Short Story Writing
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Charles Raymond Barrett >> Short Story Writing
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12 SHORT STORY WRITING
A Practical Treatise on the Art of the Short Story
By Charles Raymond Barrett, Ph. B.
[Illustration]
(_FOURTH THOUSAND_)
New York: The Baker and Taylor Co.
33-37 E. 17th Street, Union Square North
Copyrighted, 1898, by Charles Raymond Barrett
Copyrighted, 1900, by Charles Raymond Barrett
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PREFACE
INTRODUCTION
I
THE SHORT STORY
II
SHORT STORIES CLASSIFIED
III
THE PLOT
IV
TITLES GOOD AND BAD
V
THE USE OF FACTS
VI
THE CHARACTERS
VII
METHODS OF NARRATION
VIII
THE BEGINNING
IX
THE STORY PROPER
X
CLIMAX AND CONCLUSION
XI
THE STYLE
XII
THE LABOR OF AUTHORSHIP
XIII
THE QUEST OF A MARKET
APPENDIX
"THE AMBITIOUS GUEST"
PREFACE
This book is an attempt to put into definite form the principles
observed by the masters of the short story in the practice of their art.
It is the result of a careful study of their work, of some indifferent
attempts to imitate them, and of the critical examination of several
thousands of short stories written by amateurs. It is designed to be of
practical assistance to the novice in short story writing, from the
moment the tale is dimly conceived until it is completed and ready for
the editor's judgment.
The rules and principles here presented embody not what I conceive to be
right, but what the great masters of the short story have thought to be
right, and what they have proved to be at least successful. I speak only
as a delver into the secrets of other men; and if I seem arrogant, it is
due to the influence of the company I keep. My deductions are made not
only from the artifices and triumphs of the successful, but from the
struggles and failures of the unfortunate as well; and I have endeavored
to make clear both the philosophy and the application of all the
principles so deduced. Though in theory these rules are obligatory on
all who essay the short story, they are frequently and knowingly evaded
or violated by the masters of the art, whose genius is great enough to
excuse their disregard of the conventions, or whose skill is sufficient
to smooth over their technical lapses; but for the novice the only safe
course is a careful observance of all conventions.
To the aspiring writer this book may seem to be merely a catalogue of
"Don'ts", the gist of which is, "Don't write"; but that is to misread
me. Short story writing is not easy, and I cannot make it so, even if I
would; but it is far from my purpose to discourage any person who feels
the Heaven-sent call to write, and who has the will and ability to
respond to it. But that call is but a summons to labor--and to labor the
severest and most persistent. To one who comes to it but half-heartedly,
illy prepared, shirking its requirements, I can predict certain failure;
but to the earnest, serious, conscientious worker, I would say a word of
hope. The promotion from the rank of amateur to the dignity of
authorship may be long in coming, but it will come at last. Fame, like
all else that this world has to give, depends largely upon downright
hard work; and he who has the courage to strive in the face of
disappointments will achieve success in the end.
Throughout this book I have endeavored to give my statements
definiteness by the employment of numerous examples, both good
and bad. I have made no attempt to present an exhaustive analysis
of the technique of individuals or of schools, but have chosen my
illustrations with a single view to their aptness; I have, however,
for the convenience of reference, taken these paradigms chiefly
from the published collections of stories by the older and better
known writers. My "awful examples" are verbatim excerpts from
manuscripts which have passed through my hands; their authorship
is concealed for obvious reasons.
To the best of my knowledge there is no book extant which treats
solely of the technique of the short story. The nearest approach
to it is "How to Write Fiction," an anonymous work published by
Bellaires & Co., London; but to my mind that is too slight, too
theoretical, and too enamored of the artificial French school to be
of practical value to the amateur. Far better, as working guides, are
the frequent fragmentary articles on the short story, many of them by
successful short story writers, published in current periodicals, to
which I am considerably indebted. But my greatest obligation is to a
course in "The Art of the Short Story"--the first university course
ever offered in that subject--conducted at the University of Chicago
in 1896 by Dr. E. H. Lewis.
C. R. B.
CHICAGO, August 1, 1900.
