Part 25
Generally speaking however 90 per cent of manuscripts are rejected because they fail to grip the interest in the first few pages. It might be remembered that the editor in his official capacity is not an analyst or critic. He is first and foremost a _buyer_; and moreover a buyer of comparatively small quantities picked from an enormous mass of material in a limited time. It would be a total impossibility for him to read and weigh in its entirety every manuscript that comes before him. Also it is unnecessary. One doesn’t have to eat the whole of the egg to discover it is passé. He is a buyer and he knows, or is supposed to, the tastes and desires of his principal--that is to say the particular fraction of the general public to which his particular periodical caters--he knows what they want and it is from that point of view that he reads. It is his job and his joy to supply his readers not only with what they want but with the _best_ of what they want, and, if authors would only believe it, there is more rejoicing in the editorial heaven over one new writer of promise than over the ninety and nine who have already arrived.
An editor is not an incompetent ass because he rejects for his adventure magazine a story that later is snapped up by the _Century_ or _Atlantic_, although authors are apt to chortle gleefully over such a contretemps; nor is there any truth in the oft repeated rumors--propagated by the failures--of a cabal to suppress budding genius, and a clique of editors to guard the Olympian heights from all but those bearing the stamp of approval of their masters. As a matter of fact if an author after real and conscientious effort fails to sell it is either because his stuff does not measure up to standard or because he is persistently peddling to the wrong market. You can’t sell the finest line of fancy flower pots to a fish dealer.
It is this latter point that should be stressed especially. Far too many really able authors fail to understand the value of a thorough knowledge of the market. Most of them haven’t even a general knowledge of it; do not think of it at all. To them a magazine is a magazine. Their attitude is “You publish stories, Why not mine?” and they send a beautifully written and wholly plotless character sketch to a publication using only rapid fire adventure stuff and a charming little New England pastoral to one of the magazines devoted wholly to sex topics, and then wonder why they come back.
Perhaps speaking broadly it is this ignorance of market that accounts for at least a large percentage of the rejections that afflict authors (aside from the vast army of amateurs, novices and hopeless incompetents) whose work is really good.
ELLIOT BALESTIER.
_Argosy-Allstory Weekly._ THE FRANK A. MUNSEY CO., 280 Broadway, New York City.
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY
It really would not serve your purpose if I were to write you about my principles of accepting stories. They are too capricious, and would only tend to lower the feelings of respect which you are inculcating in your readers.
Quite seriously, my selection is made according to the whim of one individual.
ELLERY SEDGWICK.
_The Atlantic Monthly._ 8 Arlington Street, Boston, Mass.
THE CENTURY MAGAZINE
When you ask me what kind of stories we want for _The Century_, I am puzzled about answering, for the truth is we like almost all kinds, provided they are done with distinction. I think I may speak for the editorial staff when I say that distinction is the mark at which we are aiming.
_The Century_ is a family magazine, edited for the mature members of the family. Every one who reads the magazine knows that we welcome new writers. Indeed, it is a day of rejoicing when the mail yields a story of real promise by an unknown writer.
We do not want war stories, for the public is tired of war-fiction; nor “machine-made” stories, the cheap clap-trap that has nothing to recommend it but facility.
For myself, I have a confession to make. It is this: “I do not know much about art, but I know what I like!” I am aware that the knowing will look askance upon this avowal of the Philistine, but it is a good creed and wears well. And I believe that the editor who pleases himself in the selection of manuscripts stands a better chance of pleasing others than he who guesses at the tastes of a fickle general public whom he fancies as remote from himself in their likings as a race of Martians.
Simplicity and Sincerity are the true gods in art as in life; of that I am sure.
You ask me to mention several short stories published in _The Century_ within four or five years that we like particularly and to tell you why. I think first of “The Friends,” by Stacy Aumonier, printed in October, 1915. This story is an unplotted, realistic study of two drunkards, friends whose only bond was drink. It is perhaps the most powerful prohibition tract ever published and not a word of prohibition in it! An analysis of Aumonier’s work--any bit of it--will reveal a sureness of touch which is a refreshment to the soul. Some of his stories are finer than others, of course, but like Phyllis Bottome and Anne Douglas Sedgwick, there is always distinction about his work.
Some of the critics were good enough to call “The Friends” the best story published in any magazine that year. To me, besides my admiration for it as an artistic creation, it stands for two things: one, an example of an interesting phenomenon,--Mr. Aumonier was a man in middle life, I am told, when he began writing, and evidently found a beautiful and finished technique in his pocket!--the other, a warning never to judge a story by what it is not. It would be fatally easy to write “no plot” across such a manuscript and lose it forever.
“A Source of Irritation,” also by Stacy Aumonier, published in _The Century_ for January, 1918, is a delicious bit of humor to my way of thinking. It is pleasant to know that Aumonier’s many-sided mind has humor and gaiety, too, in its composition.
