Part 29
Writers should make a little study of the magazine to which they desire to contribute, as in this way they will save their own time as well as the editor’s. We are only too glad to get in touch with new writers, and do all we can to encourage and develop them.
THE EDITOR.
_Snappy Stories._ THE NEW FICTION PUBLISHING COMPANY, 35-37 West Thirty-ninth Street, New York City.
TELLING TALES
In the ten years or so that I have been editing magazines that question “Why I Buy the Stories I Do” has been asked of me dozens and dozens of times, and I am as far as ever from being able to answer it.
Authors and would-be authors are constantly coming and saying: “Mr. Clayton, what kind of stories do you want for your magazine?” and the only answer I can give them is, that I want any good story, providing it is not a sex story, and when they want to pin me down to what constitutes a good story I am utterly lost, and can only say that my idea of a good story is any story that I like.
I presume that every magazine to be successful must be an expression of its editor’s individual taste. In other words, it must have a personality of its own, and that personality can only come from the man who makes it.
Perhaps the point that appeals to me most strongly about a story is the _humanness_ of its characters. They must really _live_, so that the reader is impressed with their reality. Only thus may he come to feel toward them a friendly spirit which will lead him to take an actual interest in their adventures or misadventures, their love affairs, their successes or failures.
The _writing_ of a story is not, to me, the most important part of it. If the story is there, careful editorial work will smooth out many of the crudities of expression or careless short-comings of its author, but no editing can supply a plot where none exists, nor make human or interesting characters that are obviously mere wooden puppets to their creator.
Of course, the better written a story is, the larger is apt to be the check that is sent in return for it, because naturally, an editor, like the buyer of any commodity, cannot afford to pay as much for raw materials requiring a great deal of work to put them into usable shape, as he can for a finished and perfected article.
To sum up, I would say that before writing a story an author should first have a story to tell, and then be as careful as possible in the telling. The main quality needed after that, if one is to become a successful writer, is, I should say, inexhaustible perseverance.
WILLIAM M CLAYTON.
_Telling Tales._ 114 Bible House, New York City.
TODAY’S HOUSEWIFE
You ask me to give you some indication of the fiction requirements of _Today’s Housewife_. I can give you this very briefly: About all that we require is that the story shall be clean and interesting. It may deal with the home and child interest, it may be a married love story, a young love story, a humorous story or one of adventure and mystery. There must be no sex problem; no repulsive crime. It may be as much of a thriller as any one can desire, but it must lead to ultimate good; it must leave the reader in a satisfied frame of mind, although this does not necessarily mean that it needs have a “happy ending.” It must have a satisfactory ending and it must lead the reader along an upward path. We like our stories to be full of action, plenty of sparkling dialogue, and they must be well written. We use but few stories in _Today’s Housewife_, but we demand that these be of an excellent type.
DELLA T. LUTES.
_Today’s Housewife._ Cooperstown, N.Y.
TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE
It always seems to me so futile to talk to people who do not know how to write stories about the way they should be written. I feel that when I attempt it, I speak a language they do not understand. I never have a feeling that I am being understood when I talk on the subject to amateurs. And experience tells me that I am not understood. I must ask you, therefore, to excuse me from holding forth on this very illusive topic.
Thanking you for the compliment you pay me in asking me to write something, I am
Yours very truly, HENRY W. THOMAS, _Editor_.
_Top-Notch Magazine._ 79-89 Seventh Avenue. New York City.
THE TOUCHSTONE
The kind of story I am always longing to have for my magazine must have in it characters that affect me as human beings would, characters that are true to their inheritance and environment, who react honestly and sincerely to their training and surroundings. Write about any type of man, woman or child that you choose, but make them true to type, or rather true to character. For instance, the longshoreman must not only _talk_, but _think_ and _feel_ like a longshoreman. It seems important to me that the soubrette should not react to life as a bishop would, and that the philosophy of a returned soldier should vary somewhat from that of an elderly spinster of New England training.
