LITMIR.BIZ

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Now that modern psychology has uncovered the process for us—has taken off the cover so that we may see “how the thing works,” and “how the wheels go ’round”—we may hope for much more effective and efficient exercise of the power of the Constructive Imagination in the future. Already a number of great inventors and scientific investigators have taken advantage of the new teaching of psychology concerning this phase of mental operation, and they have thereby attained results far superior to those possible under the old hit­or­miss methods.

      Artists and writers, also, employ the same general methods of Creative Composition, though in most cases in a more or less haphazard and instinctive way. The various characters, situations, scenes and combinations of pictures, stories and plays, are gathered together from a comparatively small list of elements—the great variety of results arising from the many possible combinations and arrangements of these few elements. If this seems incredible to you, you have but to remember the almost infinite number of possible combinations of the 26 letters of the alphabet—the largest dictionary contains only a small proportion of the possible word­creations by such combinations. Again, from 52 playing cards, are derived all of the numerous combinations of “hands” dealt out in card games—in many games, in fact, a smaller number of cards is used.

      That modern writers are turning this principle of Creative Composition to practical account is evident to those who study the advertising columns of magazines devoted to the writing craft. For instance, there is advertised a book for story­writers called “The 36 Dramatic Situations,” which is described as follows: “A catalogue of all the possible situations that the many relations of life offer to the writer. The author has read and analyzed thousands of plays and novels, and resolved their basic story material into fundamental categories. A true philosophic consideration, but practical in every respect, that makes available to every writer all the possible material that life offers him.” Again, there is advertised a book called “The Fiction Factory,” which is described as follows: “A writer who wrote thousands of stories and made thousands of dollars by setting up a story­mill, tells how he did it, and gives a record of his work in this instructive, stimulating book. * * * It should be in the hands of everyone interested in how authors do their work.” You may smile at these advertisements, and shrug your shoulders—but you buy and read the stories so composed.

      Jack London, the popular novelist, in his story of “Martin Eden” (which many regard as being largely autobiographical) pictures his hero as busily engaged in writing “newspaper storiettes” for the syndicates which supply them to the newspapers in all parts of the country. These productions were what are known as “pot boilers,” of course—written hastily to meet the popular demand and to gratify the popular taste. Martin had not yet arrived at the place and time where his more finished, more subtle, and more realistic efforts were appreciated by readers and accepted by publishers.

      London pictures Martin busily engaged in reading over his rejected storiettes, and thus finding out how not to write such productions, as well as “just how” to write them. He found out what to put in, and what to leave out. In this way he worked out a perfect formula. This formula consisted of three parts, viz., (1) A pair of lovers jarred apart; (2) They are united by some deed or event; (3) Wedding bells. He reached the conclusion that the third part was an unvarying quantity; but that the first and second parts could be varied an infinite number of times.

      The application of the formula, in London’s own words, was as follows: “Thus, the pair of lovers could be jarred apart by misunderstood motives; by accident or fate; by jealous rivals; by irate parents; by crafty guardians; by scheming relatives; and so on and so forth. They could be reunited by the brave deed of the man­lover; by a similar deed of the woman­lover; by change of heart in one lover or the other; by forced confessions of a crafty guardian, scheming relative, or jealous rival; by voluntary confession of same; by lover storming girl’s heart; by lover making long and noble self­sacrifices; and so on, endlessly. It was very fetching to make the girl propose in the course of being united, and Martin discovered, bit by bit, other decidedly piquant and fetching ruses. But marriage bells at the end was the one thing that he could take no liberties with.”

      The author relates that Martin soon worked out half a dozen stock forms, which he always consulted when constructing storiettes. “These forms,” he adds, “were like the cunning tables used by the mathematicians, which may be entered from top, bottom, right, and left, which entrances consist of scores of lines and dozens of columns, and from which may be drawn, without reasoning or thinking, thousands of different conclusions, all unchallengeably precise and true. Thus, in the course of half an hour, with his forms, Martin could frame up a dozen or more storiettes, which he put aside and filled in at his convenience. * * * The real work was in constructing the frames, and that was merely mechanical. * * * He had no doubt whatever of the efficacy of his formula. * * * His machine­made storiettes, though he hated them and derided them, were successful.”

      We have also read the story of the early life of a great painter of whom it is told that in order to keep the wolf from the door he painted stock pictures for the trade­pictures bearing a fictitious name—which were designed for sale at the popular auction houses of that time. He could paint such pictures in a day or two—sometimes in a few hours, in fact—and, in spite of their hasty preparation, they showed signs of merit and skill (if not of genius), and appealed to the taste of those attending the auction sales; they sold well and served to keep the pot boiling. His main difficulty was that of providing subjects for his pencil and brush; so he set to work to overcome this difficulty. Like Martin Eden, he discovered a formula—he invented a system.

      He prepared a series of cardboard disks; upon each disk he wrote the name of some main element or detail of a picture. The four seasons each were thus noted—each suggesting the associated facts of scenery. Mills, meadows, hills, mountains, the sea, lakes, forests, etc., each were noted down. Thus he had at his disposal several hundred elements or details of a popular picture. He made a great combination wheel of his disks, so arranged that when he gave the wheel a twirl, it would finally come to rest with a number of details appearing directly under the arrow point placed just over the top of the wheel. Thus he would read, for instance: “Autumn,” “hill,” “lake,” “old­mill,” etc., etc., and he would then have the general subject of his picture—the details and treatment to be supplied from “fancy,” inclination, and the mood of the moment. In this way he avoided too marked monotony, too much repetition, and, above all, too much time and thought expended upon hunting for subjects.

      “Sordid”—“mere mechanical construction”—“prostitution of talent”—you may say. Well, perhaps so; yet the plan accomplished the purpose, and overcame the obstacles—in each case it served as a stepping­stone to better things. The real fault was in the cheapness and superficiality of the work— in its absence of animating “spirit”—not in the mechanism of arranging and combining details. For even the greatest artist and writer must have his “mechanism,” as well as his “genius” and “inspiration.” You would be surprised to learn how laboriously the materials and the combinations of the great artists, writers and playwrights, are obtained and conjoined. You see only the finished product—you lose sight of the mental mechanism which built it up. Yet that mechanism is always there—it must be there. Art serves to conceal it, but not to dispense with it. The machinery is always present and active—though there be also present “the god in the machine.” Even God or Nature employs machinery in Creation!

      We shall close our consideration of the methods of Efficient Constructive Imagination by reminding you that the General Rule finally tells you: “Having reached at least a fairly satisfactory working plan, idea, invention, or solution of your problem, you should then carefully detach yourself from it—you should move from your personal point of view, and try to see it as others will see it. Try to imagine the effect it will have on the persons whom you wish to be interested in your finished product; how it will meet with their requirements, satisfy their wants, arouse their desires for it, etc. Your own created conjunction, plan, method, design, or invention naturally will seem to you as the infant does to its mother—no mother is an unprejudiced critic of her own baby. You must see the thing as others see it, in order to arrive at an intelligent idea of the utility of your idea. You must use past experience, reason, judgment, discrimination and cool decision

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