedy holds the highest and most permanent place in
the world's literature and art, but it has the divvel's own time
getting to it. For immediate popularity (if one cares for it) one must
write pleasant things; though one may put in here and there a bit of
pathos.
I think well of these two manuscripts, but doubt if you can get them
into any of our magazines--if you want to. As to that, nobody can help
you. About the only good quality that a magazine editor commonly has
is his firm reliance on the infallibility of his own judgment. It is
an honest error, and it enables him to mull through somehow with a
certain kind of consistency. The only way to get a footing with him is
to send him what you think he wants, not what you think he ought to
want--and keep sending. But perhaps you do not care for the magazines.
I note a great improvement in your style--probably no more than was to
be expected of your better age, but a distinct improvement. It is a
matter of regret with me that I have not the training of you; we
should see what would come of it. You certainly have no reason for
discouragement. But if you are to be a writer you must "cut out" the
dances and the teas (a little of the theater may be allowed) and
_work_ right heartily. The way of the good writer is no primrose path.
No, I have not read the poems of Service. What do I think of Edith
Wharton? Just what Pollard thought--see _Their Day in Court_, which I
think you have.
I fear you have the wanderlust incurably. I never had it bad, and
have less of it now than ever before. I shall not see California
again.
My love to all your family goes with this, and to you all that you
will have.