Mechanics

( Originally Published 1944 )

I meet with truth and falsehood everywhere;

SAY YOU live in Lockjaw, Virginia. You have written a poem for the first time. What are you to do with it? Throw the God-damn thing in the waste-basket, of course.

Say you have written a short story for the first time. What are you to do with that?

It should be written upon white paper 8 1/2 x 11. Failing other sources you can obtain this paper at the five-and-ten-cent store. You should have a carbon copy of the fool thing. Your name should be on the front somewhere at the top, along with your ad-dress. It should be repeated below. If you have a pen name both should be on the front sheet, thus:

Mabel Essenkatz,
6969 Bareback Place
Lockjaw, Virginia.

THE LUCK OF THE LUCKLESS

By Virginia Lee

If you do not want to put your real name on the script you do not have to, provided that when the manuscript comes back with a rejection slip the postman will have a rough idea where to take it.

You should average (double-spaced) about two hundred and fifty words to the page. This allows for good margins and makes a word count easy that is you know then that twenty pages are, roughly, five thousand words. You then mail the thing flat, as has before been said, and include with it a return envelope, slightly smaller in size, stamped with the proper amount of postage, and addressed to you.

If you have written the story with no particular magazine in mind you can save yourself, a lot of magazines, a few post office employees, and miscellaneous others trouble by simply throwing it into the wastebasket or sending it to Story Magazine.

In case you have written it for a particular magazine you will find on that magazine's "masthead" two addresses; one the publishing address, usually, and the other the editorial address. Sometimes the publishing address is in another State. Send the manuscripts to the publishing address. Don't put any silly notes in with it. If you want a list of all the magazines and their addresses you can get it by watching the various writers' magazines until one of their special issues containing such lists appear.

At first you'd better not write anything on the first page but the story, your name and address, and the title. The less breaks you have against you at the out-set the better. If you have begun to sell a bit you might write at the top of the page somewhere: "Offering First American Serial Rights Only." This means that the editor then buys only the right to re-produce the story once in his filthy rag. All the rest of the rights then revert to you. There are so many subsidiary rights, and they are so complicated, that I cannot go into them here. Besides, most editors will treat you plenty well as to this nowadays, and tell you what rights they are buying. You might, after your story has been bought, write the editor a wistful and very cautious letter asking him to let you know, "for your files," what rights he has bought. He will then write you and tell you what rights he bought and what rights he releases, etc.

Into all this technical dope it is not possible here to go, but as soon as you begin to sell the smart thing to do is to join the Authors' League of America. They can straighten you out on all those things, and give you free legal advice. This is a sort of author's union to which practically all the professional writers in the country belong. It is the only such definitive organization in the country.

When the story comes back, get some art gum and take the editor's fingerprints off the front of the manuscript or retype the first page and send his fingerprints to the F.B.I. and tell the F.B.I. that you found them on some paper in a war industries plant that had been mysteriously blown up. Now either rewrite the stuff to compare with the slant of another magazine, or send it to another magazine that takes somewhat similar material. Repeat this process until you either blow your brains out or take to sniffing Benzedrine instead of writing (which, previously, I recommended as the wiser of the two).

If you have first written a novel the procedure is approximately the same, except that you usually put on a couple of extra pages, one with the title and your name, and the other with your name and address, etc. It is always cheaper to send novels back and forth by express. It is easily possible and costs about fifty cents to have a novel manuscript bound by either a printer or a binder. Most printers can put a simple paper binding on a novel manuscript. This, however, for some reason, irritates some editors; probably be-cause it interferes with their inalienable right to lose pages out of a manuscript. Many new authors make multiple copies of their novels and send them to several publishers at once. Under most circumstances this is bad business. It should be done only with an agent's collaboration, since the agent, being in New York, can explain what is going on to the startled editors, and keep in touch with all copies in all offices by telephone. If the novel is not rejected the circumstances accruing otherwise (without an agent) will be somewhat as follows:

A publisher will write you and say that he likes your manuscript. He will usually say "with reservations." He will ask you to make changes, or he may in some instances actually tell you he likes the whole thing and wants to buy it. He may, or may not suggest, an advance. In some cases he will be willing to buy it if you will waive an advance. In such a case if you still insist upon an advance he may send the thing back. If he wants to buy it with an advance he will offer you two hundred and fifty dollars, usually; if you write back and try to raise the ante he will in all likelihood pout, consider you an ingrate, and haughtily tell you that having the highfalutin name of Johnson & Sons on your novel is better than a ten thousand dollar advance. From there on in it's up to you.