INTRODUCTION
The short story was first recognized as a distinct class of
literature in 1842, when Poe's criticism of Hawthorne[1] called
attention to the new form of fiction. Short story writing had,
however, been practiced for many years before that: perhaps the
narratives of Homer and the tales of the first books of the Bible
may be considered as the first examples; certainly the short story
is closely associated in its early history with narrative poems,
allegorical tales, and mouth-to-mouth traditions, and it can be
traced surely to the _fabliaux_ of the thirteenth century. Later
writers aided in its development: Mallory's "Morte D'Arthur" and
Caxton's popularization of old romances marked a further progress;
and some of the work of Defoe and Addison would almost stand the
modern tests. But the short story as we know it to-day is a product
of the nineteenth century; and it owes its position in literature, if
not its very existence, to the work of Irving, Hawthorne, and Poe.
They first recognized its possibilities and employed it seriously;
and the art and genius which they put into their tales assured the
short story a permanent place in literature. They differed in subject
matter and style, but they recognized the same requirements and
limitations; and the canons which they established then obtain
to-day.
The modern short story is essentially an American product; and our
masters of its art have established precedents for literary workers
of the old world. In England, Stevenson, Kipling and Haggard are
considered the originators of the modern short story; and Zola,
de Maupassant, Daudet and Paul Marguerite in France, Tolstoi in
Russia, and other famous foreign authors have their claims for
consideration; but all of them, admittedly or not, are but disciples
of the earlier American trinity. This book will confine itself to
the English-American short story.
To-day the short story is so popular that we seem to be in a new
literary epoch--the epoch of the short story--and there is no apparent
cause to expect an early diminution in the demand for such literature;
so that to the young writer the short story offers the best opportunity
to prove his mettle. Then, too, it has the additional value of being an
excellent school for the novelist. The short story and the novel have
many radical differences; but in material, treatment and aim they are
much the same, and the same general training is necessary for both. All
short story writers do not become great novelists, nor have all
novelists been short story tellers; but it is a fact that the majority
of the present day novelists served their 'prenticeship in the ranks of
the short story writers.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: "Hawthorne's 'Tales,'" by Edgar Allan Poe. _Graham's
Magazine_, May, 1842.]
SHORT STORY WRITING
I
THE SHORT STORY
There is no modern literary form which is as little understood as is the
short story. The term short story is applied to every piece of prose
writing of 30,000 words or less, without regard to its matter, aim, or
handling; but our purpose demands a definition of some accuracy.
"In the first place, then, what is, and what is _not_, a short story?
Many things a short story may be. It may be an episode, like Miss Ella
Hepworth Dixon's or like Miss Bertha Thomas'; a fairy tale, like Miss
Evelyn Sharp's; the presentation of a single character with the stage to
himself (Mr. George Gissing); a tale of the uncanny (Mr. Rudyard
Kipling); a dialogue comedy (Mr. Pett Ridge); a panorama of selected
landscape, a vision of the sordid street, a record of heroism, a remote
tradition or some old belief vitalized by its bearing on our lives
to-day, an analysis of an obscure calling, a glimpse at a forgotten
quarter ... but one thing it can never be--it can never be 'a novel in a
nutshell'."[2]
"A short story ... must lead up to something. It should have for its
structure a plot, a bit of life, an incident such as you would find in a
brief newspaper paragraph.... He (Richard Harding Davis) takes the
substance of just such a paragraph, and, with that for the meat of his
story, weaves around it details, descriptions and dialogue, until a
complete story is the result. Now, a story is something more than
incidents and descriptions. It is a definite thing. It progresses
constantly. It arrives somewhere. It must enforce some idea (no matter
what). It must be such a reality that a man who read it would carry away
a definite impression."[3]
It is evident, then, that the term short story is properly used only
when it means a short prose narrative, which presents artistically a bit
of real life; the primary object of which is to amuse, though it may
also depict a character, plead a cause, or point a moral; this amusement
is neither of that aesthetic order which we derive from poetry, nor of
that cheap sort which we gain from a broad burlesque: it is the simple
yet intellectual pleasure derived from listening to a well told
narrative.
The first requisite of a short story is that the writer have a story to
tell--that is, a plot. He may present pretty scenes and word pictures if
he will, but he must vivify and humanize them by the introduction of
certain characters, patterned after the people of real life; and these
characters must move and act and live. The presentation of "still life"
pure and simple is not in the province of the short story.
