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THE SUNNY SOUTH, ATLANTA, GEORGIA, NOVEMBER 26, 1892.
II
PRACTICAL WORDS TO
ERN WRITERS.
The Hopes, Fears, Aspirations, Re
wards and Disappointments
of Authorship.
[Written specially for the Thanksgiving issue.]
There is probably no editor of any
experience, who has not filed away, or
destroyed hundreds of letters asking in
effect if not in w’ords, the countersign
to cross the closely guarded bounds of
literary success. Equally probable is it
that not one in a dozen of these letters
— when answered at all—has received
reply in those bard truths that, galling
most on their receipt, would be the
most useful in the end.
With that phenomenal growth of
really good literature that followed the
true “reconstruction” of the South,
there sprouted, not unnaturally, a vast
amount of the weedy and worthless
rubbish of imitation. “Craddock,”
Mrs. Bellamy and Amelie Rives are
sufti cient to cite ; for the desks of pro
fess onal readers, and the columns of
elee mosynary publications, that would
print them—have overflowed with
diaject stories and “character” novels
whjch lacked mainly character, until
the deposit from their own stream has
beg u n at last to dam them, in both
senes of that improper sounding word.
SOUTH- Then, when splinters of refusal fly fast
about his hopeful ears—when he finds
himself sprawled prone in the mire of
disappointment, while worse-appointed
tilters clatter by, and over him—who
may wonder that surprised dismay of
the over hopeful attributes his defeat
to the wrong cause?
It is too often that “prejudice” and
“clique” are named as scapegoats upon
which to rest the blame of his tall; not
the hard truth, that the shield of that
guardian of the public taste, against
whom he rode forth so gaily, is covered
with dents from just such encounters;
that the only motto on the pennant to
the tou*>h spear that overthrew him is:
u Dieu et moil Droit."
There is no one bubble of the mor
bid imagination, which may be pricked
to better and more lasting advantage,
than that which reflects the critical
mind of the North, as a very prism of
venomous color and prejudice against
the South. Even w 7 ere this silly-salve
for sore pride not daily refuted by the
steady increase or Southern matter in
the pages of the best Northern period
icals, a common-sense examination
into cause and effect would very soon
prove its utter quackery.
The literature of commerce is quite
as much a standard commodity as is
our Southern cotton. It must have its
“types,” “grades” and classes;” for
those who buy it “by sample,” deal in
it merely on its merits as a salable ar
ticle. No Northern spinuer ever yet
each article as much better than its
predecessor as you possibly can, by
careful revision, and especially by con
densation. As a rule, the best writing j sected and dismembered by the critical
is that which tells its story, or proves j scalpers, North, South and abroad
is a woman w 7 hose grand aud spotless | judges, w 7 ho probably knew far better
life is reflected in every line of her
many books. These have been dis
have been flatly imitated, so have all
who dared strike out new paths for
themselves; and the manner of imita
tion has very far removed it from sin-
cerest flattery. Vet this, in no sense,
intimates that there is not an amount
of latent talent hidden in the South,
still undreamed of; and vast enough in
volume—diverse enough in ambitious
grasp—yet to astound even her own
people. What alone it needs to develop
it is proper friction, or rather proper
application of it. For, friction ot a
certain sort it gets in plenty, while the
moans over broken hopes All the air
and stacks of “rejected addresses” line
the rugged path to the back door of
experience.
As to the chances of any young and
unknown writer—either of poetry, of
fiction, or of facts—with one of the lead
ing American magazines—they may
be rated as one in one thousand. And,
without disloyalty to herself, the South
must class as leading magazines, those
of the North and East, only. Equally
as to the writers of those sections, the
doors of all editorial sanctums are open
to the writers of the South; but the
latter must approve their right to enter
by the plainly uttered open sesame
of power, originality or absolute nov
elty, at the very threshold.
The recent past has proved, beyond
all question, that the Southern writer,
possessing any of this talismanic three,
may fly their latches at will. But, if
another knock at those doors, he had
best prepare his patience for lengthy
waiting before the answer; for the oft-
repeated reply is that the much sought
dweller beyond that threshold is not at
home—to him.
To some, then, it may seem brutal
frankness to repeat that the odds
against the new’ writer’s securing a pub
lisher are |emphatically the long ones.
Naturally corporations that pay from
one hundred to one thousand dollars
for a single paper become very chary of
experiment. Experience has forced
them to become so; and costly errors
have hardened them into semblance of
very Pharoahs agaiust all faces of new
and most promising young prophets of
strange things. Their safes a re already
very full of of ready purchased manu
scripts still aw’aiting their turn ; their
its point, with least waste of words
It is a saf* average belief to cultivate,
that w’liat seems best and brightest in
one’s own work—especially if it smacks
of lightness, or flippancy—had best be
omitted. The public is a many-mind
ed animal; and the very touch that
tickles your own ears so pleasantly—
probably from familiarity, or some
local cause—is too apt to make him
back his quite dangerously.
