FOOTNOTES:
[J] A mistake, the story appeared in The Blue Book.
[K] Edwards uses a fictitious name for this correspondent.
[L] Now no more as The Cavalier, the former monthly, now a weekly has "absorbed" The Scrap Book.
[M] Mr. Rathborne has recently given up his editorial duties and has retired to what seems to be the ultimate goal of writers and editors—a farm. He is somewhere in New Jersey.
[XXIII.]
THE INJUSTICE
OF IT
The commercial world may hearken sentimentally to that plaintive ballad, "Silver Threads Among the Gold," as it floats into the Emporium from a street organ, but the commercial world never allows sentiment to interfere with business. When a man presents himself and asks for a job, he is examined for symptoms of decrepitude before his mental abilities are canvassed. The wise seeker for place, before making the rounds of the Want Column, will see to it that his hair is of a youthful color, for there is nothing so damned by the octopus of trade as hoary locks. A bottle of walnut juice, carefully administered, may bridge the gap and lead from failure to success.
"New blood!" that's the cry. "Age is too conservative, too partial to the old and outworn standards, too apt to keep in a rut. Give us the mop of black hair and the bright, snappy eye! Give us energy and brilliant daring and a fresh view-point! We'll be taking a few chances, but what of that? We must follow the fashion."
Some of the publishers have gone to the extreme of the prevailing mode. The yearling from the football field, if he happens to have been sporting editor of the college journal, is brought to the sanctum, shoved into the chair of authority, and given $50 a week and the power to go ahead and be ruthless. He rarely disappoints his employer. Whenever he does, his employer is to be congratulated. Usually, however, he sticks to his schedule. He thinks he is Somebody, and attempts to prove it by kicking all the old contributors out of the office and forwarding invitations for manuscripts to every member of the Class of '10.
There is no writer of experience who has failed to meet this sort of editor. For years a publishing house may have steadily increased in power and prestige through the loyalty and labor of the old contributor, only to give some darling of the campus a desk and the authority to begin oslerizing faithfulness and ability.
This injustice would be humorous were some of its aspects not so tragic. The smug publishers themselves may have something to answer for. They have wrung their ratings in Dun and Bradstreet from the old contributor, and when they abandon a policy that has brought success they are steering through troubled waters and into unknown seas.
For anything short of incompetence this casting aside of the old in order to try out the new is reprehensible. To weather a decade or two of storm and stress a writer must have been versatile. Versatility increases with his years, and he is as capable of brilliant daring and a fresh viewpoint as any youth in the twenties.
Times out of number this has been made manifest. Stories disguised with a pen-name and a strange typewriter have won welcome and success where the old name and the old typewriter would have insured rejection. Note this from one who has been twenty-five years at the game:
"In the near-humorous line I may mention the fact that I once tried to get the editor of a certain paper to let me furnish him a serial, but he didn't think I could write it. Soon afterward a friend who had been contributing serials to that particular paper was asked by the editor to furnish a serial. As it chanced, the writer happened to be engaged in other work. So he came to me and wanted to know if I could not write the desired serial. When I informed him that the editor had turned my offer down, he then suggested that I write the serial and let him send it in under his own name. It was a chance to try the sagacity of that particular editor. I salved my conscience, wrote the serial, and my typewritten copy was submitted to the editor under the name of my friend. The serial was accepted, with medals thrown all over it—my literary friend being informed that it was just the thing the editor wanted, and that he had hard work to get authors who could suit his view as to what was available for his particular publication. My friend got the honor, if there was any, of seeing the serial run under his name; and I got the money for doing the work."
If an author ever suffers an editor's contempt, what must the editor suffer on being caught red-handed in such a way as this? It is the worm's prerogative to turn whenever it finds the opportunity.
Illustrating this point, and several other points with which this chapter is concerned, the following letter from another writer, who has been turning out successful manuscripts for upward of twenty years, is reproduced:
"Dear Bro. Edwards:
You certainly DO put a poser to me. At the present time I have difficulty in seeing anything that has happened to me in the twenty-odd years of my following the literary game in anything but a tragic light. I believe my success, such as it was, was tragic. At least, it has rivetted my reputation to a certain class of literature—heaven save the mark!—and makes it almost impossible for me to sell anything of a better quality. I might tell you of plenty of cruel things that have been done to me by publishers and editors when they knew or suspected that I was hard up; and plenty of silly things done to me by the same folk when they thought I didn't particularly NEED their money. But funny things——?
