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to pay for work which they do want What he can do is to suit the goods to the market and the market to the goods, to prevent the author from making an arrant fool of himself, and generally to exercise in delicate negotiations that diplomatic firmness and that diplomatic elasticity which are his chief stock-in-trade. The author who sells his own work when he might employ an agent to do so, commits three indiscretions at once. He loads his mind with preoccupations which impede the processes of literary composition. He meddles, of course clumsily, in a department of activity in which he is not an expert, and for which he is not fitted. And he loses money. It is almost universally true that an agent will get higher, and much higher, prices for a rising author than the author can get for himself. I do not think I am exaggerating if I say that when the average rising author goes to an agent, his income is doubled within twelve months.

      An author should visit his agent frequently, and keep him fully acquainted with his projects and plans. He should listen to the agent’s advice, but should not follow it too slavishly. No man, except a greater author, can teach an author his business. The agent is seldom or never a real expert of the literary art He is half an expert of the literary art and half a commercial expert: that is his raison (d'etre. An agent who was a real expert of the literary art would decidedly be a very bad agent.

      Lastly, when an agent is negotiating the sale of a work, he has the right to expect that his client will not interfere in the negotiations in any manner whatsoever. On the purely business side, after minimum prices have been settled between author and agent, the author should trust to the agent implicitly.

      Chapter IX

       The Occasional Author

       Table of Contents

      Books by Non-Literary Experts.

      In these days a man who has no general desire to write, and no sympathy with literature, may be led by circumstances temporarily to join the ranks of the authors. The inducing circumstances are entirely unconnected with the literary instinct; they have to do with the love of gain, the passion for notoriety, or—more seldom—the genuine wish to impart knowledge. Any man, for example, who happens to win the professional or amateur golf championship for three years in succession could certainly get a good offer from a good firm of publishers for a book on golf. He may be almost wholly unfitted for the task of writing a book; he may loathe the sight of a pen, the composition of even familiar letters may be a weariness to him; nevertheless a book by him on his subject will sell. The same thing may be said of the man who swims the channel, the man who spends twenty years in prison, the man who loops the loop, the man who squanders a million in three years, the man who gets in and out of Lhassa safely, the man who goes round the world in sixty days, the man who has achieved fame by devoting a lifetime to chrysanthemums, or bulldogs, or dynamos, or consumption, or the North Pole, or hunting, or old furniture, or safe-robbing. Sooner or later the idea will occur, or will be presented, to every conspicuous specialist: " Why not write a book about your speciality?” From such a volume the profits may be anything from fifty pounds to fifty thousand pounds. The literary sequel of Nansen’s approximation to the North Pole no doubt resulted in the accruing of considerably more than fifty thousand pounds to the explorer’s pocket, while even the Jubilee Plunger was able to make an appreciable sum out of the record of his jejune follies. Examples might be multiplied infinitely, and it cannot be questioned that the class of books by non-literary experts grows more numerous year by year.

      The Amateur’s Best Way.

      When the non-literary expert is wooed by a firm of publishers, or himself conceives the idea of a book, he is often at a loss how to proceed. He cares nothing and knows nothing about literature, but he wishes to produce just that book, as well as he can, and with the least possible worry and trouble. To begin with, if the affair is sufficiently important—that is to say, if he is likely to make a hundred pounds or more out of it— he should put the business side of it unreservedly into the hands of a good literary agent. And he should also consult the agent as to the literary side.

      Some non-literary experts have a natural gift of literary expression; every man who thinks clearly can write clearly, if not with grace and technical .correctness. Most non-literary experts, however, write very badly— and who shall blame them, since neither thinking nor writing is their special business? The man who cannot write decently, and feels that he cannot, yet is determined to compass a book, should proceed as follows:—

      He should forget that such things as style, literature, and print exist; and he should endeavour to convince himself that writing a book is exactly on all-fours with telling a friend about one’s exploits, or writing a letter to one’s mother to say that one has been made a K.C.B. or a ’Varsity Blue. (It is, really.) He should then plan out the various divisions of the subject itself, omitting all side-issues, digressions, prefaces, introductions, or other extraneous matter. He may next make short notes of the contents of each division. Then, taking the first division, he should thoroughly think it out in his mind, and when he is saturated with it, he should explain it all orally to a friend—any friend who happens to be handy. He will find that this process, if faithfully executed, will clarify and arrange his ideas in an extraordinary way. The time has now come for him to write out the first division. Let him write naturally, utterly forgetting style, spelling, punctuation, and everything that he has hitherto connected with the notion of literature. When he sticks fast over the expression of a thought, he must imagine the friend in front of him and himself explaining that thought by word of mouth, and he must write as he would speak. Above all, he must make no attempt to imitate professional authors by the aid of his recollections of newspapers and books. At all cost of dignity, sonority, and convention, he must be simple and unaffected. Doubtless he will think ruefully that this haphazard, school-boyish, unconventional production which he is accomplishing is not in the least literature. He may be satisfied, nevertheless, that it is a nearer approach to literature than he could arrive at by any other procedure.

      The Literary Assistant.

      When he has finished the first division he may call it a chapter and regard it as part of a book. He should take it to his agent, if he has employed one, and ascertain whether it will “do.” He may rely on the agent’s candid opinion. If he has not employed an agent, he must get the best opinion available. Should the opinion be favourable, the amateur author may of course continue as before. Should the opinion be wholly or mainly adverse, he must call in a literary specialist to his assistance. He may be introduced to such a person by his agent, or the editor of any literary paper would be happy to make a recommendation. This literary assistant is an inexpensive luxury and well worth his cost. He will either work for a share in the profits, or for a fixed remuneration. His function is to keep an eye on the general symmetry of the book, and to turn the actual author’s amateurish sentences into respectable, flowing English. However badly the actual author writes, he should, if he wishes the best ultimate result, write out the whole book himself after discussing the outlines of it with the assistant; the assistant will then re-write it in consultation with him. The preface, if any, &c., should be done last of all. The assistant’s name does not appear on the title-page.

      Chapter X

       Playwriting

       Table of Contents

      Conditions of the Stage.

      It is of course impossible for me, in a book of this scope and these dimensions, to deal adequately with such a complex subject as the art, craft, and business of writing for the stage. I shall pretend to do no more than offer a brief sketch of the conditions of the modern theatre, together with a few hints for the aspiring dramatist. The artistic level of the English stage is at present low. It is much higher than it was twenty years ago, but scarcely so high as it was five or six years ago. There are certainly a few

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