It is wise to beware of attempted
“versatility”—strong w’ord that has
burthens far too onerous thrust upon
it!—and to concentre upon one special
theme, and with all the power in you,
so much of thought, information and
experi ence of life, as you may possess.
If that theme be proved the wrong
one, by fair trial, do not scatter your
energies. Be brave enough to leave it
promptly and wholely, and to strike
out upon another, and radically differ
ent one.
One warning may be absolute and
general:—Avoid all handling of un
clean things; and shun, as the plague,
that so-called risque school, w hich al
ready begins to shadow with its evil
influence the work of many young
writers—particularly beginners among
women. For the belief, current in
uninstructed quarters, that literary
rejected “strict middlings,” because of smut pays best, is the boldest of fallacy,
sectional prejudice; especially as he ” 1,_ S “ A1 " ’
meant to spin them equally for r-outli-
I They have been declared as lacking
imagination, overladen with learning
redolent of the lamp, and faulty in
humanity of characterization. But
spite of critics and criticules—they
have been read by more thousands
than the authors of others can claim
hundreds; and they are still in de
maud, as constant "and as steady, as
when the ink w r as fresh upon them, a
score of years ago. The secret of this
great success must lie in the fact that
not even the carpers have ever denied
j to this exceptional woman a close ad
herence to the highest forms of the
pure in art. When it is added, as a
known fact, that she has received—in
a single check and in advance—fifteen
thousand dollars for an untried novel
her example may, perhaps, move many
on whom all precept might fail.
There is one rule of professional
writing w hich* should never be abro
gated, by any who hope for ultimate
success: Never print anything that is
not paid for, at some sort of valuation
The price offered may seem inadequate ;
perhaps absurdly so, in the strong
reflection of self-esteem. But the fact
that a skilled purchaser rates effort, at
any value at all, in a crow r ded market
where supply vastly exceeds demand,
is intrinsic proof that it is presently
valuable, and of future promise.
■int
readers’ desks are already overfull of
new 7 ones, sent on approbation; and to
many of both of these are appended
popular, famous, or long tested names.
The production of a readable, beauti
ful ana well-arranged monthly issue,
year after year can be no affair of senti
ment. It is a cold, regulated business
matter; and. has grown—out of effort,
study, failure and costly experiment—
into an exact science. Certain classes
of reading must be sent to a certain
clientele; and of that class, there can
be no question but that its very best
available must be chosen. Nor does it
follow that the choice w’ill approve as
best, the most beautiful, the most vig
orous, or even the most original. It is
simply the material which experience
dictates will fit most properly into the
required niche; and this cannot safely
be changed to fit the material. So a
brilliant, dazzling, or novel article is
frequently made to give way for a
plainer, more direct—and often seem
ingly more dull—treatment of the same
theme. So, a thrilling, soulful ro
mance may be distanced easily in the
race by a very Conestoga of a plain
tale. In the struggle for this phase of
literary existence, it is a mere question
of the “survival of the fittest.”
It is against these practical and ever-
existent barriers of fact—hard and cold
as the statement may fall upon the
eager ear of Hope, or of Ambition—
that the untrained knight-errant of
literature must splinter many a useless
lance. He rides forth into the lists
open to all, to meet the tough practica
bility of an every-day era. He may be
panoplied in the glittering, yet possibly
thin armor of imagination and may
bear the white shield of a very Galahad;
but his weapons need the strength and
seasoning of trial, and his breastplate
has laces loose above some vital point.
ern, as for Northern consumption.
And it were absurd to ascribe w’orse
business judgment to the dealer in
“good ordinary” literature, much of
which he expects to return to the self
same market, in which it found growth.
It is fairer and more sensible, then,
to believe that the vast amount of re
jected literary matter—here, in the
North, and every where—remains un
sold merely because it is unsalable.
Friends and admirers of suckling
genius — even
when that is too
much to expect of
the writers them
selves—must see
plainly that only
exceptional merit,
or else boldest and
most daring nov
elty, will win a
hearing against
tried “types.”—
Only these can
force the attention
of the already
wearied aud pre-
disosed critic-
reader, to the
point of examina
tion close and
careful enough for
absolutely just
balance of those
scales, firmly and
honestly held for
the weighing of
all such. How can
reasoning minds
expect those read
ers—much put-
upon and unjustly
villified for their
very justice as
they be—to lay
aside works of
character and
thought, of deft description aud
ring action, for the overwrought joys
and sorrows of the children of crude
imagination, who speak a tongue
largely unknown, and w’earying in
continuance even when familiar?
It is plainly very easy to suggest to
young writers “how not to do it.”—
They may paraphrase Mr. Greely’s
philosophy about resumption of specie 1 tricate
payments, and accept as an axiom
that the easiest w r ay to write success
fully is—not to write! But it is far
more difficult to answ er practically that
wail, which comes up unceasing to the
ear of every editor and critic, for sug- |
gestions as to those modes of writing
which must succeed. As simple as that j
advice was the search after the “Phi
losopher’s stone;” more so, in fact,
for the varying classes of mind, of
taste and of inborn habit of expression
are absolutely infinite. What would
be capital advice to one, would merely
promote certain suicide in the next
score; and to lay down any fixed rule,
that is w’orth the conning, presupposes
close aud intimate acquaintance with
that particular mind for which it is
meant.