It's the point of view makes the thing funny. The child pulling the wings off a fly to see the insect crawl over the window pane is amused; but I don't suppose the fly sees the humor of the situation. I could tell you tales of submitting the same manuscript three times to an editor whom we both know well, having it shot through with criticism the first two times and then having it accepted and paid for at extra rates within two years of the first submission, and without even a word of the title changed! Is THAT the kind of an incident you want?
One of the funniest things that ever happened to me was that an editor of a popular magazine used to say that my stuff resembled Dickens, and when I wrote half-dime novels the readers used to write in and say the same. The quality of mind possessed by the scholarly editor and the street boys who read 'Bowery Billy' must be somewhat the same—eh?
There was once a magazine that bore as its title the name of a publisher as famous as any American ever saw, and the editor bought a story of me at the rate of half a cent a word, and owed me two years for it. Finally, one time when I was very hard up I went to the office and hung around until I could see the 'boss' and put it up to him to pay me. He did. He knocked off 33 1-3 per cent for 'cash.' Pretty good, eh?
I tell you, Edwards, there's nothing funny in the game that I can see—not for the so-called literary worker. The gods may laugh when they see a man with that brand of insanity on him that actually forces him to write. But I doubt if the writer laughs—not even if he writes a 'best seller.' For success entails turning out other successes, and that is hard work. Excuse me! I am going back to the farm. I will write only when I have to, and only as long as my farm will not support me. I've got hold of a pretty good place cheap, down here with the outlook of making a good living on it in time. No more the Great White Way, with the Dirty Black Alley behind it, in mine! I am not going to carry my hat in my hand around to editors' offices and take up collections for long. Besides, most of the editors blooming now are just out of college and are not dry behind the ears yet. They think that Johnny Go-bang, who edited the sporting page in the Podunk University Screamer, knows more about writing fiction than the old fellows who have been at it a couple of decades. And I reckon they are right. They are looking for 'fresh' material; some of it is pretty 'raw' as well as fresh. I fooled an editor the other day by sending a manuscript on strange paper, written on a new typewriter, and with an assumed name attached. Sold the story and got a long letter of encouragement from the editor. Great game—encouraging 'new' writers! About on a par with the scheme some rum sellers have of washing their sidewalks with the dregs of beer kegs. The spider and fly game. Now, if I told that editor what an ass he had made of himself, would he ever buy another manuscript of me again? I fear not!
Perhaps I am pessimistic, Brother Edwards. There's no real fun in the writing game—not for the writer, at least. Not when he is forty years old and knows that already he is a 'has-been.' Good luck to you. Hope your book is a success, and if I really knew just what you wanted I'd try to whip something into shape for you. For you very well know that, if other fiction writers give you incidents for your book, they'll mostly be fiction! That is the devil of it. If a fiction writer cuts a sliver off his thumb while paring the corned beef for dinner, he will make out of the story a gory combat between his hero and a horde of enemies, and give details of the carnage fit to make his own soul shudder.
I hope to meet up with you again some time. But pretty soon when I go to New York I'll wear my chin-whiskers long and carry a carpet-bag; and you bet I'll fight shy of editors' offices."
Another example of injustice to writers which, however, happened to turn out well for the writer:
"I offered a short serial to a certain newspaper syndicate. Soon I received a letter saying they could pay me $200 for the serial rights. Before my letter accepting the offer reached them, I had another letter from the syndicate withdrawing the offer. The editor stated pathetically that the proprietor had returned and had asked him to withdraw it. I then sent the serial to a Chicago newspaper, which paid me $200 for serial rights—BUT NEVER PUBLISHED THE STORY. Finally I rewrote the story, had it published as a book by a leading Eastern publishing house, and it sold well."
Here, again, is injustice of another kind:
"Once a certain Eastern magazine authorized me to go to Santa Fe, New Mexico, and write a description of a Pueblo dance and of Pueblo life, and send the manuscript on with photographs for illustration. I did the work. And I was rewarded by the generous editor with a check for $20! You can imagine how profitable that particular stunt was, for I took a week's time and paid my own expenses. But not out of that twenty. There wasn't enough of it to go 'round."
[XXIV.]
WHAT SHALL
WE DO
WITH IT?