“The Wedding Jest” and “Porcelain Cups” by James Branch Cabell, printed in September, 1919, and November, 1919 seem to me very lovely. In the stodge of every-day literary expression, such delicacy and grace are rare indeed. These stories are remarkable for that almost obsolete quality, “style.”
“The Fat of the Land,” by Anzia Yeszierska, a study of the Russian Jew in America and the reaction of the older generation to the loud prosperities of the younger, is excellent work, full of the intangible quality of race and keen in its psychology. It was published in _The Century_ for August, 1919.
One wishes to mention, too, the black magic of “The Black Key,” by Joseph Hergesheimer, the rich embroideries of H. G. Dwight and Achmed Abdullah, the bold portraiture of Harvey O’Higgins, the subtly fine work of Marjory Morten. Also that exquisite study of innocence, “Red and White,” by Roland Pertwee; and Myla Jo Closser’s dog-story, “At the Gate.”
It is impossible for any magazine to sustain regularly the level of its best fiction, for the simple reason that such stories do not happen frequently--would there were more of them! Those I have mentioned are among the best, in my judgment, that _The Century_ has published for several years, and it is towards work of such character that we are aiming.
I take it, dear Miss Wick, that you have asked me to characterize some of our most cherished stories in order to show by concrete examples the kind of fiction _The Century_ wants; and I believe that you are right in thinking this plan the best way of saying it.
Sincerely yours, ANNE STODDARD.
_The Century Magazine._ 353 Fourth Avenue, New York City.
COLLIER’S, THE NATIONAL WEEKLY
When a writer wants to please an editor, the surest way is to forget all about him. The editor is not reading the story for his own entertainment. He reads with only one idea in mind: “Will this story appeal to all kinds of people? Is it a good story?”
An editor of a magazine of general circulation seldom seeks one particular kind of story. He wants the best stories written. The quickest way to his favor is to write them.
There are no set rules for accomplishing this. Only a few landmarks are on the road. Know your subject. Have something to tell. Be sure that something happens in the story.
If nothing happens, if there is no action, you have perhaps written a very good essay or a very convincing argument--but you will not be able to sell it as a short story.
Remember that you are writing a short story, not a condensed novel. A short story, once started, has only one object--to end as quickly as possible.
There are only two people who can infallibly detect padding in a story. One is yourself. The other is the reader.
It pays, always, to be clean. A questionable story will attract many people--but it will repel more.
Few writers succeed in being convincing when they wander into fields they don’t know. Every man collects a mass of information concerning the road over which he has traveled, and the people he met on the way. Use this information. It will furnish all the short stories you can ever write.
Just as people strive for “happy endings” in their own affairs, so they like them in stories which they read for entertainment.
The enduring themes for short stories are the enduring themes in life itself; the old copybook virtues, like self-sacrifice, courage, generosity, resourcefulness and faith.
The writer succeeds in proportion as he makes his reader eager for another story by him. Editors have ways to judge this reaction. Forget the editor, and what you think he wants. Write directly to the man or woman who is going to buy the magazine and read your story.
HARFORD POWELL, JR.
_Collier’s, The National Weekly._ 416 West 13th Street, New York City.
AINSLEE’S MAGAZINE
_Ainslee’s_ publishes yearly a total of approximately a hundred and twenty short stories (from 5,000 to 8,000 words in length), twelve novelettes (from 20,000 to 30,000) and, in monthly installments, about four serials (from 50,000 to 70,000). And, to cull this relatively small amount of fiction, innumerable manuscripts are painstakingly gone over. At a rough estimate, erring on the side of too few rather than too many, ten thousand manuscripts are submitted yearly from various sources for consideration by _Ainslee’s Magazine_. Of these, eight thousand, I should say, are absolutely unsuited to publication anywhere, while the remaining number are perhaps creditable enough, but have been sent by their authors or the authors’ agents to the wrong magazine--which brings me to the registering of a simple, but curiously disregarded, bit of advice to those whose goal is writing for magazine publication. _Study the magazine to which you contemplate submitting material._ After all, each issue of a magazine, whatsoever its character, represents the nearest approach to their ideal for the publication, which the editors have been able, at the time to achieve, and should therefore constitute a fairly good working pattern for those whose stuff is to be “aimed at” that magazine. A rejection slip from a given publication is just as apt to mean that the story, albeit distinctive, does not fit the special needs of the magazine as to indicate total unfittedness for publication anywhere.