In other words the fiction writer has got to know life, either by intuition, in which case he has genius; or by experience, in which case talent will serve.
And having achieved the power to see life profoundly and sincerely you must then find a way to tell your public what you see, to tell it in such a manner that you create the illusion of life in your characters, and make the characters create the illusion of reality in their environment.
An author may write cleverly, smartly, brightly, with quite a little sense of drama, sell his stories easily, and have a name that you remember, and not possess one atom of real insight into human nature, and not one moment’s grasp of power to portray humanity through words that convince and thrill.
I am not at all satisfied with the idea that if you amuse the public you are a good short story writer, or even if you manage to thrill the public that your short stories are worthwhile. Very young and very poor writers can do both these things. And I do not think it at all necessary to have happy endings to stories. This absurd catering to the more feeble public mind is not thought essential in writing an opera or a great tragedy or in painting a picture. Wagner did not think that it was necessary at the end of “Götterdämmerung” to have his orchestra play some tinkling little melody to send his people home happy. He wrote his music so that you go home after the great sacrifice of _Brunnhilde’s_ filled with mighty splendid thoughts of life, love, death and immortality. When Rodin pictured “A Thinker,” a man facing universal problems, he did not carve at his side a merry little clown to cheer up the beholder, who is afraid of thought. And a poet does not jest at the end of a beautiful rhythm that has poured out through his heart and soul.
So why should we ask of the writer, and always of the dramatist, that these particular works of art should invariably leave humanity smiling, light-hearted and forgetful. I do not think it is necessary to consider the ending at all, let it develop from the psychology of the people in the story, and make the episode as it would be in life to the best of your ability.
I think, perhaps, at the start, the best way to learn how to write is, _not to write_. And, of course, I mean here, not to write thoughtlessly and without relating life to words. Above all, I am opposed to studying models in writing. I would like to say, forget all about the styles that have been set before you as models. Disregard those famous old English essayists. Turn your face away firmly, however reluctantly, from Lamb, Macaulay and Carlyle. I even advise you to bid a sad farewell to Edith Wharton and Henry James. And while Bernard Shaw will amuse and delight you, he will only inspire you to imitate him. And what could be less important to you, and more torturing to the editors than to join the ever-swelling army of Shaw’s imitators? Because the important thing about Shaw is--his fantastic brain, his whimsical soul, his lack of philosophy, his ability to contort all life into witty jeers, and these attributes for good or evil you must be born with.
It sounds very drastic, but I think it very important to empty your minds of all literary ideals. And above all to abandon forever the burning desire “to express yourself.” Because it is immensely more important to gather through experience and vision and fine sympathy, universal truths to express, than to imagine that within oneself is hidden a great unwritten truth. Once your mind is delightfully empty and free and at your command, begin to think, to observe, to appreciate; but do not make the mistake of branding the people you meet as interesting models for fiction writing. It is far more important to think of _your characters_ as _real people_. After you have learned to observe life honestly and very simply, all the phases of life with which you come into contact, then write exactly what you think about them, just as you would tell typical episodes to some one interested in your observation--except of course that you must tell your story conscientiously, you must bear in mind the pattern that you are weaving. And you are not writing good fiction, until you have learned to design a pattern of writing with beauty, and put it down with power.
As I think I have said before, one of the first points I look for in a story is character that is a product of its own environment. Dialogue that has an accent is not enough to separate one nation from another; it is the kind of person that is expressed through an accent that is significant. The dialogue must be born in the soul; otherwise the impression given is irritatingly superficial and sometimes absurd.
So you see, observation is not enough for fiction writing, however searching; nor experience, however varied; nor style, however distinguished. There must be power to discern truth, and imagination to fashion for it a garment of shining loveliness. I have grown to believe that the very words used in writing should carry a weight of emotionalism. It is not enough to feel drama or to talk about drama when you are writing. Drama must pass through the actual words and drench them with fervor.
MARY FANTON ROBERTS.
_The Touchstone._ 1 West 47th Street, New York City.