At this point, however, if you wish to, you can write the guy and tell him that since he is in New York, and you are in Lockjaw, Virginia, maybe it would be more convenient for him if you got an agent. Ask him to suggest the name of one. Any agent will leap upon a sale of that sort. An agent that a publisher of any size suggests is likely to be all right. If you are reasonably aphrodisiac and female, and have the dough, and are as near New York as Lockjaw, Virginia, would be, if there were any Lockjaw, Virginia, it is a pretty good idea to hop the train and go see the guy. You might get a thousand dollars advance that way, or you might lose your sale altogether if you are a nance, a bore, a Republican, or some other repulsive sort of monster.

In all likelihood whatever sort of contract is signed either by yourself or by an agent, it will call for two more books from you. That doesn't mean you have to write two more books for the bloke; it only means that you have to give him the "first refusal" on your next two books. If your novel is a flop he will gladly cancel this part of the contract. If it is a success he will fight you on it if you try to ditch him. But when you have gotten that far you'll need to have an agent anyway, and the agent can tell you all about those sad and sorry matters.

Aside from your advance which same will be subtracted from royalties as they accrue, before any royalties are paid you, you will be offered ten per cent, or more, royalties, on the retail price of the book. (Two buck book, twenty cents royalties per book, etc.) If you dare to dicker and hold out on the guy, and if he badly wants your book, or if you have a name in another writing field, you may be able to get a twelve and a half, or even fifteen per cent royalty. A smart agent, with a good "in" with the publisher, may be able to get you more than ten per cent at the outset. This is not too common, however.

Many young authors, after the contract has been consummated, will endeavor to dictate paper stock to be used, number of pages the book should go to, type of cover, type of color illustration, etc., etc. This will outrage the publisher and he will hate you to pieces and take it out on you by cancelling some of your publicity appropriation or otherwise playing down your book. Best thing to do is keep your mouth shut until you can squawk and make it good, after you've had a Best Seller. Then, if you wish, you can go in and dictate what color necktie the editor must wear. He'll wear it.

If your novel comes back it is not customary to tell the next publisher to whom you send it what publishers already have seen it. It is better not to tell them anything. If they don't like the novel no hooey you can rig up as a sales talk for it is going to make a bit of difference.

The worst sort of hooey and the kind which all editors loathe most, is that about your being a Presbyterian that yours is a town of one hundred thousand people, ten thousand of whom are Presbyterians, and so a sale of ten thousand is guaranteed, etc., etc. Except in the case of non-fiction books no editor ever wants to know about any special reasons why your book will sell to any special group. He not only doesn't want to know it, he is irritated as all get out by being told of it because he will think that you think he is a stupe. All editors know that all those special reasons why a novel would sell to a special group are nonsense. It has never worked out that way in the history of publishing.

In the case of non-fiction articles and non-fiction books the procedure is the same, except that in the case of the latter all sorts of collateral material may be included to explain to the editor why the book was written, for what 'group it is intended especially, etc., etc.

In most cases any sort of paper other than white annoys editors. There are several tint papers on the market that are much easier on the eyes to type upon and read than white paper, but editors are often downright infuriated by other than white paper. That is because for years idiots, in order to get attention, have sent in manuscripts typed on pink paper, with a green typewriter ribbon. The sort of person who does things like that is almost invariably a rotten writer. There is one stunt you might get away with in some quarters, if you have a hell of a lot of long green to throw around. You can go and get the book proofread and printed at your own expense, on galley sheets, and tell the prospective publisher that the type is available if he, wants it. Some smaller publishers would go for that. It is usually, however, only bad writers who do this sort of thing and most publishers know it.

Newspaper men writing their first novels or short stories sometimes can get extra attention by writing them on newsprint sheets (which are a different size from the usual manuscript paper, and a different shade) and sending them in typed in the roughest helter-skelter fashion. Editors have a healthy respect for that type of stuff because some of the greatest literary finds this country has ever known sent in their first stuff that way. But if you are not a newspaper man you will type in a way that the editor will recognize as no newspaper man's style.