_Ainslee’s Magazine_ aims to be a high-class, clean, distinctive fiction magazine. It has no room for, nor time for, the frankly salacious, or “sexy.” It is looking always for the proverbial good story, well told. That story may move around any clean, healthy, up-to-date theme, but it should have in it, preferably, woman and love interest. The people of the story should be human, not wooden. They should talk like you and I talk, not like Maria Edgeworth’s people “conversed.” And the tale itself must be colorful. If a story is to have any holding quality whatever, it must transfer its readers to the scene of the action. And to do this, the thing must have in it real atmosphere. Plot basis, then, along with good characterization, atmosphere, and love and woman interest are essentials for the typical _Ainslee’s_ story.
We like to think that stories in _Ainslee’s Magazine_, though varied in character, are uniformly good. We hesitate, therefore, to talk of “better and best.” But, by way of illustration of the points we have sought to make, we call attention to Marie Van Vorst’s “The Week-End Guest” in the December issue of _Ainslee’s_--a good story on all counts, and well suited to _Ainslee’s_.
HELEN L. LIEDER.
_Ainslee’s Magazine._ STREET & SMITH CORPORATION, Seventh Avenue and Fifteenth Street, New York City.
COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE
The first essential for editing a popular magazine for Americans is that the editor be a sane, normal, every-day American. No mystical genius is required.
He is merchandising a commodity to the American public. If his taste is the taste of the average American, and he puts within the covers of a magazine stories which he has enjoyed reading, other Americans of similar taste in reading will buy his magazine in quantities sufficient to make it a success.
At least, that is the theory I have followed. I know quite well that I am no genius, yet I have seen magazines grow under my direction. And I have no rule for buying a story except that it must be sufficiently interesting and sufficiently well told to interest me.
All sorts of stories interest me. Some time ago, for the satisfaction of a friend of mine, I named the ten short stories which I had liked best of all those I had published. It was interesting even to me to see how they varied. The ten stories were: BACK PAY by Fannie Hurst; HASSAYAMPA JIM by Peter B. Kyne; KAZAN by James Oliver Curwood; THE STORY I CAN’T WRITE by Rupert Hughes; THE LAST ADVENTURE by Frank R. Adams; BOSTON BLACKIE’S MARY by Jack Boyle; THE JUGGLER by Arthur Springer; THE SNIDE by Harris Merton Lyon; THE GHOST’S STORY by Basil King; THE DUMMY CHUCKER by Arthur Somers Roche. That’s about as catholic a list as I can imagine.
“Back Pay,” “The Snide” and “The Last Adventure” might be classified as “sex” stories, although I dislike that term. “The Story I Can’t Write” was a trick story; “Boston Blackie’s Mary” was a prison story; “Hassayampa Jim” was a Western story; “The Dummy Chucker” was an O’Henry-ish bit of writing; “Kazan” was a dog story; “The Ghost’s Story” was a story of the supernatural (it was the story from which Mr. King later built his photoplay “Earthbound”); “The Juggler” was a character study with an extraordinary twist in the ending.
No two of these stories in any way resembled each other. I suppose that’s because I believe in variety, not because of any rule that variety makes a good magazine, but because my taste in reading varies. I am likely this evening to read Cellini for relaxation; tomorrow evening to read Mark Twain, the following evening to read De Maupassant. I like each one of them while I am reading him, but I don’t want too much of any one of them.
That probably is true of the average reader of American magazines. He has his favorite authors but he doesn’t want too much of any of them. I think Peter B. Kyne, James Oliver Curwood, Fannie Hurst, Ben Ames Williams, and Frank R. Adams are doing the best work of any magazine writers of to-day, but I feel quite sure that a magazine filled with their work and only their work, month after month, would become a bore.
Each one of these writers is a friend of mine; yet, I am quite sure, neither they nor I would enjoy talking together every evening for a year. I find that I am the average American in virtually everything; that I like what he likes without stopping to find out why; and I believe, too, that there is no reading too good for the American public--that there is nothing real and worth while that is “over his head.”
RAY LONG.
_Cosmopolitan._ _Good Housekeeping._ _Harper’s Bazar._ _Hearst’s Magazine._ 119 West 40th Street, New York City.
THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN
The _Country Gentleman_ addresses a class of readers whose interests are keyed to country life and the industry of agriculture. This field is big enough to include more than half of the nation’s population. Our editorial problem is not one of tying in narrowly to scientific discussions of only the growing phases of farming but ranges throughout the innumerable business and social problems of the American country-side. It is our aim to discuss everything that should help to broaden the farmer’s vision of his own problems and also of all interrelated problems that help to make him a vital factor as a citizen of the United States.
In presenting fiction, we aim, so far as possible, to confine the themes to country life and the open spaces of the world outdoors. We eschew jazzily up-to-date urbanized fiction, sex novels, the eternal triangle and the purely psychologic story. Naturally we will always give a preference to fiction related to farming by first-class writers who are thoroughly familiar with farming.
