LITMIR.BIZ

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need not make speeches contrary to human nature. And even if they are compelled to make speeches contrary to human nature, they need not employ phrases and turns of speech which no living person ever did employ. For instance, when Dick Trevelyan, aged twenty-five, meets Lady Mildred Trefusis, aged forty, after an absence of seven years, it is extremely improbable that Dick would return thanks to Lady Mildred for having spoken nicely to him when he was eighteen; young men do not do these things. Hence Dick should not make any such speech to Lady Mildred. But if for the purposes of the story such a speech from Dick is necessary, even then he need not be forced to say: “It was extremely kind of you, Lady Mildred, to deign to take notice of an unlicked cub:" Dick will more vitally impress himself on the reader if he talks as people do talk in real life. The writer must examine minutely every line of action and dialogue, and ask himself: “Now, is this right? Would this have occurred so? Would Dick have done this? Would Lady Mildred have said that in those words—?” And so on.

      My tyro, before he has proceeded very far in his story, is fairly sure to get “stuck.” There are two ways of being “stuck.” Sometimes one feels what one wants to say, but cannot frame the idea in words, or cannot decide between several methods of presenting it. That way of being “stuck,” is normal and healthy. Sooner or later the obstacle will disappear and progress will be resumed. But when the writer suddenly comes to the end of his ideas, when he begins to cast about idly for “something to say next,” when he perceives an unbridged chasm between himself and the desired climax, then he should cry halt, and carefully consider his position, for he is on the way to certain failure. His best plan, under the sad circumstances, will be either to reconstruct the plot or abandon it entirely in favour of a new one.

      He must arrive at his climax with verve and eagerness, or the story will drag. And when he has safely arrived at it, when the issue is decided and the reader’s interest appeased, the tale must be stopped, ruthlessly, then and there. The end of the interest, of the curiosity, is the end of the story.

      It is impossible to advise the beginner about the multitudinous trifles of fictional writing. But I shall make two negative suggestions. He should not, as most beginners do, make his characters either anarchists or literary aspirants. And he should not, as most beginners do, label his characters with old family surnames, such as Trevelyan, Trefusis, Anstruther, Lascelles, &c. And if possible he should find less hackneyed Christian names for his heroes and heroines than Dick, Gerald, Muriel, and Enid.

      No rule can be laid down about writing and rewriting. Some men say best what they have to say once for all at the first writing. Others produce a very careful draft, and make only minor alterations in a final writing. Still others produce a hasty draft at top speed, and then rewrite entirely. The beginner, after a little experience, will discover his own method by instinct The great thing is that he should not finish till he has done his best Every man knows the feeling which follows a conscientious endeavour completely fulfilled. Every man knows whether or not he is justified in the boast: “I cannot make this any better than it is.”

      Models and Markets.

      The aspirant should study good models. I am acquainted with none which will be more useful to him than the ‘stories of Mr. H. G. Wells (The Plattner Story, &c., The Stolen Bacillus, &c:, Tales of Space and Time), and of Mr. R. Murray Gilchrist (A Peakland Faggot, &c., Nicholas and Mary, Natives of Milton). The latter excels in the very short story, of two thousand words or less. But it will be useless for the aspirant to imitate either these authors, or any other first-class authors, in anything except their technique. I recommend them for their technique, which is unsurpassed. In the invention of subject the aspirant must, after he has carefully studied the market, be guided solely by his own idiosyncrasy.

      There is a heavy and constant demand for very short stories—“storyettes” as they are termed in the strange argot of the literary bourse. I know that some large buyers experience a difficulty in satisfactorily filling their orders. The reason is that the writer who has achieved any sort of position does not care to expend an “idea” on a two-thousand-word story at so much per thousand words, when at a trifling increase of trouble he can manufacture it into a four-thousand-word story at the same rate per thousand. Very short stories do not “pay” the writer who is able to dispose of his work easily. Hence the “storyette” is the peculiar field of the beginner. The principal buyers of this article are the newspaper syndicates: Messrs. Tillotson & Sons, Limited, Bolton, Lancashire; The National Press Agency, Limited, London; and The Northern Newspaper Syndicate, Kendal. Some halfpenny evening papers, one or two magazines, and very many weekly papers publish a “storyette” in every issue. M. A. P. and T.P.’s Weekly both publish short stories of a rather superior class. The remuneration for fifteen hundred or two thousand words varies from one to four guineas. Lloyds Newspaper, for instance, pays four guineas, T.P.’s Weekly three guineas, and a certain evening sheet one guinea. The chief syndicates are not niggards.

      The Magazine Short Story.

      When the aspirant has accomplished a few very short stories with a certain amount of satisfaction and of profit to himself, he may attempt a more elaborate form. The average short story of the monthly magazines and the sixpenny weeklies varies from four to six thousand words; five thousand words is probably the mean—a length which gives ample scope for the display of literary ingenuities of all sorts. In the following magazines a melodramatic or strikingly humorous plot is essential, and the literary standard is a popular one: Pearson’s, Strand, Windsor, Royal, Harmsworth's. The Pall Mall Magazine and the sixpenny weeklies print stories of all standards and kinds of plot The readers of Comhill, Blackwoods, Longman’s, and Macmillan's are more refined and exacting in their tastes; while not objecting to a melodramatic plot, they like also stories of domestic quietude and social observation; and in any case they demand at least a colourable imitation of style. Blackwood's, in my opinion, still marks the summit of literary distinction, and the writer who is good enough for Blackwood’s is destined for success. The other end of the scale, in a purely literary sense, is reached in some of the ladies’ monthlies.

      The aspirant will do well to aim at the most popular magazines. Though their editors are extremely exigent, their conditions are perhaps less difficult to satisfy than those laid down in magazines appealing to a smaller audience. Other things being equal, it is easier, I am convinced, to write a crudely effective, ingenious, “breezy” story of crime or mystery for the Strand than a quiet naturalistic study of social manners for Comhill. In the popular magazines ingenuity of plot is almost everything, and a mere beginner may in a happy moment hit on a notion that will “sell itself.”

      The advice which I have already given as to writing very short stories applies to larger stories, and indeed to all fiction. In the very short story limitations of space compel even the beginner to confine himself strictly to the telling of the story. But with five thousand words at his disposal the beginner may fall into the common error of interrupting the action of his tale by passages which please him personally but which in reality are digressions. He should therefore examine his more elaborate work with a particular care. He should say to every paragraph, every incident: “Do you help the story along? Are you absolutely necessary to its progress and effectiveness? If not, out you go, no matter how fine you look!” He should beware of long explanatory passages. Should these seem to him dull and heavy, he must either forcibly enliven them by humour or other device, or he must cut them out and invent action to do their work. Every part of the story must be interesting, must titillate or give a fillip to the reader’s curiosity and pleasure. Every sentence must inspire the reader with a wish to read the next sentence. This is “readableness,” and the quality of “readableness” can only be obtained by constant effort, by a tireless intention to make the story “go” at any cost.

      With regard to models for the five-thousand-word story, they exist in plenty. But some of the very best short-story writers make bad models, either because the beginner is likely to mistake their faults for their excellences, or because their methods and their effects are so peculiar to themselves, so individual and defiant of analysis, as to bewilder instead of assisting the student of them. Four of the finest living short-story writers are Mr. Joseph Conrad, Mr. W. W. Jacobs, Mr. Rudyard Kipling, and Mr. Eden Phillpotts. But I would bring forward

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