WESTERN STORY MAGAZINE
_Western Story Magazine_ is a weekly publication. It is therefore a large fiction market, constantly in need of short stories of 2,500 to 6,000 or 7,000 words, novelettes of 12,000 or 15,000, and novels of 25,000 words. Serials should run from 36,000 to 100,000 words in length, and break up approximately in about 12,000-word installments.
All stories for _Western Story Magazine_ must deal with incidents in the West, Canada, Alaska. If possible, they must be written in such a way as to urge readers to want to lead a life in the open. While many readers realize that conditions have changed in the West, the stories should be written so that the reader who knows that these conditions have changed will understand that what the author means is that such and such was the case in the good old days, and that on the other hand the reader who does not know that conditions have changed will assume that they are to-day as the author states.
No story is acceptable for _Western Story Magazine_ which contains an unpleasant sex element.
F. E. BLACKWELL.
_Western Story Magazine._ 79 Seventh Avenue, New York City.
THE WOMAN’S HOME COMPANION
Fiction is a very large element in our program. We publish not less than five short stories in each issue and not less than six serials a year.
These are the requirements which make a fiction manuscript available:
It must tell a story.
It must tell it well--that is, according to accepted standards of good writing.
The story must be worth telling.
The theme must be interesting to the average normal human being.
It may be a story of love, mystery, humor, pathos, childhood, youth, old age, men, women, home life, business life; its scene may be laid anywhere on earth, in the past, present or future. It may have plot and action, or merely atmosphere. It may be by an unknown writer or by the most famous. We merely want to be convinced that a great number of our readers will enjoy reading it.
Of all the stories the _Woman’s Home Companion_ published in 1920, I put at the head of the list, “According to Ruskin,” by Harriet Welles.
It answers the requirements I have outlined. It tells a story, a poignant and appealing story. It tells it well, with skill, directness and restraint, and with power. The theme is that of sacrifice, one that has held its appeal for hundreds of years, a theme around which many of the greatest stories of all times have been written. It has both plot and atmosphere.
It was not altogether easy to choose the best story of the year’s issues, and it would not be easy to choose the second or third in rank. But there are several that I wish to mention as illustrative of what we consider good stories and the kind of fiction we like to publish.
“The Neighbor” by Katharine Holland Brown is a difficult thing well done. Written with less skill and feeling it would lack the beauty that distinguishes it. It is a type of story that is seldom successful, but in Miss Brown’s skilful hands it is a masterly piece of work.
“Shooting Stars” is one of Alice Brown’s New England tales, well told and absorbing in its carefully-presented setting and its analysis of character.
“The Boy in the Corner” by M. C. L. Pickthall is a story of the West, of a mining town, in its setting and atmosphere. In plot it is a study in spiritual values simply and dramatically related.
Two stories, dealing in widely different ways with love and poverty in the relation of a mother to a young daughter, are “The Genius” by Sophie Kerr, and “A Sweater for Mabel” by Elsie Singmaster. They are both admirable examples of narrative, woven around plots of universal interest.
“The Master Passion” by Mary Heaton Vorse is a piece of work that is distinguished by its keen realization of situations and values and by the mingling of emotion and reason which the story discloses.
Of lighter tone and somewhat slighter structure is “Thursday and the King and Queen” by Theodora DuBois. This is an excellent example of a pleasing humorous story, with a real plot and real people, plenty of incident and amusing situations, the kind of story we delight in.
“The Torch” by Anna Branson Hillyard is an example of a serious and sincere story dealing with one of the problems of present day young people. It is earnest without being preachy, and it has a purpose without being propaganda.
“But I Knew You’d Understand” by Ruth Comfort Mitchell is a graphic and sympathetic picture of young married life. It has a variety of well-drawn characters and an atmosphere that bears the sure touch of reality.
These are the stories that I feel I cannot pass over without mention. These stories come up to our requirements for a good piece of fiction and in every case they offer to the story-reader value that is pressed down and running over.