Edwards wrote only one serial story during 1910, and turned his hand to that merely to bring up the financial returns and leave a safe margin for expenses. Nickel novels, a few short stories, a novelette for The Blue Book and the lengthening of two stories for paper-book publication comprised the year's work. He "soldiered" a little, but when a writer "soldiers" he is not necessarily idle. Edwards' thoughts were busy, and the burden of his reflections was this: Heaven had endowed him with a small gift of plot and counter-plot, and a little art for getting it into commercial form; but were his meager talents producing for him all that they should? Was the purely commercial aim, although held to with a strong sense of moral responsibility, the correct aim? After a score of years of hard work did he find himself progressing in any but a financial direction? Forgetting the past and facing the future with eyes fixed at a higher angle, how was he to proceed with his "little gift of words?" What should he do with it?
In the bright summer afternoons Edwards would walk out of his Fiction Factory and make a survey of it from various points. He was always so close to his work that he lost the true perspective. He was familiar with the minutiae, the thousand and one little details that went to make up the whole, but how did it look in the "all-together," stripped of sentiment and beheld in its three dimensions?
Paradoxically, the work appeared too commercial in some of its aspects, and not commercial enough in others. The sordid values were due to the demand which came to Edwards constantly and unsolicited, and which it was his unvarying policy always to meet. "All's fish that comes to the writer's net" was a saying of Edwards' that had cozzened his judgment. He was giving his best to work whose very nature kept him to a dead level of mediocrity. And within the last few years he had become unpleasantly aware that at least one editor believed him incapable of better things. This was largely Edwards' fault. Orders for material along the same old lines poured in upon him and he hesitated to break away from them and try out his literary wings.
Years before he had faced a similar question. The same principal of breaking away from something that was reasonably sure and regular for something else not so sure but which glowed with brighter possibilities, was involved. Vaguely he felt the call. He was forty-four, and had left behind him twenty-odd years of hard and conscientious effort. As he was getting on in years so should he be getting on with some of his dreams, before the light failed and the Fiction Factory grew dark and all dreaming and doing were at an end.
One evening in Christmas week, 1910, he mentioned his aspirations to a noted editor with whom he happened to be at dinner. The book that was to bring fame and fortune, the book Edwards had always been going to write but had never been able to find the time, was under discussion. "Write it," advised the noted one, "but not under your own name."
Edwards fell silent. What was there in the work he had done which made it impossible to put "John Milton Edwards" on the title page of his most ambitious effort? Were the nickel novels and the popular paper-backs to rise in judgment against him? He could not think so then, and he does not think so now.
"Why don't you write up your experiences as an author?" inquired the editor a few moments later. "You want to be helpful, eh? Well, there's your chance. Writers would not be the only ones to welcome such a book, and if you did it fairly well it ought to make a hit."
This suggestion Edwards adopted. Having the courage of convictions directly opposed to the noted editor's, the other one he will not accept.
The reflections of 1910 began to bear fruit in 1911. With the beginning of the present year Edwards gave up the five-cent fiction, not because—as already stated in a previous chapter—he considered it debasing to his "art," but because he needed time for the working out of a few of his dreams.
Presently, as though to confirm him in his determination, two publishing houses of high standing requested novels to be issued with their imprint. He accepted both commissions, and at this writing the work is well advanced. If he fails of material success in either or both these undertakings, by the standards elsewhere quoted and in which he thoroughly believes, the higher success that cannot be separated from faithful effort will yet be his. And it will suffice.
Even in 1910 Edwards had been swayed by his growing convictions. Almost unconsciously he had begun shaping his work along the line of higher achievement. During 1911 he has been hewing to the same line, but more consistently.
Edwards has demonstrated his ability to write moving picture scenarios that will sell. But is the game worth the candle? Is it pleasant for an author to see his cherished Western idea worked out with painted white men for Indians and painted buttes for a background? Of course, there are photoplays enacted on the Southwestern deserts, with real cowboys and red men for "supers," but somewhere in most of these performances a false note is struck. One who knows the West has little trouble in detecting it.
This, however, is a matter of sentiment, alone. The nebulous ideas most scenario editors seem to have as to rates of payment, and the usually long delay in passing upon a "script," are important details of quite another sort. And, furthermore, it is unjust to throw a creditable production upon the screen without placing the author's name under the title. Of right, this advertising belongs to the author and should not be denied him.
In 1910 a moving picture concern secured a concession for taking pictures with Buffalo Bill's Wild West and Pawnee Bill's Far East Show, and Edwards was hired to furnish scenarios at $35 each. He furnished a good many, and of one of them Major Lillie (Pawnee Bill) wrote from Butte, Montana, on Sep. 2;
"Friend Edwards:
I saw one of the films run off at a picture house a few days ago and I think they are the greatest Western scenes that I have ever witnesed—that is, they are the truest to life. I had a letter from Mr. C—— yesterday, and he thinks they are fine.
