by the Editor [Sir Percy Everett].
Originally published in The Novel Magazine (C. Arthur Pearson, Ltd.) vol.2 #7 (Oct 1905).
There is a bright little paper, published in New York, called, "The Editor," and in the August issue there is an article entitled, "Unavailable Short Stories," written by an American friend of mine, Mr. Robert H. Davis—one of the editors of the big ring of publications controlled by Mr. Frank A. Munsey.
For two reasons, I am sure my readers (especially those who also write) will be glad to hear the views of an American editor on this subject. Firstly, because I think that, in the main, Mr. Davis' advice is just as applicable to the writers of stories for the English market as for the American market, and, secondly, because the opening for fiction in America being even greater than in this country, all writers of fiction will be glad to know what kind of story appeals to the American editor. Mr. Davis says:
In the regular order of things one is obliged to mention the four specific errors of which $oung authors are generally guilty:
Inconsistency.
Lack of plot.
Lack of originality.
Inversion.
How many an excellent story has been turned upside down by an unpractised hand. Many an excellent idea that, in the hands of a competent writer, would have been arrayed in the pages of some leading magazine, has been obliged to walk on its head as a rebuke to the sins of its father.
The primary idea in story-writing is to lead the reader up to the climax, not against his will, but in a manner that lures until the effective thing that one has been striving for is impressed indelibly.
In a measure a story should be like a song: The introduction represents the prelude; the first verse is an invitation to hear the chorus; the last verse unfolds the plot, and the theme is at an end. There must be harmony, tempo, rhythm, and motive, with some echoes hanging in the air when the performance is ended—something that lingers, something that afterwards comes back, fugitive perhaps, but in tune. Instead of observing these very simple laws of construction, the amateur usually begins with a few bars of an oratorio, and then bursts into a cakewalk, introducing at intervals a dirge and winding up with a medley. A false note in fiction is as jarring to the mind as a flat note in opera is to the ear.
The writer should ever keep in mind the importance of coherency, without which a story might as well never be written. In the development of the characters and the plot, one should strive to reach in a graceful manner, without effort, the crowning episode around which the tale is constructed. The tendency to overwrite, to be verbose, heavy, and wearisome, is common to the inexperienced, and is only to be eliminated by re-writing, or, in other words, editing one's own copy.
Be brief, approach your goal with firm, sonorous phrases, strike the note with a sure hand, and then take your fingers off the keyboard. None are so offensive as the literary sprawlers, those who mess up the climax, burden it with explanations, smother it with rhetoric, make it grotesque with frills. A story should stand out separate and apart from everything, holding within its compass a picture complete with characters, situations and emotions. Don't depend too much upon the imagination of the reader. Leave very little to be understood. In these hustling, bustling times people prefer easy reading—stories that can be grasped without mental effort, something that is a recreation for the mind, leaving some pleasant impression, inviting perhaps some comment. Stories dealing with unpleasant and repugnant things are not desirable, any more than stories that obtrude the theories or the antagonisms of the writer. There are plenty of fields from which to choose. We have romance, adventure, humour, pathos, mystery and tragedy. Surely those who are striving for eminence in the world of letters can find some classification here that appeals to them. Writers, as a rule, develop tendencies towards one or the other early in life, and when they find themselves fitted to handle a special kind of fiction they should make a conscientious effort towards development of that talent.
Scarcest of all nowadays is humour and the light touch of wit. Next is pathos--pathos that awakens sentiment, brings a mist to the eye, and invokes sadness. Next are tragedy and adventure, and while there is a great demand for the two latter species, there is always room for tears and laughter.
In all stories that grip the heart of the masses there is to be found invariably the light of romance, the old story of love, love, love, the undying, vital, and tremendous passion that at some time in our lives enfolds us. We may diverge in every direction, but we always return to the wellspring from which gushes the great unfinished story, the fountain of youth.
X X X X X
I intended to have touched this month upon the question whether most stories are purely imaginative, or founded on fact, but my space is used up and I must leave the point till next month.