The Search for Copy
There comes a time when the aspirant, proudly conscious of a certain
technical skill in composition and construction, and disheartened by
repeated failures, exclaims with petulance: "What _shall_ I write
about?" She dolefully imagines that the list of feasible subjects is
exhausted; her wearied brain refuses any longer to carry on its sterile
activities, and despair settles down upon her. This is because her eyes
have not been opened to the limitless possibilities for the making of good
"copy" which exist on every side. Most probably she has been looking in
quite the wrong direction.
When Rob Angus, in _When a Man's Single_, remarks to Rorrison, "And
yet I had thirty articles rejected before the 'Minotaur' accepted that
one," Rorrison's reply is, "Yes, and you will have another thirty rejected
if they are of the same kind. You beginners seem able to write nothing but
your views on politics, and your reflections on art, and your theories on
life, which you sometimes even think original. Editors won't have that,
because their readers don't want it. Every paper has its regular staff of
leader-writers, _and what is wanted from the outsider is freshness_.
An editor tosses aside your column and a half about evolution, but is glad
to have a paragraph saying that you saw Herbert Spencer the day before
yesterday gazing solemnly for ten minutes in a milliner's window. Fleet
Street at this moment is simply running with men who want to air their
views about things in general."
With slight modification the satire applies admirably to women. Perhaps
women are not so anxious as men to air their views about things in general
(though they are tolerably anxious), but they are certainly too prone to
write down vaguely their vague _fancies_ about things in general.
Fleet Street at this moment (to use Rorrison's expressive phrase) is
simply running with women who are writing fanciful essays and not selling
them because editors don't want fanciful essays--or indeed any sort of
essays.
Let us see this fact clear: editors have little use for essays and they
have no use for views (except their own). To gain acceptance essays must
be extremely well done, and emphatically they are not stuff for beginners
to tackle. Apparently the easiest form of composition in the world, the
essay is in truth one of the most difficult. Not much experience is needed
to prove this. Yet every woman who aspires to journalism must needs employ
her clumsy pen upon essays. "From my Window" is a favourite title with the
rank beginner. Charles Lamb might conceivably have written an essay called
"From my Window" which would have been a masterpiece--and there is a
remote chance that some editor might have accepted it. But then Charles
Lamb is dead, and his secret died with him.
* * * * *
Despite the vast number of articles written and printed during recent
years, there remains a yet vaster number of articles waiting to be
written--even after leaving essays out of account. In fact the more
articles written, the more to be written. The field for copy has a
resemblance to Klondyke: removal of treasure serves only to bring larger
quantities into sight.
Journalism ever grows wider, more comprehensive; the whole history of the
profession demonstrates this. In the early years of daily journalism, for
example, the sole subjects deemed worthy of a newspaper's attention were
politics, money, and the law. Some conservative sheets still endeavour to
live up to this ideal, but the circulation and the influence go to those
which find no aspect of human existence beneath their notice. Formerly
newspapers had a morbid dread of being readable. They have lost that dread
now, and those which have lost it most completely, most completely
succeed. As with the dailies, so with every other sort of paper. The aim
is to be inclusive, satisfying the public curiosity and at the same time
whetting it; for the more the public knows, the more it wants to know. And
it refuses any longer to make a task of newspaper-reading. It demands that
it shall be amused while it is instructed, like a child at a kindergarten.
To make sure that you are availing yourself of the immense possibilities
for copy which this extraordinary inquisitiveness on the part of the
public has fortunately created, you must cultivate an attitude of mind
which is constantly asking the question:--
"Is there copy here?"
This attitude may and must be cultivated to such an extent that instead of
vainly searching for subjects, you are at a loss to choose among the
multitude of ideas for articles which suggest themselves at every turn of
existence.
I will illustrate what I mean.
In the first place, it is necessary to remember that articles are divided
into two classes--those which are not topical and those which are. Daily
papers subsist almost exclusively upon the latter; other papers require
both.
We will take the non-topical articles first. These, since they do not
spring naturally from passing events, must be suggested by the occurrences
of one's everyday life. Thus:--
You get up in the morning.
"Queer ways of sleeping." For _Tit-Bits_ and its class. Material at
British Museum.
"My alarum." Humorous.
"How to economise space in a small bedroom." For a women's paper.
"Where some Queens sleep." About the sleeping apartments of sovereigns.
Ample material in biographies and periodical literature.
"Does a woman require more sleep than a man?" For the silly season.
"Is breakfast in bed enjoyable?" Ditto.
You walk downstairs.
"Some famous staircases."
"Stair-climbing as a form of indoor exercise."
"How to decorate a staircase inexpensively."
You sit down to breakfast.
"Our newsboy." Humorous.
"Papa at breakfast." Ditto.
"The proper way of making coffee." (There is always a market for this kind
of thing.)
"How a cup and saucer are made."
"Should the English breakfast be abolished?"