Your friend,
G. W. Lillie."
For a time Edwards thought his faith in the moving picture makers was about to be justified. But he was mistaken. He received a check for just $25, which probably escaped from the film men in an unguarded moment, and no further check, letter or word has since come from the company. The proprietors of the Show had nothing to do with the picture people, and regretted, though they could not help the loss Edwards had suffered.
When the moving picture writers are assured of better prices for their scenarios, of having them passed upon more promptly and of getting their names on the films with their pictures, the business will have been shaken down to a more commendable basis. Possibly the film manufacturers borrow their ideas of equitable treatment for the writer from some of the publishing houses.
The "hack" writer, in many editorial offices, is looked down upon with something like contempt by the august personage who condescends to buy his "stuff" and to pay him good money for it. Perhaps the "hack" is at fault and has placed himself in an unfavorable light. Writers are many and competition is keen. Among these humble ones there are those who have suffered rebuff after rebuff until the spirit is broken and pride is killed, and they go cringing to an editor and supplicate him for an assignment. Or they write him: "For God's sake do not turn down this story! It is the bread-line for me, if you do."
Did you ever walk through the ante-room of a big publishing house on the day checks are signed and given out? Men with pinched faces and ragged clothes sit in the mahogany chairs. They have missed the high mark in their calling. They had high ambitions once—but ambitions are always high when hope is young. They are writing now, not because they love their work but because it is the only work they know, and they must keep at it or starve (perhaps and starve).
A taxicab flings madly up to the door in front, and a stylishly clad gentleman floats in at the hall door and across the ante-room to the girl at the desk. They exchange pleasant greetings and the girl punches a button that communicates with the private office of the powers that be.
"Mr. Oswald Hamilton Brezee to see Mr. Skinner."
Delighted mumblings by Mr. Skinner come faintly to the ears of the lowly ones. The girl turns away from the 'phone.
"Go right in, Mr. Brezee." she says. "Mr. Skinner will see you at once."
Mr. Brezee's "stuff" has caught on. Dozens of magazines are clamoring for it. Mr. Brezee vanishes and presently reappears, tucking away his check with the careless manner of one to whom checks are more or less of a bore. He passes into the hall, and in a moment the "taxi" is heard bearing him away.
The lowly ones twist in their chairs and bitterness floods their hearts. Like the author of "Childe Harold," Brezee awoke one morning to find himself famous. These others, with the dingy Windsor ties and the long hair and pinched faces never awake to anything but a doubt as to where the morning meal is to come from.
After hours of waiting in the ante-room, checks are finally produced and passed around to the lowly ones and they fade away into the haunts that know them best. Next pay-day they will be back again, if they are alive and have been given anything to do in the meantime.
Is this game worth the candle? What shall these men do with their "little gift" but keep it grinding, merciless though the grind may be? They cannot all be Oswald Hamilton Brezees.
Before a young man throws himself into the ranks of this vast army of writers, let him ponder the situation well. If, under the iron heel of adversity, he is sure he can still love his work for the work's sake and be true to himself, there is one chance in ten that he will make a fair living, and one chance in a hundred that he may become one of the generals.
The Factory returns for 1910 and for part of 1911 are given below. Edwards believes that, in its last analysis, 1911 will offer figures close to the ten-thousand dollar mark—but it is a guess hedged around with many contingencies.
| 1910: | |
| 54 nickel novels @ $60 each, | $3240.00 |
| Short story for Munsey's, | 75.00 |
| Short story for The Blue Book, | 40.00 |
| Novelette for The Blue Book, | 200.00 |
| Moving picture, Essanay Co, | 25.00 |
| Short story for Gunter's, | 40.00 |
| Short story for Columbian, | 15.00 |
| Paper-book rights, | 200.00 |
| Serial story for Scrap Book, | 400.00 |
| Moving picture, | 25.00 |
| ———— | |
| Total | $4260.00 |
| Part of 1911: | |
| 5 paper-book rights, | $ 500.00 |
| Serial for All-Story, | 400.00 |
| Novelette for Adventure, | 250.00 |
| Serial for The Argosy, | 250.00 |
| Novelette for The Blue Book, | 200.00 |
| Short stories for The Blue Book, | 150.00 |
| Short story for Harper's Weekly, | 75.00 |
| Serial for "Top-Notch," | 150.00 |
| ———— | |
| Total, | $1975.00 |
George Ade asked an actress, who was one of the original cast of "The County Chairman," to whom he had just been introduced, "Which would you rather be—a literary man or a burglar?" It is related that the actress, who was probably as excited as Ade, answered, "What's the difference?" And this is supposed to be a humorous anecdote!
