Naming a Story

Titles, commonplace and time-worn from a long period of usefulness, can be called to mind at the snap of the fingers; but only a person with talent can conjure up for the brilliant figment of his imagination an appellation at once striking and original—one that will catch a reader's cursory glance, and compel him to stop and read. Few writers are aware of the fact that new, catchy titles capping their stories will fight half of their battles for editorial favor. Many a young author thinks that the title of his story is of small import—something like the numbers attached to the names of books in a catalogue and used merely for convenience or reference. In this he is wrong. A weak, hackneyed title predisposes the editor against a story; after this premonition the story must be something extra to tempt him. Experience has taught him that a poor heading often means a poor article. Apply the principle to yourself; you pass unheedingly those articles whose titles are commonplace, when you are seeking diversion in the pages of a magazine, but when you discover a bright, snappy expression at the head of a short-story, your interest is aroused and you settle yourself for a treat.

To the uninitiated, it is something to be wondered at how much a title affects a book's first sales. A book whose name suggests something hidden, that at once piques and baffles the curiosity has success written upon its face, provided, of course, the book has some merit. A man pauses to look over such a book, as he would to notice a pretty girl.

A one-word title, often suggesting nothing whatever, proves a weight that is sometimes heavy enough to sink a book or story into oblivion. People in search of something fresh are frightened away; they are not appealed to by the bare name of the hero or heroine, unless it is crisp and striking enough to suggest an interesting personality. Charles Major's "When Knighthood Was in Flower" left the author's hands as "Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk." A friend, who suggested the present title, undoubtedly performed for Mr. Major a great service,  probably making for his book the popularity that it deserved.

An apt illustration of the financial value of a good title is found in an incident connected with the publication of Dr. O. M. Mitchell's "The Planetary and Stellar Worlds." Under this name the book fell dead. When Dr. Mitchell complained to a friend, he was told that he had killed the book with its title, and he was asked to try "The Orbs of Heaven." In consequence of this change of name, the book's sales swelled in one month to over 6,000 copies.

The title of a story is not essentially its theme; it is more of a text. It is a natural deduction from the story, and is indicative of the plot; it may grow out of some interesting turn in the story, but never from the basic theme. The writer who succeeds in making the title strike the keynote of his story, without being too general or too abstract, approaches near to the ideal. With professional authors, the title of the forthcoming novel is generally known even before pen is put to paper; this is shown by glancing over the announcements made in the pages devoted to the latest books in our magazines.

Carelessness in the selection of a name for his story is the sign manual of the amateur. Commonly he is too easily satisfied with something that has grown gray in the service to cast about for anything fresh and vigorous. He probably takes infinite pains with the plot and diction of his story, but writes across the first page of his manuscript the first trite group of words that springs to his mind. No wonder that failure comes when such an invitation is given.

A title that tells too much, almost usurping the province of the story, forestalls the reader's pleasure in the surprise of an unexpected denouement. However, the title should suggest something, but not enough to satisfy the reader's curiosity. The ideal title is brief, new, apt, specific, and attractive. For examples take Poe's "Thou art the Man!" Hawthorne's "The Wedding-Knell," Horton's "Like Another Helen," Amelia Barr's "I, Thou and the Other One." The aptness and attractiveness of each of these is apparent. Approaching nearer to the ideal, we find such names as these: James' "The Lesson of the Master," Gordon's "The Wage of Character," Parker's "The Right of Way," Sienkiewicz's "Quo Vadis." Each of these, though apt, does not show its relevancy till the story is read. Such vague extremes as the following are to be avoided: "After All," "Meeting Her Fate," "At Last," "Restored," "Too Late."

Many writers delight in headings that would not be inappropriate for disquisitions on psychology, moral philosophy, or some kindred abstruse subject. Notice: "Love and Hate," "The Narrow Way," "Moral Vision," "The Cause of Sorrow," "Dreaming of Death."

A very unspecific title is one that gives a hint as to the style and situation of the story: "A Wedding in a Mountain Cabin," "An Adventure in West Texas," "A Strange Story," "A Camp Meeting Incident," "A Brave Girl." None of the foregoing rep resent anything definite; they remind one of the headings of descriptive news stories in our dailies.

The glaring faults of the following titles for timely stories need no comment: "A Christmas Adventure," "Charlie's Christmas," "Nellie's Thanksgiving", "A Fourth of July Romance," "A New Year's Vision," "An Easter Love Story."

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