I am glad to have had the opportunity to publish these stories and I am happy to recommend them as examples of good contemporary fiction.
GERTRUDE B. LANE.
_Woman’s Home Companion._ 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City.
YOUNG’S MAGAZINE
For about thirty years _Young’s Magazine_ has been purveying fiction for the entertainment of the public. It has many readers and some contributors of twenty years’ standing. Of its fellows--all-fiction magazines that started with or shortly after it--what remnant is left!
It is good philosophy, as well as common sense, that such survival testifies to an inhering excellence or usefulness. In the case of _Young’s Magazine_ the quality making for survival is that not only has it given to the public what was wanted--good stories, but it has helped to create them; it has been the arena where many, now famous, perfected the use of their medium--where some have learned first principles, too--and it has helped all by criticism and advice.
Allowing full weight to _manner_--graces of style, diction and what not--_Young’s_ has steadfastly worked from the standpoint that _matter_ comes first. The story’s the thing; what the reader wants. This insistence on “meat” in the story--something cogent, logical, properly articulated--has won for the magazine a standing and a place with writers that is emphasized by its popular success.
Looking back over the index, familiar names are everywhere; selecting haphazard: Jeffery Farnol, Mary Roberts Rinehart, “Ouida,” Charles Hanson Towne, Marcel Prevost, Margaret Pedler, Mrs. Justin H. McCarthy, Tom Gallon, Richard Le Gallienne, Dale Drummond, Berton Braley, Hildegarde Hawthorne, Rita Weiman, Harry Kemp, Doctor Frank Crane, Octavus Roy Cohen, Nalbo Bartley, Reginald Wright Kauffman, Homer Croy, Mabel Wagnalls, Henry Payson Dowst, Martha M. Stanley, William Le Queux, Oliver Sandys, Nina Wilcox Putnam, Elizabeth Jordan, Grace MacGowan Cooke, Julian Hawthorne, Achmed Abdullah, Hapsburg Liebe, Jules Eckert Goodman, Roi Cooper Megrue, Clarence L. Cullen, Jeanne Judson, Channing Pollock, Percival Weil, Louise Winter, Martha Morton, Temple Bailey, Gertrude Brooke Hamilton, Maude Fulton.
Take it how you will--whether the fact be welcome or not--“sex,” as it is called (with the quotation marks), shares with one or two other big things the distinction of being a primal force in the life of the world. It is real; it is vital. And as _Young’s Magazine_ and _Breezy Stories_ want vital fiction, they seek stories of love and its attendant emotions as they affect and as they are expressed in life as it is lived; not the tenuous sentimentalism of the “mushy” love-story--moonshine and bubbles, beautiful airy nothings that touch _life_ at not a single point.
CASHEL POMEROY.
_Young’s Magazine._ _Breezy Stories._ THE C. H. YOUNG PUBLISHING CO., INC., 377 Fourth Avenue, New York City.
Footnotes
[1] Copyright by _Ainslee’s Magazine_.
[2] Copyright by _The American Magazine_.
[3] Copyright, 1917, by _The Century Co._
[4] Copyright, 1920, by _Collier’s, The National Weekly_.
[5] Copyright, 1919, by _The Cosmopolitan Magazine_.
[6] Copyright by _Everybody’s Magazine_.
[7] Copyright by _McClure’s Magazine_
[8] Copyright by _Metropolitan Magazine_
[9] Copyright _The People’s Home Journal_.
[10] Copyright _Pictorial Review_.
[11] Copyright by _Short Stories_
[12] Copyright _The Woman’s Home Companion_.
[13] Copyright, by Courtland H. Young
Transcriber’s Notes
• Italic text denoted by _underscores_. • Small capitals converted to ALL CAPS. • Footnotes renumbered consecutively and moved to the end of the text. • Obvious typographic errors corrected silently. • Variations in hypenation and spelling (especially between authors) kept as in the original. • References to the Footnotes and Transcriber’s Notes added to the Table of Contents for user convenience.