The man who tells stories, sometimes fiction and sometimes stories, about the Harper publications, evolves the following realistic story about "The Masquerader," originally published in The Bazaar. Well, it seems that one morning, the editor sat her down and found the following letter, which is truly pathetic and possibly pathetically true: "You may, and I hope you have, some little remembrance of my name. But this will be the very oddest letter you have ever received. I am reading that most clever and wonderfully well-written novel, 'The Masquerader.' I have very serious heart trouble and may live years and may die any minute. I should deeply regret going without knowing the general end of that story. May I know it? Will be as close as the grave itself if I may. I really feel that I may not live to know the unravelling of that net. If I may know for reason good and sufficient to yourself and by no means necessary to explain, may I please have the numbers as they come to you, and in advance of general delivery?" The editor sent on the balance of the story, but it was never revealed whether it made the person well again or not. Edwards imagines that the whirl of action in books would not be good for the heart—or, for the matter of that, the soul.
[XXV.]
EXTRACTS
GRAVE AND GAY,
WISE AND OTHERWISE
Cigars on the Editor:
"The berth check came to me this morning. I suppose the cigars are on me. At the same time, there is another kind of check which you get when you buy your Pullman accomodation at the Pullman office in the station. It was that which I had in mind. I suppose the one you enclosed is the conductor's check. I don't believe I ever saw one before."
How "Bob" Davis hands you a Lemon:
"The first six or seven chapters of 'Hammerton's Vase' are very lively and readable—after which it falls off the shelf and is badly shattered. Everybody in the yarn is pretty much of a sucker, and the situations are more or less of a class. I think, John, that there is too much talk in this story. Your last thirty pages are nothing but.
What struck me most was the ease with which you might have wound the story up in any one of several places without in anyway injuring it. That is not like the old John Milton of yore. You used to pile surprise upon surprise, and tie knot after knot in your complications. But you didn't do it in 'Hammerton's Vase'—for which reason I shed tears and return the manuscript by express."
How Mr. White does it:
"I am very sorry to be obliged to make an adverse report on 'The Gods of Tlaloc.' For one thing the story is too wildly improbable, for another the hero is too stupid, and worse than all the interest is of too scrappy a nature—not cumulative. You have done too good work for The Argosy in the past for me to content myself with this.... When I return Aug. 9, I shall hope to find a corking fine story from your pen awaiting my perusal. I am sure you know how to turn out such a yarn."
A tip regarding "Dual-identity":
"The story opens well, and that is the best I can say for it. I put up the scheme to Mr. Davis and he expressed a strong disinclination for any kind of a dual-identity story."—Matthew White, Jr.
How Mr. Davis takes over the Right Stuff:
"We are taking the sea story. Will report on the other stuff you have here in a day or two. In the meantime, remember that you owe me an 80,000-word story and that you are getting the maximum rate and handing me the minimum amount of words. You raised the tariff and I stood for it and it is up to you to make good some of your threats to play ball according to Hoyle. It is your turn to get in the box and bat 'em over the club-house. And remember, I am always on the bleachers, waiting to cheer at the right time."
How Mr. White lands on it:
"'Helping Columbus' pleases me very much, and on our principle of paying for quality I am sending you for it our check for $350."
During the earlier years of his writing Edwards made use of an automatic word-counter which he attached to his Caligraph—the machine he was using at that time. He discovered that if a story called for 30,000 words, and he allowed the counter to register that number, the copy would over-run about 5,000 words. At a much later period he discovered by actual comparisons of typewritten with printed matter just the number of words each page of manuscript would average in the composing-room. From his publishers, however, he once received the following instructions:
"To enable you to calculate the number of words to write each week, we make the following suggestions: Type off a LONG paragraph from a page of one of the weeklies that has been set solid, so that the number of words in each line will correspond with the same line in print.
When you have finished the paragraph you can get the average length of the typed line as written on your machine, and by setting your bell guard at this average length you will be able to fairly approximate, line for line, manuscript and printed story.
A complete story should contain 3,000 lines. Calculating in this way, you will be able to turn in each week a story of about the right length. Our experience shows us that the calculated length of a story based on a roughly estimated number of words usually falls short of our requirements, and although to proceed in the manner suggested above may involve a little extra work—not above half an hour at the outside and on one occasion only—by it alone are we convinced that you will strike the right number of words for each issue."
