A STORY TO TELL
Louisa Parr
The first essential
To feel that you have a story to tell, seems to me a primary essential for a novice in the art of novel-writing, especially with beginners young in years and experience. I know that there are masters in fiction, who tell us that their method is to create one or several characters, and round them build up a story; but I doubt if this applies to first efforts, unless those efforts are not made until the writers have gained that insight into men and things, which only comes with years of life and observation.
Now, to any beginning under conditions such as these, the few suggestions and remarks I shall offer will not apply. My object is to be of service to young beginners, and to try and give them some little help and encouragement to surmount the difficulties which usually appear when we first venture to commit our fancies and ideas to paper. I feel somewhat timid in undertaking this task, because its success seems to me doubtful, for the reason that no hard and fast rules can be laid down for the fictionist, who, generally, leaves on each production the impress of individuality. Frequently it is individuality, when combined with originality, which is the charm of a new writer, and gives to a story which we have had repeated a dozen times, and to characters whom we have met again and again, the freshness of a new setting.
A story to tell
To start, then, we will suppose that you are the possessor of a story which for some time has dwelt in your mind, and has taken such a hold of you, that you are engrossed with the plot and the actors in it. These creatures of your brain become so familiar to you, that they stand out in your imagination like real persons. You give them names, you invest them with qualities, you decree that they shall be happy or miserable, and, having sealed their fate, you are seized with the desire to make others acquainted with them. Then comes the eventful moment, when success is imperilled by over-anxiety and a distrust of your own powers.
Faults of beginners
Too frequently the young writer is not content to set down what is to be said with the straightforward simplicity that would be used if this story had to be told vivâ voce. There is a desire to explain, to digress, to elaborate. It is thought necessary to tell the reader that this person is very clever and witty, that that one is stupid and odious, much in the same way that a child draws some strange creature, under which it writes, “this is a cow—this is a horse.” We smile at its being necessary to inform us of what we ought to see for ourselves. Yet it is the same in fiction—the dramatis personæ of your tale should themselves discover to us their idiosyncrasies, and by their actions and conversation reveal to the reader their dispositions and characters. Young authors often write very good dialogue, there is a freshness, a crispness about it which more practised hands may seem to have lost. In this form the new ideas of the rising generation come pleasantly to us, which is seldom the case when they give way to digression, explanation, and the dissection of motives and propensities. The novel of character—the able study of an inner life—is almost always the outcome of deep thought added to the gift of acute observation. This is not to be expected of a young beginner. Indeed, for my own part, were I to learn that one of these clever analytical studies was the work of an author young in years, I should be filled with regret. If you possess the capacity, the fitness of age will come all too soon, and, believe me, when it does come, you will not regret that you have not forestalled the proper time.
How to write