The question of length is but relative; in general a short story should
not exceed 10,000 words, and it could hardly contain less than 1,000;
while from 3,000 to 5,000 is the most usual length. Yet Hawthorne's "The
Gentle Boy" contains 12,000 words; Poe's "The Gold Bug," 13,000; and
perhaps the majority of James' exceed the maximum, while "The Lesson of
the Master" requires 25,000, and "The Aspern Papers" 32,000. Indeed, the
length of any story is determined, not so much by some arbitrary word
limit, as by the theme with which it deals. Every plot requires a
certain number of words for its proper elaboration, and neither more nor
less will do. Just what the limit for any particular story may be, the
writer must decide for himself. "It seems to me that a short story
writer should act, metaphorically, like this--he should put his idea for
a story into one cup of a pair of balances, then into the other he
should deal out his words; five hundred; a thousand; two thousand; three
thousand; as the case may be--and when the number of words thus paid in
causes the beam to rise, on which his idea hangs, then is his story
finished. If he puts in a word more or less, he is doing false work."[4]
The short story does not need the love element that is generally
considered necessary to the novel, and many short stories disregard it
altogether. Love usually requires time and moods and varying scenes for
its normal development, so that it is difficult to treat it properly
within the limits of the short story; and then only when some particular
phase or scene admits of isolation. Then, too, many short stories are
merely accounts of strange adventures, wonderful discoveries or
inventions, and queer occurrences of all sorts--themes which amuse us
from their mere oddity; or they are verbal photographs of life, which
are interesting from their views of psychological and sociological
problems; and none of them requires love as the chief motive. Ingenuity
and originality, the principal constituents of such tales, are the story
teller's great virtues; on them he bases his hopes. Therefore, he must
have strong individuality, and the power of forcing his readers to view
life through his eyes, without perceiving him.
Also, and as if to compensate for the lack of the love interest, the
short story has a "touch of fantasy" which gives it a distinctive charm.
This quality is the hint of--not necessarily the supernatural, but
rather the weird; it is a recognition and a vague presentation of the
many strong influences that are not explainable by our philosophy of
life. It is the intrusion into our matter-of-fact lives of the uncanny
element, which the novice so grossly misuses in his tales of premonitory
dreams and visions, and of most unghostly ghosts. "It is not enough to
catch a ghost white-handed and to hale him into the full glare of the
electric light. A brutal misuse of the supernatural is perhaps the very
lowest degradation of the art of fiction. But 'to mingle the marvellous
rather as a slight, delicate, and evanescent flavor than as any actual
portion of the substance,' to quote from the preface to the 'House of
the Seven Gables,' this is, or should be, the aim of the writer of
short-stories whenever his feet leave the firm ground of fact as he
strays in the unsubstantial realm of fantasy. In no one's writings is
this better exemplified than in Hawthorne's; not even in Poe's. There is
a propriety in Hawthorne's fantasy to which Poe could not attain.
Hawthorne's effects are moral where Poe's are merely physical. The
situation and its logical development and the effects to be got out of
it are all Poe thinks of. In Hawthorne the situation, however strange
and weird, is only the outward and visible sign of an inward and
spiritual struggle. Ethical consequences are always worrying Hawthorne's
soul; but Poe did not know there were any ethics."[5]
The short story usually treats of the lighter and brighter side
of life. It is seldom in deadly earnest; it tends somewhat to
superficiality; and it prefers cleverness to profundity, in both
conception and treatment. Naturally, then, comedy rather than tragedy
is its usual sphere; and though the tale may end in gloom, it more
frequently suggests a possible tragedy in order to heighten the
effect of the happy denouement. For similar reasons the short story
avoids the didactic tone, either presenting its lesson in clever
disguise, or limiting its moral efforts to providing innocent
amusement for an idle hour.
