LITMIR.BIZ

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Society (39 Old Queen Street, Storey’s Gate, S.W.), which publishes a highly interesting and intricate literature on the relations between writers and publishers, and all the dreadful possibilities thereof.

      Subsequent Proceedings.

      After the agreement is signed, the author should get back his typescript and scrupulously revise and correct it, in order to avoid alterations and corrections (for which he may be called upon to pay) in proof. When the time for "setting up” comes, he will receive proofs from either the publishers or the printers. These proofs may be either in long "slips” or in page form, according to arrangement They will have been carefully corrected before they reach the author, whose work on them (provided he has properly revised the typescript) will therefore be light They will probably arrive in small daily batches, and they should be returned with promptness. If the corrections or alterations are unfortunately heavy, a second proof may be advisable. When he has finally passed the proofs " for press,” the author will see nothing more of his precious and epoch-making book until the parcel of six free copies arrives on the day of publication. He should subscribe to a good press-cutting agency for cuttings of reviews. A novel or other book of a popular description issued by a good firm will usually receive upwards of forty reviews.

      He should watch the advertisements of his book. An occasional diplomatic letter to the publishers in reference to advertisements may sometimes do good. An enterprising firm will advertise a book, especially a novel, four or five days a week in daily and weekly papers, for two and even three months. I have estimated, from my own personal observation, that certain publishers have advertised certain quite ordinary books between a hundred and fifty and two hundred times within the space of three months.

      If a first book achieves a sale of a thou-sand copies it does very well. The average circulation of first books is probably nearer five hundred.

      A Reputation.

      It is best that a reputation should be made slowly. The greatest and firmest of modem reputations have been made slowly. When the author has produced something which the public appreciates, he should offer the public something else of the same sort, but better, as soon as possible. He need not be afraid of tiring the public by too much work; he will only tire them by perfunctory and hasty work. Critics are fond of crying out against over-production. One sees the phrase in the newspapers: “Mr. Blank is one of the few authors who do not overwrite themselves.” The truth is that only a small minority of authors over-write themselves. Most of the good and the tolerable ones do not write enough. They are in receipt of comfortable incomes and they develop a tendency to be lazy. This I know by auricular confessions. If the good and the tolerable authors wrote more, there would be less room for the perfunctory and the impudently careless authors.

      The aspirant who has been fortunate enough to make even the smallest success cannot follow it up too industriously and pertinaciously. He should take care to produce books at short regular intervals. He may continue this process for years without any really striking result either in fame or money, and he may pessimistically imagine that his prolonged labours are fruitless. And then newspapers will begin to refer to him as a known author, as an author the mention of whose name is sufficient to recall his productions, and he will discover that all the while the building of his reputation has been going on like the building of a coral reef. Even mediocre talent, when combined with fixity of purpose and regular industry, will infallibly result in a gratifying success. But it must never be forgotten that while the reputation is being formed, the excellent and amiable public needs continuous diplomatic treatment. The excellent and amiable public must not be permitted to ignore the existence of the rising author. At least once a year, and oftener if possible, a good, solid, well-made book should be flung into the libraries.

      When the reputation is fully achieved, and the author’s talent arrived at maturity, then, and not before, he may begin to enlarge his borders and indulge his idiosyncrasies with more freedom. In other words, the compromise between his own taste and the taste of the public, to which every author except the greatest must submit and ought to submit, may be to a certain extent abandoned. It is difficult to make a reputation, but it is even more difficult seriously to mar a reputation once properly made—so faithful is the public. From an established favourite the public will stand even hasty work and insolence. Much more, therefore, will it stand original and novel work that is sincerely done.

      Of course every author rightly wishes to make a position for himself as quickly as he can. And the author who achieves an early sudden success is to be congratulated—if his moral qualities are such that he can live up to that success. But an early success is a snare. The inexperienced author takes too much for granted. Conceit overcomes him. He regards himself with an undue seriousness. He thinks that he is founded in granite for ever. He thinks that the public will enjoy whatever he does because he has done it. Also he is tempted to expend his spirit prodigally in the service of editors and publishers for immediate profit, instead of working in secret for future and larger profit. The way not to consolidate a reputation is to fritter away energy on a multitude of small journalistic items instead of concentrating it on a single momentous enterprise. The young man with a small success to his credit may hug himself on the fact that he has got contracts for a regular weekly signed article in a sixpenny paper, a sensational serial in a daily, a hundred pounds’ worth of short stories in various Christmas numbers, and so on. But it were perhaps better for him, artistically and financially, that he should have earned less current money and given more time to a large work. Literary reputations are made by books (the longer the better!), not by contributions to the journalism of the day.

      All the foregoing remarks are addressed to those of my readers who do not happen to have very exceptional talent; that is, to about 99 per cent, of my readers. The man of very exceptional talent and the man of genius make rules to suit themselves, and break the old rules with astonishing felicity.

      The Literary Agent.

      The beginner, at the very outset, will do better for himself than any literary agent can do for him. A good agent with a busy practice will not, and cannot, devote to the work of a beginner, who may prove in the end profitless, that careful and minute attention which is necessary to ensure success. The best agents naturally decline to act for quite unknown men except on payment of a preliminary fee; and the preliminary-fee system is bad for all parties. When the aspirant has made a little success, when he can sell his work himself, then is the time for him to go to an agent. This advice may seem paradoxical, but it is sound. The value of a good literary agent to a rising or risen author has been demonstrated beyond all argument The question of the literary agent is no longer a “vexed question”; it is settled. An occasional protest against the agent, as an institution, is raised in some organs of the press, but all authors familiar with the inside of Fleet street are perfectly acquainted with the origin of such protests, and they smile among themselves. The editor and the publisher who “cannot understand why authors should be so foolish as to pay 10 per cent, of their earnings to an agent,” are marked men in genuine literary circles. When an editor or publisher informs you with a serious face that he never deals with literary agents, keep your wits about you, for you will need them. As a matter of strict fact I do not believe that there is a single editor or publisher of the slightest importance in London who could afford to boycott literary agents, for the simple reason that the work of nearly all the best authors can be obtained only through their agents.

      An inefficient literary agent is worse than none. The number of efficient agents is exceedingly small. My personal opinion is that there are certainly not more than three. The young author should remember this, and not be led away by specious circulars. In no case should he pay a preliminary fee. If a good agent will not act for him without a preliminary fee, the aspirant may rest assured that his case is not ripe for agency. The remuneration of agents, 10 per cent, on gross receipts, may at first sight appear large, but actually it is not excessive, especially on small incomes. When an author’s income reaches two thousand a year, the agent should be willing to accept 5 per cent, on all sums exceeding two thousand; but these details are not for the aspirant.

      The agent cannot perform miracles. He cannot force editors and publishers to buy work which they do not

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