It is our feeling that the American farmer is interested in everything that has any contact with country life. Hunting and fishing and outdoor adventure are his life-long sports. He has a deep and genuine affection for animals that serve him. He manifests a very live interest in stories that deal with his marketing problems, and his ever-pressing problem of financing his business. He has an alert interest in his schools, his newspapers, in local, state and national government. He enjoys character studies and has a vastly sharper sense of humor than he is commonly credited with. Likewise he is a shrewd critic and quickly resents the sort of attempted slurs that are so frequently made upon rural folk by those who are wholly ignorant of farming.
We feel justified in being guided by several successful experiments we have made with our fiction. We persuaded Mr. Freeman Tilden, who is a farmer himself and thoroughly familiar with all phases of agriculture, to create a character in Old Man Crabtree who might be defined as “a Wallingford baiter.” Mr. Crabtree is a shrewd retired country banker. His experience had taught him all the tricks of “high finance” and he was always on the lookout for the specialists in shoddy and sham when they came to town. In the climax the skinners were invariably neatly flayed by Old Man Crabtree. These stories of Mr. Tilden were real and drew in a continuous flow of favorable comment.
Zane Grey has always been able to strike a responsive chord with the lovers of outdoor life, of whom the American farmer is undoubtedly in the majority. They like his descriptions of the frontier as it was in the 70’s and they seem to be keen for his vigorous characters, notwithstanding how strenuous.
We like good dog stories of the sort Albert Payson Terhune has been writing for us. And we like small town stories when they are as good as those Tom P. Morgan is writing; but then, Tom Morgan lived these stories for fifty years before he began to write them.
The great majority of our contributors have specialized in some agricultural pursuit. Many of them are living on their farms and conducting them as successful business enterprises. We number among our most valued contributors the heads of leading agricultural colleges, federal and state government experts, graduates of agricultural colleges who are now devoting all their time to writing, county agricultural agents, engineers who are specializing in agricultural mechanics and so on. Among them are such well-known men as Eugene Davenport, Dean of the Illinois College of Agriculture, Herbert Quick, until recently a member of the Federal Farm Loan Board, Frank A. Waugh, Professor of Horticulture, Massachusetts College of Agriculture, E. V. Wilcox and J. Sidney Cates, for many years employed as farm management experts by the United States Department of Agriculture, and P. S. Lovejoy, Professor of Forestry, University of Michigan.
Such writers as I have described above supply the bulk of the contents of _The Country Gentleman_ and consequently to preserve a balanced ration, as a livestock feeder would say, we try our utmost to obtain the sort of fiction that will round out the ensemble.
BARTON W. CURRIE.
_The Country Gentleman._ CURTIS PUBLISHING CO., Independence Square, Philadelphia, Pa.
THE DELINEATOR
We _Delineator_ editors think that we know a good story when we see it; _vide_ the magazine. Yet no issue of the magazine, and perhaps no six issues, contain all the types of good stories that we like.
The average intelligent American woman or girl, in the home or in business, is the person we have chiefly in mind when choosing stories. The above-the-average woman, of course, is not forgotten.
Nor do we exclude any special type of story. We prefer stories that will interest everyone--men, women and high-brows--but we want stories for women first. Other things being equal, the hero should be a woman. We think we have no prejudices and we certainly have no rules.
JAMES E. TOWER.
_The Delineator._ THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING CO., Spring and Macdougal Streets, New York City.
THE DESIGNER
Both Arthur Tomalin, the editor, and Emily R. Burt, his assistant, felt hesitant to express their ideas on what constituted a good and therefore a desirable story for _The Designer_. They both made much of the fact that a story to appeal to women readers should mirror life as it is, and as it daily affects the great body of both men and women who are seeking to weather its problems and complexities. Sympathy and understanding are perhaps the two qualities upon which they put greatest stress.
_The Designer._ THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING CO. 12 Vandam Street, New York City.
THE DIAL
I do not believe it is possible to formulate any laws in accordance with which one can judge the merit of fiction any more than it is possible to formulate such laws for the judgment of any other æsthetic object. In deciding whether or not we accept for publication in _The Dial_ a story submitted to us we are guided almost wholly by the intensity of the impression made upon us by that story. Of course the means by which the author attains this intensity are very varied and of course each manner of attack presupposes its own technique. However, it would be inappropriate for me in this letter to endeavour to sketch out my personal opinion of what would be the technique of any particular type of story.
But of course all stories, whatever their character, depend in part for their intensity upon the delicacy of the writer’s perception of verbal values as well as upon the delicacy of his perception of character and environment. And of course prose rhythms are quite as important as those in verse.
Perhaps I might add that my personal feeling is that dialogue is much over-done in American fiction of to-day and that the best writers depend upon it merely to relieve pure narrative.
I regard fiction as quite as pure an art as poetry or as music and therefore give no preference to one story because it delineates real life rather than Ultima Thule.
I am sorry I am not able to go into the subject more thoroughly and more satisfactorily.
SCOFIELD THAYER.