In the strife between realism and romanticism the short story adopts
the middle course, taking advantage of the better phases of both, but
siding with neither; for every life is subject to both influences,
often at the same time, and the short story aspires to present life
as it is. "Without true realism and genuine romanticism--actuality
and ideals--good work was never done, nor did any writer ever rise to
be an author."[6] "No worthy work of fiction may properly be labelled
romantic, realistic or symbolic, since every great work of art
contains all these in some proportion. Love and fighting are not
necessarily romance; nor are soup-kitchens and divorce courts
necessarily realism.... Malice, futility and ugliness--the dreadful
monotony of existence--are not necessarily real life; nor the tales
of summer love and marriage ceremonies, successful fightings, or
sacrifice and chivalry necessarily romance."[7]
In its technique a short story demands the utmost care; it lacks the
bulk of the novel, which hides minor defects. It must have a definite
form, which shall be compact, and which shall have its parts properly
proportioned and related; and it must be wrought out in a workmanlike
manner. It requires extreme care from its conception to its completion,
when it must stand forth a perfect work of art; and yet it must reveal
no signs of the worker's tools, or of the pains by which it was
achieved.
From what has been said it is evident that the short story is
artificial, and to a considerable degree unnatural. It could hardly
be otherwise, for it takes out of our complex lives a single person
or a single incident and treats that as if it were complete in
itself. Such isolation is not known to nature: There all things work
together, and every man influences all about him and is influenced
by them. Yet this separation and exclusion are required by the
conventions of the short story; and after all, there is always the
feeling, if the characters are well handled, that they have been
living and will continue to live, though we have chanced to come in
contact with them for only a short time.
It is this isolation, this magnifying of one character or incident,
that constitutes the chief difference between the novel and the short
story.[8] In the novel we have a reproduction of a certain period of
real life: all the characters are there, with their complex lives and
their varying emotions; there are varied scenes, each one the stage
of some particular incident or semi-climax which carries the action
on to the final chapter; and there are persons and scenes and
conversations which have no reason for being there, except that just
such trivial things are parts of life. With the short story it is
very different: that permits of but one scene and incident, one or
two real characters, with one predominant emotion: all else is a
detriment to the interest and success of the story. A book may be
called a novel even if it is composed of a series of incidents, each
complete in itself, which are bound together by a slender thread of
common characters; but a story cannot properly be called a short one
unless it has simplicity of plot, singleness of character and climax,
and freedom from extraneous matter. "In a short story the starting
point is an idea, a definite notion, an incident, a surprising
discovery; and this must have a definite significance, a bearing on
our view of life; also it must be applied to the development of one
life course, one character. The novel, on the other hand, starts with
a conception of character, a man, a woman, a human heart, which under
certain circumstances works out a definite result, makes a world....
Lastly it develops a group of characters, who together make a
complete community, instead of tracing the life course of one."[9]
To prove that these various requirements are recognized and observed by
masters of the art, I would ask you to consider the following list,
which _The Critic_ selected from nearly five hundred submitted in
competition for a prize which it offered for a list of the best twelve
American short stories:
"The Man Without a Country," Edward Everett Hale.
"The Luck of Roaring Camp," Bret Harte.
"The Great Stone Face," Nathaniel Hawthorne.
"The Snow Image," Nathaniel Hawthorne.
"The Gold Bug," Edgar Allan Poe.
"The Murders in the Rue Morgue," Edgar Allan Poe.
"The Lady, or the Tiger?" Frank R. Stockton.
"The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," Washington Irving.
"Rip Van Winkle," Washington Irving.
"Marse Chan," Thomas Nelson Page.
"Marjorie Daw," Thomas Bailey Aldrich.
"The Revolt of Mother," Mary E. Wilkins.[10]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 2: "The Short Story," by Frederick Wedmore. _Nineteenth
Century_, Mar., '98.]
[Footnote 3: "How to Write Short Stories." An interview with F.
Hopkinson Smith in the Boston _Herald._ _Current Literature._ June, '96.]
[Footnote 4: Robert Barr in "How to Write a Short Story; A Symposium."
_The Bookman._ Mar., '97.]
[Footnote 5: "The Philosophy of the Short-story," by Brander Matthews.
_Lippincott's._ Oct, '85.]
[Footnote 6: "Magazine Fiction and How Not to Write It," by Frederick M.
Bird. _Lippincott's._ Nov., '94.]
[Footnote 7: "The Art of Fiction," by Gilbert Parker. _The Critic,_
Dec.,'98.]
[Footnote 8: In many respects the art of the short story and the novel
are so closely allied that I have been able to reenforce my observations
with magazine articles which were meant to apply primarily to the
novel.--THE AUTHOR.]
[Footnote 9: "How to Write Fiction." Published anonymously by Bellaires
& Co., London. Part I, Chapter I.]