"Along the Highway of Explanations":
"I cannot see 'The Yellow Streak' quite clear enough. You whoop it up pretty well for about three-quarters of the story, and then it begins to go to pieces along the highway of explanations."—Mr. Davis.
Concerning the "Rights" of a Story:
"Unless it is otherwise stipulated, WE BUY ALL MANUSCRIPTS WITH FULL COPYRIGHT."—F. A. Munsey Co.
And again:
"The signing of the receipt places all rights in the hands of the Frank A. Munsey Company, but they will be glad to permit you to make a stage version of your story, only stipulating that in case you succeed in getting it produced, they should receive a reasonable share of the royalties."
The Last Word on the Subject:
"Mr. White has turned over to me your letter of October 12, as I usually answer letters relating to questions of copyright. I think, under the circumstances, if you want to dramatize the story we ought to permit you to do so without payment to us. The only condition we would make would be that if you get the play produced, you should print a line on the program saying,—'Dramatized from a story published in The Argosy,' or words to that effect."—Mr. Titherington, of Munsey's.
Paragraphing, Politics and Puns:
"Your paragraphs are pretty good, so far. But SHUN POLITICS AND RELIGION in any form, direct or indirect, as you would shun the devil. And please don't pun—it is so cheap."—Mr. A. A. Mosley, of The Detroit Free Press.
Climaxes, Snap and Spontaneity:
"We don't like to let this go back to you, and only do so in the hope that you can let us have it again. The sketch is capitally considered, the character is excellent, the way in which it is written admirable, the whole story is very funny, and yet somehow it does not quite come off. The climax—the denouement—seems somewhat labored and lacks snaps and spontaneity. Can't you devise some other termination—something with more 'go?' This is so good we want it to be better."—Editor Puck.
Novelty and Exhilarating Effect:
"We have no special subject to suggest for a serial, but would cheerfully read any you think desirable for our needs. The better plan always is to submit the first two installments of about four columns each. Novelty and exhilarating effect are desirable."—Editor Saturday Night.
Saddling and Bridling Pegasus:
"We are very much in need of a short Xmas poem—from 16 to 20 lines—to be used at once. Knowing your ability and willingness to accomodate at short notice, I write you to ask if you can get one to us by Saturday of this week, or Monday at latest. I know it is a very short time in which to saddle and bridle Pegasus, but I am sure you can do it with celerity if any one can."—Editor The Ladies' World.
Carrying the Thing too Far:
"We regret that we cannot make use of 'The Brand of Cain,' after your prompt response to our call, but the title and story are JUST A LITTLE BIT too sensational for our paper, and we think it best to return it to you. It is a good story and well written, but we get SO MUCH condemnation from our subscribers, often for a trifle, that we are obliged to be very careful. Only a week or two ago we were severely censured because a recipe in Household Dep't called for a tablespoonful of wine in a pudding sauce, and the influence of the writer against the paper promised if the offense were repeated."—From the editor of a woman's journal.
And, finally, this from Mr. Davis:
"We are of the non-complaining species, ourself, and aim only to please the mob. Rush the sea story. If it isn't right, I'll rush it back, by express.... Believe, sir, that I am personally disposed to regard you as a better white man than the average white man because you a larger white man, and, damnitsir, I wish you good luck."
[XXVI.]
PATRONS AND
PROFITS FOR
TWENTY-TWO YEARS
On the 20th of this month (September, 1911) it will be just twenty-two years since Edwards received payment for his first story. On Sept. 20, 1889, The Detroit Free Press sent him a check for $8. On that $8 the Fiction Factory was started.
Who have been the patrons of the Factory for these twenty-two years, and what have been the returns?
A vast amount of work has been necessary in order to formulate exact answers to these questions. Papers and other memoranda bearing upon the subject were widely scattered. During Edwards' travels about the country many letters and records were lost. The list that follows, therefore, is incomplete, but exact as far as it goes. More work was realized upon, by several thousands of dollars, than is here shown. For every item in the record Edwards has a letter, or a printed slip that accompanied the check, as his authority. The errors are merely those of omission.
Titles of the material sold will not be given, but following the name of the publication that purchased the material will be found the year in which it was either published or paid for.
The finest music in the room is that which streams out to the ear of the spirit in many an exquisite strain from the hanging shelf of books on the opposite wall. Every volume there is an instrument which some melodist of the mind created and set vibrating with music, as a flower shakes out its perfume or a star shakes out its light. Only listen, and they soothe all care, as though the silken-soft leaves of poppies had been made vocal and poured into the ear.—James Lane Allen.
