Unavailable Short Stories

Writing for revenue is, after all, a trade, and not a profession, and requires as much attention to detail of labor as carpentering, blacksmithing, or building brick houses. There is a right way, and a wrong way, and no matter how artistic or ornate may be the construction, there are recognized and established laws that govern the result.

As a matter of fact, literature lacks only a union to give it influence and power in the world of industries. A decade ago there was one short-story writer where there are now ten, and at the present rate of production another decade will double the output. Of this tremendous mass of fiction, two to three per cent, of it, perhaps, is available for publication. The rest achieves nothing, save here and there to suggest to the editor a mind that, properly directed, will develop into a successful literary mechanic. The ninety-seven per cent., producing at extraordinary speed ream after ream of imaginative work that fails of acceptance, seems to be a unit in the effort to disregard the rules of the game.

This brings us to the subject of carelessness, the cardinal sin in letters. This, of course, includes bad workmanship, and in the regular order of things one is obliged to mention the four specific errors of which young authors are generally guilty:

Inconsistency.

Lack of plot.

Lack of originality.

Inversion.

How many an excellent story has been turned upside down by an unpracticed 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 afterward 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 over-write, to be verbose, heavy, and wearisome, is common to the inexperienced, and is only to be eliminated by rewriting, 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 explanation, 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, humor, 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 toward 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 toward development of that talent.

Scarcest of all nowadays is humor 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 well-spring from which gushes the great unfinished story, the fountain of youth.

Lastly, it is well for the young writer to know that the editor of every magazine in the United States is seeking for good fiction. The impression somehow spread abroad that a large percentage of the manuscripts received by magazines are not read, is absurd. The demand is too keen for such a condition to prevail. Readers in the employ of the various publishing houses are delving hungrily, aye ravenously, for new writers, and the appearance of even a gleam of genius or capacity is hailed with acclaim.

It is safe to say that any well-written story, no matter how obscure may be the author, will not pass three editors before it is snapped up in its regular travels through the mails. The demand is enormous.

In the Munsey publications alone there are about 350,000 words of fiction used each month. This represents in bulk about the number of words that would occupy six complete novels of nearly 60,000 words each. Per annum, this means over 4,000,000 words. It is obvious, therefore, that somebody must write this fiction, and that the tremendous market represented by the numerous publications in the United States is worth catering to, worth studying and worth while.