[Footnote 10: "The Best Twelve American Stories." _The Critic._ Apr. 10,
'97.]
II
SHORT STORIES CLASSIFIED
The treatment demanded by any particular story depends more upon its
class than upon the tale itself; a story which recounts an actual
occurrence is much less exacting than one which attempts to depict
manners; and, in general, the more the writer relies on his art, the
more difficult is his task. It is therefore both possible and profitable
to separate short stories into definite groups and to consider them
collectively rather than as units. This classification is based chiefly
upon the necessity of a plot, the purpose or aim of the narrative, and
the skill and care required for its successful treatment. It is crude
and arbitrary from a literary standpoint, for a good short story is
capable of being listed under several different classes, but it serves
our practical purpose. Each story is placed according to its dominant
class; and the classes are arranged progressively from the simplest to
the most difficult of treatment. The examples are presented only as
definite illustrations; there is no attempt to classify all short
stories, or all the stories of any particular author.
I. THE TALE is the relation, in an interesting and literary form, of
some simple incident or stirring fact. It has no plot in the sense that
there is any problem to unravel, or any change in the relation of the
characters; it usually contains action, but chiefly accidents or odd
happenings, which depend on their intrinsic interest, without regard to
their influence on the lives of the actors.
(_a_) It is often a genuine _True Story_, jealously observant of facts,
and embellished only to the extent that the author has endeavored to
make his style vivid and picturesque. Such stories are a result of the
tendency of the modern newspaper to present its news in good literary
form. The best illustrations are the occasional contributions of Ray
Stannard Baker to _McClure's Magazine_.
(_b_) It may, however, be an _Imaginative Tale_, which could easily
happen, but which is the work of the author's imagination. It is a
straightforward narration of possible events; if it passes the bounds of
probability, or attempts the utterly impossible, it becomes a _Story of
Ingenuity_. (See Class VIII.) It has no love element and no plot; and
its workmanship is loose. The best examples are the stories of adventure
found in the better class of boys' and children's papers.
II. THE MORAL STORY, in spite of the beautiful examples left us by
Hawthorne, is usually too baldly didactic to attain or hold a high place
in literature. Its avowed purpose is to preach, and, as ordinarily
written, preach it does in the most determined way. Its plot is usually
just sufficient to introduce the moral. It is susceptible of a high
literary polish in the hands of a master; but when attempted by a novice
it is apt to degenerate into a mess of moral platitudes.
(_a_) _The Fable_ makes no attempt to disguise its didactic purpose, but
publishes it by a final labelled "Moral," which epitomizes the lesson it
conveys. In _Fables_ the characters are often animals, endowed with all
the attributes of men. It early lost favor because of its bald
didacticism, and for the last century has been practiced only
occasionally. To-day it is used chiefly for the purpose of burlesque and
satire, as in George Ade's "Fables in Slang." AEsop is of course the
immortal example of this sort of story.
(_b_) The _Story with a Moral_ attempts to sugar-coat its sermon with a
little narrative. It sticks rather closely to facts, and has a slight
plot, which shows, or is made to show, the consequences of drinking,
stealing, or some other sin. Usually it is either brutally realistic or
absurdly exaggerated; but that it can be given literary charm is proved
by Hawthorne's use of it. Maria Edgeworth is easily the "awful example"
of this class, and her stories, such as "Murad the Unlucky" and "The
Grateful Negro," are excellent illustrations of how _not_ to write. Many
of Hawthorne's tales come under this head, especially "Lady Eleanor's
Mantle," "The Ambitious Guest," and "Miss Bullfrog." The stories of Miss
Wilkins usually have a strong moral element, but they are better classed
in a later division. (See Class IV.) Contemporary examples of this style
of writing may be found in the pages of most Sunday School and
Temperance papers.
(_c_) _The Allegory_ is the only really literary form of the _Moral
Story_, and the only one which survives to-day. It has a strong moral
purpose, but disguises it under the pretense of a well-told story; so
that it is read for its story alone, and the reader is conscious of its
lesson only when he has finished the narrative. It usually personifies
or gives concrete form to the various virtues and vices of men.
Examples: Hawthorne's "The Birthmark," "Rappaccini's Daughter," and
"Feathertop." Allegories which deserve the name are sometimes found in
current periodicals.
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