The Art of Corresponding with an Editor
Women contributors are commonly much too fond of corresponding with
editors. When the aspirant dispatches the first article, it is quite
customary for her to send it under cover of a long epistle (not
unfrequently extending to eight pages) in which she gives her personal
history in brief, and a short statement of her literary ambitions,
including in particular her ambition to contribute to "your excellent
paper which I have always admired"; often she adds that though not
dependant (so she spells the word) upon her own efforts for a livelihood,
she is nevertheless anxious to earn a little money; or it may be that she
is in fact thrown upon her own resources, in which case she explains that
she has turned to journalism as the readiest means of providing for
herself. Sometimes she ventures to hope that the editor will judge her
work leniently, since she is only a beginner. Sometimes, with affecting
candour, she avows that she does not expect for a moment to be accepted.
Sometimes she requests that in case of refusal the editor will advise her
where next to send the manuscript. Sometimes she begs for a frank
criticism, and if the editor is foolish enough to justify his heartless
refusal by such a criticism, she pesters the devoted fellow with another
long letter of thanks, in which she timidly suggests that he may be able
to assist her further, but hopes that he will not trouble to send any
answer unless it is quite, quite convenient to him to do so. He doesn't.
In her pre-occupation, she usually forgets either to write her name and
address on the manuscript or to enclose stamps; occasionally she omits
even to stamp her own letter.
* * * * *
Let this be your rule: Don't write to an editor. He has an objection to
both reading letters and answering them; he thinks he does enough when he
peruses your manuscript. A good article requires no explanation; it should
be its own commentary. Be content, therefore, simply to put your article
in an envelope with another envelope, and dispatch it. The editor needs
not to be told that it is sent for publication if suitable and for return
if unsuitable. And he does not care a pin what are your ambitions and your
circumstances; or whether this is your "very first" or your ten thousandth
effort; whether you have written in the flush of health or on your dying
couch; whether you are starving or beautifully rich. What are these facts
to him? They do not in the least affect the value of the article. If it
pleases him, he accepts; if not, he refuses. He is scarcely
Adviser-in-Chief to the Literary Ladies of Great Britain, nor yet the
Charity Organisation Society. He has no interest in you. What interests
him is his circulation, his influence, his advertisement department.
The editorial notices of a few papers state that the title and scope of an
article must be submitted before the article itself. This is absurd, and
in most cases you are safe in ignoring the regulation. An article cannot
be judged by its title and a _resumé_ of it, and there is no doubt
that editors who enforce such a rule often decline to see articles which
would have suited them.
If for any special reason a letter should be essential, make it brief,
explicit, and formal; spend as much care over the letter as you have given
to the article which it is to cover. See that it contains no superfluous
words, and see that it is correctly spelt; some letters aren't.
When a series of articles is in contemplation or a novel departure to be
suggested, it sometimes happens that a rather elaborate explanation is
necessary. Do not send such an explanation in writing until you have
demonstrated the impossibility of seeing the editor in person.
Now editors do not like being seen, and certainly they do not like being
seen by the casual contributor. Despite the fact that this persevering
person is indispensable to them and often their best friend, they fall
into the habit of regarding the casual contributor as their natural enemy,
against whom warfare is to be waged. It is ridiculous, but it is true. So
be it. Accept the situation, and fight for yourself, taking your advantage
where you can, and casting away scruples of punctilio. By actually seeing
an editor you gain a double advantage. For in the first place it is much
more difficult for him to refuse _viva voce_ (especially to a woman
[Footnote: I by no means suggest that a woman should exploit her
femininity in order to gain points against a man.]) than by letter, and in
the second place a personal explanation of a scheme is likely to be much
more effective than a written one. Therefore resolve to see your editor
face to face.
That editors are invisible is taken for granted only by the inexperienced.
Without doubt editors love to surround themselves with an atmosphere of
mystery, aloofness, and sovereignty, but in truth they are human beings,
and may be so treated. The invisibility of editors is mainly a legend. If
you call at a newspaper office and, presenting your card, ask in a firm
voice to see the editor, the probability is that you will see him, or some
one else clothed with authority. You may be requested to state the nature
of your business, in which case you will make the nature of your business
as vague and enticing as possible. Possibly the editor, if he is timid,
will invent the story that he is engaged; possibly he may really be
engaged; in either case you will ask for an appointment, or wait; a
personal interview is worth waiting for. If you are refused an appointment
and also told that to wait would be useless, say that you will call
to-morrow or the next day in the hope of the editor being then disengaged.
In any event, be pertinacious; and do not fear to worry the man. By
pertinacity you will eventually see him.
Having at last got sight of your editor, treat him considerately. Since
you have conquered you can afford to show mercy. Explain yourself tersely,
and let your visit be brief. Strive to impress by your directness and
business-like thought and action.