Editors as a rule prefer a Pica (standard) type typewriter face. Many established writers use Elite because it makes neater copy. I have known editors to refuse to read Elite typed stuff at all from newcomers, al-though they have to read it from established writers. It is best to give yourself every known break at the beginning. If you can't punctuate any better than I can, for instance, it is best to use as little punctuation as possible. It doesn't make much difference. No good copy full of lively conflict and drama was ever turned down because of bad punctuation, or even bad gram-mar. The finest, perfectionist punctuation and syntax will not sell dead stuff with no conflict or drama in fiction, or material without an easy, catchy style flow, in non-fiction.

Most editors wish you to put a word count somewhere on your material. By this they do not mean an actual count, by word, of every article and preposition in your mash. If you will type out a few pages to get an idea of what two hundred and fifty words look like on a page, you can count your novels by pages, or your short stories, if they are very short, by the average typed line. In a few cases, of course, such as where an editor offers a particularly high rate for a short story or article with length as the essence you do have to count every word singly. By this I mean stories twelve hundred words and less.

It is always unwise to send one editor more than one thing at a time unless you are deliberately trying to sell a series of short stories or a series of articles. It is particularly bad to send more than one novel to one editor at a time. And worse than this is to tell an editor that you turned out your copy or novel like that and that you'll send him a million more words if he'll give you twenty-four hours' notice. Let the guy think you slaved over the stuff, and produced it with Blood and Tears. One of the worst things you can possibly do, if an editor orders something, is to send it back to him by return mail (in the case of short things). If he has set a definite deadline, of course you have to meet it. But if he has not, take as long as you dare, even if you have got it all done, before sending it in. If an editor wires you that he has bought a short story and wants another immediately, don't send it to him for a month if it's a monthly magazine, or a week if it is a weekly; when an editor gets some-thing slapped back at him immediately upon order his opinion of it goes down. Whether or not it is true he imagines that you gave it no thought and little work.

Many a young novelist has put himself severely into the dog house when an editor has asked him when his second novel will be ready by saying that it can be written in a month. This would shock the daylights out of the average editor. No editor thinks that any-one can write a seventy-five thousand word novel in less than six months. A year would be a more respect-able time to set. Of course you can go ahead and write the thing in a week, if you want to; but hold it as long as you dare. Speed is not supposed to be of the essence in even the ACST. Also never tell an editor that you write "easily." Let him think it damned near kills you.

A new hazard to the free-lance has come into being during the past ten years or so. The whole country has gone mad about unrelated "knowledge." Whenever you write anything that has any bearing whatsoever on fact into a short story or novel, or non-fiction work, check it no matter how much trouble it takes.

In the old days you could write stories about the desert wherein ostriches stuck their heads into the sand; nobody would care. Even people who bloody well know no ostrich ever did anything so silly would skip over it and go on with the story. But during the past ten years at least once a day some magazine or radio station blazons forth the glad tidings that ostriches do not stick their heads into sand and never did. And you may be sure that every time you slip up on a fact of any sort, at least a few morons who pride themselves upon being able to tell how many keys there are on a standard piano (but can't play a note and don't care for music) will write in to tell the editor that you, and he (the editor!) are idiots, because on the type of piano you described there is not that wide a keyboard.

Just the other day I got a letter from a friend of mine in the army, abroad. He wished me to bedevil the author, and the editor, of a story lousy with impossible data on soldiering. I read the story and enjoyed it; but I'll bet the editor got such an avalanche of poison pen letters about it that he will be prejudiced against the author for years to come. The whole country is simply rotten with half wits who can barely find their way around, but they can tell you exactly how many words there were in Dickens' vocabulary even though they never read a word of Dickens because they heard it on some fool radio program. I often wonder what will be the result of millions of morons wasting millions of hours finding out about millions of things which are of no use to them instead of concentrating upon the immediate matters they ought to know, and do not know. I for instance at this moment know the precise population of Andorra, and where it is, because some yammering imbecile challenged me to guess over the radio, while I was waiting to hear a Boogie Woogie program that was coming on. What the hell good does it do me to know the population of Andorra! But believe me if I had any reason for putting Andorra into a piece of writing I would find out all about it first you can always find out what you need to know somewhere. So, if you've decided for non-fiction, or your fiction has a factual slant, buy a Britannica if you can afford one, or borrow one if you can't.