When William Dean Howells occupied an editorial chair in Harper's office, a young man of humble and rough exterior one day submitted personally to him a poem. Mr. Howells asked:
"Did you write this poem yourself?"
"Yes, sir. Do you like it?" the youth asked.
"I think it is magnificent," said Mr. Howells. "Did you compose it unaided?"
"I certainly did," said the young man firmly. "I wrote every line of it out of my head."
Mr. Howells rose and said:
"Then, Lord Byron, I am very glad to meet you. I was under the impression that you died a good many years ago."
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in its ninth edition.POINTS ABOUT POETRY .60 By Donald G. French. RHYMES AND METERS .50 By Horatio Winslow. THE FICTION WRITER'S
WORKSHOP.50 By Duncan Francis Young. HOW TO WRITE A SHORT STORY .50 THE EDITOR MANUSCRIPT
RECORD (loose leaf).50 ESSAYS ON AUTHORSHIP .25 THE WAY INTO PRINT .25 THE EDITOR COMPANY
RIDGEWOOD, NEW JERSEY
| THE WRITER'S BOOK | $2.50 |
| Compiled by William R. Kane. | |
| PRACTICAL AUTHORSHIP | 1.50 |
| By James Knapp Reeve. | |
| 1001 PLACES TO SELL MMS | 1.00 |
| (The American Writer's, Artist's and Photographer's Year Book) in its ninth edition. | |
| POINTS ABOUT POETRY | .60 |
| By Donald G. French. | |
| RHYMES AND METERS | .50 |
| By Horatio Winslow. | |
| THE FICTION WRITER'S WORKSHOP | .50 |
| By Duncan Francis Young. | |
| HOW TO WRITE A SHORT STORY | .50 |
| THE EDITOR MANUSCRIPT RECORD (loose leaf) | .50 |
| ESSAYS ON AUTHORSHIP | .25 |
| THE WAY INTO PRINT | .25 |
[THE EDITOR]
If you write, or if you have an itching to write, we want to talk to you.
The Editor, we may explain, is "The Journal Of Information For Literary Workers." It is not at all pretentious, and not at all dull. It is a matter-of-fact little magazine, always filled with good, readable articles on the technique of writing. Sometimes they are contributed by authors and sometimes by editors.
We aim to show our patrons, so far as such things may be taught, how to write fiction, poetry, articles and the like, and then how to sell them, provided they are up to the standard demanded by editors. We have been assured so many times that it wearies us, that our magazine has been the lever that pried open the editorial doors of pretty nearly every publication in the country. In addition to our articles we present our Literary Market department in which we list monthly the complete report of editorial needs, announcements, policies, changes, prize-contests, etc. This enables the writer to keep his finger on the magazine pulse; he knows what to write, when to write it, how to write it, when to submit it, what payment will be made, and countless other points. Authors such as George Allan England, who is selling regularly to McClure's, Red Book, Bohemian, etc., have been good enough to say that this department alone is worth the subscription price. Now add to the foregoing a spice of good verse, bright editorial comment, and you'll know why every editor and very nearly every author of note sends his writer-friends to us.
Why you can't write and do without the authors' trade-journal! You will always find something between the covers of the magazine that drives you to work, that spurs you to greater efforts, that puts you on the high road to success.
We pride ourselves on the fact that The Editor is a good, live text-book. It is a pretty sort of a teacher, you know, who never sees an educational journal; new methods and systems are cropping out constantly. And no writer—we leave this to you—likes to send a manuscript to a magazine that suspended a few months ago; nor allow an article to go unread that may cover just the point on which his or her rejections cling. The writer wants hints, helps, and as many of them as possible; everybody does. There is no magazine that better meets this want than The Editor.
We've succeeded in pleasing and making famous the promising writer-folk of this country since 1894. Mayn't we have you?
15 cents a copy $1.00 a year
THE EDITOR COMPANY
RIDGEWOOD, NEW JERSEY
[Transcriber's Notes:]
Inconsistent and occasionally inaccurate capitalization/italicization of publication titles are retained from the original.
Retained some archaic/unusual spellings from the original (e.g. "grevious," "Omniverous").
Retained inconsistent spellings from the original where different writers used different word variations (e.g. "installment" in the main text vs. "instalment" in a quoted letter). Inconsistent spellings within the same context have been normalized as noted in detail below.
Retained some inconsistent hyphenation from the original (e.g. viewpoint vs. view-point).
The original text contained several instances of "he" / "be" confusion. These have been corrected and are noted below. They are not the result of OCR errors; they are present in the original typography.