And so on throughout the day.
I put forward these suggestions, not to be worked out, but merely to
indicate how notions for articles should come to life in you. A constant
effort to evolve ideas in this way cannot fail to be fruitful, and though
most of the ideas will be cast aside as valueless, a few promising ones
will remain. On no account abandon good articles because you fear they
have been done before. Rorrison said: "Of course they have, but do them in
your own way; the public has no memory, and besides, new publics are
always springing up."
Topical articles are possibly more shy of suggesting themselves than
non-topical, but on the other hand they always have a better chance of
acceptance. Notions for these cluster about every event or personage that
happens to be in the public eye. Suppose we are in April, and the Covent
Garden Opera is to open in a month's time. At such a moment editors are
naturally susceptible to articles bearing on the subject. For example:--
"Earnings of operatic stars."
"Whims of operatic stars."
Anecdotes (in paragraphic form) relating to any of the singers engaged.
These three could be worked up from files of newspapers, particularly of
American newspapers.
"How an opera chorus is trained." Material for this might be obtained from
intelligent women-members of the chorus, interviewed on the spot.
Notes on the new operas to be produced.
Notes about composers and conductors.
"The Fortunes of Covent Garden Theatre." A historic-anecdotal article.
Material at the British Museum.
Notes about the titled box-holders for the season. Material to be obtained
from the theatre officials.
And about ninety-nine similar articles.
In the matter of topical articles, I must quote once more from _When a
Man's Single_. Simms told Rob Angus "that when anything remarkable
occurred in London he should at once do an article at the British Museum
on the times the same thing had happened before." This kind of article, if
delivered promptly, almost invariably finds a market; but it must be
delivered promptly. Then, of course, there are the fixed and movable
feasts--Christmas, Easter, &c.,--for which seasonable articles are
required. Seasonable articles about these too trite festivals the editor
must have (though he would much prefer to dispense with them), and he
accepts the least hackneyed suggestions which offer themselves.
* * * * *
Wide as the field for copy already is, it widens, as I have said,
continually. In America it is always somewhat wider than in England, and a
perusal of the Sunday editions of the leading New York papers, the
_Herald, World, Sun, Journal_, &c. (which may be obtained in London),
will not be profitless to the alert student. These huge and flaring
productions have objectionable features which are only too obvious, but
they are conducted by the cleverest journalists in the world, and the
invaluable journalistic instinct is apparent on every page of them. The
splendid pertinacity and ingenuity of the American journalist in wringing
copy out of any and every side of existence cannot fail to quicken the
pulses of those who are accustomed to the soberer, narrower, sleepier ways
of English newspapers. Fleet Street pretends to despise and contemn
American methods, yet a gradual Americanising of the English press is
always taking place, with results on the whole admirable.
* * * * *
Photography is an aid to the outside contributor. Illustrations always
assist an article; sometimes they are sufficient to make an unsaleable
article saleable. Many articles are capable of being illustrated by means
of the camera, and almost any photographic pictures are capable of being
"written round." For example, a series of pictures, with brief
letterpress, under the title, "The Strand from dawn to dusk," showing
incidents of traffic, such as a horse down, &c., would be easily disposed
of to an illustrated weekly; such photographs could be taken instanteously
on a bright day without any difficulty whatever.
* * * * *
The foregoing remarks on the search for copy are of course addressed to
the aspirant living in London, who possesses immense advantages over her
rural sister. She has, chiefly, the British Museum, that blessed fount of
universal information, and her first duty must be to apply to the Chief
Librarian for a reading ticket. Some time will elapse before she is able
to use handily the vast apparatus here placed at her disposal, but she
will find the officials benignantly omniscient, and always ready to help
the unskilled in research. Also, she must not be shy of going into the
world and collecting such facts as she may require, ferreting things out,
and refusing to be abashed. So soon as she has contributed to a few papers
of standing, she should have some cards engraved with her name, and a list
of these papers after the words "Contributor to." Such a card will
constitute sufficient credentials on any expedition of enquiry, and will
frequently aid her to obtain interviews with "people of importance in
their day." Interviews, it need scarcely be said, are most popular with
the average editor.
The provincial aspirant is less fortunately placed, though if she resides
in a large town with a good public library, she may manage tolerably well.
It is the woman sepulchred in a small village who finds herself most
severely handicapped. Still, I know instances of women so situated who
have gained the position of regular contributors to journals of dignity.
Their success has been usually due to specialising on some single topic or
group of topics, such as "nature notes," "household affairs," "country
occupations," "parochial management," "home handiwork," "village
sketches," and so on. There is copy even in a village. A woman afflicted
with journalistic ambitions once wrote to an editor complaining that she
was out of the world, actually two miles from a shop. "Then write an
article," the editor replied, "entitled 'Two miles from a shop.'" She did
so; it was accepted and followed by others of a similar kind.