Page 10, normalized indentation before "The modest goal, the lesser fame."
Page 15, changed double to single quotes around "When the Editor's Eye Struck" and added missing end double quote.
Page 21, changed "ocassion" to "occasion." Normalized second appearance of "sewer-pipe" to include hyphen. Changed "Ewards" to "Edwards" ("first story for which Edwards").
Page 30, removed duplicate "by" from "spoiled by just such a slip."
Page 35, italicized nom de plume (in sentence about Boy's Story Paper) for consistency with all other appearances in the text.
Page 36, added missing colon to paragraph above "We are in a hurry for this series."
Page 43, changed double to single quotes around "Dalton's Double."
Page 46, changed two instances of "villian" to "villain" for consistency with the rest of the text (in sentence including "female villain").
Page 47, changed "pubilc" to "public" ("their reading public") and "succeding" to "succeeding" ("succeeding issues").
Page 48, changed "be felt elated" to "he felt elated."
Page 58, removed stray single quote after "9 o'clock in the evening."
Page 67, changed "decended" to "descended" and "prepetrator" to "perpetrator."
Page 68, changed "rememberance" to "remembrance" for consistency ("livid remembrance").
Page 69, changed "For day's while" to "For days while."
Page 71, there appears to be a missing word in "that it very humorous" but this error comes from the original.
Page 72, changed "entirely" to "entirety" ("satisfactory in its entirety") and "word was deturned" to "word was returned."
Page 74, changed "saticfactory" to "satisfactory" ("price was not satisfactory").
Page 77, changed "responisble" to "responsible" ("it was responsible for").
Page 82, "Mr. Perkins write:" appears to be an error, but it comes from the original. Changed "manusccript" to "manuscript" ("quality of the manuscript").
Page 83, changed "installemnts" to "installments" ("first two installments").
Page 90, if there is supposed to be special formatting in the example following "he did it thus," it is not present in the original book; nothing unusual has been lost in translation to digital format here.
Page 91, changed "Is seems poor policy" to "It seems poor policy."
Page 92, changed "lettters" to "letters" ("letters on a typewriter").
Page 97, changed double to single quotes around "The Man from Dakota."
Page 100, added missing open quote before "misfortunes never come singly."
Page 103, Changed "be" to "he" in "he faced a steadily brightening prospect".
Page 108, added missing space after comma in "November 19, 1904."
Page 118, moved comma from before " to after " in 13". Changed "must he high" to "must be high."
Page 120, added missing open quote before "Your last story, No. 285."
Page 122, changed "particluarly" to "particularly" in "not particularly encouraging." Changed "Edward's hope" to "Edwards' hope."
Page 126, changed "damm" to "damn" in "damn it utterly."
Page 127, changed "Edward's product" to "Edwards' product."
Page 141, removed unnecessary apostrophe after "Edwards" in "to Edwards it is a delightful confusion."
Page 143, added missing apostrophe to "Edwards' first advice" and removed unnecessary apostrophe from "which Edwards consulted."
Page 147, changed "Dilema" to "Dilemma" in "I shall require a single copy of 'The Billionaire's Dilemma.'"
Page 148, changed open double quote to single quote in "your short story: 'The Shadow of the Unknown.'" Changed "ficticious" to "fictitious" in footnote.
Page 149, changed open double quote to single quote in "'The Shadow of the Unknown,' writes the publisher."
Page 156, changed "royalities" to "royalties" ("Dillingham, last royalties").
Page 160, changed "bettter" to "better" ("anything of a bettter quality").
Page 162, changed "lettter" to "letter" ("letter saying they could pay").
Page 169, added some commas to 1910 table for consistency.
Page 170, changed "sometmes" to "sometimes" ("sometimes stories, about the Harper"). Changed double to single quotes around "The Masquerader."
Page 171, added missing colon after "How "Bob" Davis hands you a Lemon:"
Page 173, added missing close quote after "reasonable share of the royalties."
Page 175, corrected chapter number from XXII to XXVI and corrected double comma after "Sept. 20, 1889."
Pages 176-180, normalized some punctuation within the table of publications (but still retained some inconsistencies). Deleted partial totals and "brought forward" entries at page boundaries. Did not attempt to correct some apparent mathematical errors. Changed "Philadeljhia" to "Philadelphia" and corrected "senario" to "scenario" in entry for Lubin Mfg. Co.
Advertisements, changed "AUHORSHIP" to "AUTHORSHIP" in "ESSAYS ON AUTHORSHIP."