Only one general rule may be consid
ered invariably appreciable; and that
may be condensed into the endorse
ment I once put upon one of the many
early and crude efforts of a woman,
since brilliant, erratic and successful,
perhaps beyoud any of her sister nov
elists of the Indian-summer school. As
a girl, she always begged honest criti
cism ; and upon one pet effort—which
has since gone widely forth, in form
as widely changed—I wrote: “Read
before you write again ; and remember
become
And
Broadly or quaintly put, it may catch adherence to this rule should not be
the ear of the groundling reader, for for the sordid reason of mere money
the moment; but it is morally certain getting, but for the higher one of
to make the judicious grieve perma- incentive to worthier effort.
nently. And lew 7 women w 7 ould smirch
their faces with soot, for sake of rais
ing laughter from boors, with certainty
that it would but spread moreclinging-
ly, Irom every attempt at removal, be-
lore entry into the drawing-room.
It is true that some delicious per
fumes may be extracted from some
very filthy bases; but this comes only
under deft processes of experienced ;
stir-
T. C. DeLeon in His Workshop.
skill. The “prentice” band that un
dertakes that branch of chemistry is
certain to produce only a nasty mess,
and to carry the fumes of experiment
clingingly about him for an indefinite
period. It is far safer, then, to follow 7
the known and sure forms of clean
liness, in which failure need not neces
sarily mean nausea; and to leave in-
chemistrv to
the handling
unerringly !
grown not only bold, but
sure, from long practice.
What tyros delight in calling “the
risque school”—in mistaken deference
to French literary art—usually results
really in the nasty school. The artistic
touch that drapes impropriety so deftly
as to but suggest nullity of morals, is
rare indeed; and, even when found,
might surely be more effective, exactly
in proportion as less suggestive. But
the clumsy imitation, that tears aw r ay
all drapery and show s but the coarse
nudity of speech, suggests nothing
whatever, save, possibly, passing pity
for its own folly. The risque school is ’ 0 fV„y kind"soever, be"sent "to
merely the daintily suggestive; the (he g J. eat ceatreSi it should be remem
Naturally, the press that prints gift
contributions dares not offend the
cheerful giver, and its critical judg
ment must be disarmed to the point of
helplessness, by necessity of filling
much space for no return. Doubtless
very much good writing—by various
reasons estopped from other outlet—
thus finds its way into print. But
along with it comes infinity of rub
bish, w’hich not
only offends ju
dicious readers,
but is as fatal to
the growing intel
lects that slough
it off as would be
the prize-fighters’
regimen to the
puny child.
The pleasant
sense of seeing
one’s name in
t y p e—c o u p 1 e d
with the cheap
and thoughtless
flttery of friends,
often as incompe
tent as injudic
ious—has ruined
more than one
promising young
writer, in the ac-
quaintance of
every critic.—
Praise born of
sympathy, with
out the sauce of
judgment, may
have all the savor
of plum-pudding.
It certainly is as
i n d igestible as
leather and peb
bles, to any other
than the excep
tional mental ostrich.
Far more wholesome are the strong,
if gentle, words of just censure. In
finitely more tonic are refusal after
refusal to accept for print, w r hat—pos
sibly having some strong merit—is still
unfit to appear in it. Every time that
an honest effort, on a high plane, is re
pulsed, the sense of defeat spurs even
the sensitive and sore young author to
renewed, and naturally better en
deavor; if, indeed, there be really
aught in him, which effort may at last
develop. But every time a crude, or
careless piece of writing secures its
way to utterance in print—and possi
bly into popular favor as well—loose
habits of thought and faults of style be
come more indurated; false methods
more confirmed, and the dangerously
general bump of self-esteem more ab-
normallv developed.
Finany, it were well to warn all
sorts of writers never to be over-san
guine ; never impatient at all. If ar-
hint to impropriety already under
stood, sought for and congenial. But
the mock risque—lacking alike the
native tact aud the experience of the
French model—becomes only the
smutty school; its ugly coarseness un
redeemed by point, or flavor. Blind
indeed, then, is the young writer who
adopts the nasty school; for it is a
proved verity, past all argument, that
cleanliness in literature not only wears
best, but that it also—pays best!
The most noted and discussed liter
ary woman that the South has yet pro
duced, very nearly succeeded in com
mitting hari-kari, by unskilled hand
ling of crude nastiness of theme; and
doubtful morality, in theme itself, is
ever dangerous, however stroDgly the
master hand may touch the keys of
passion and of sin, in harmonious dis-
bered that these are very full and very
busy ones, ever ; that the competition
there is infinite; and that able, prac
ticed and noted pens may have chanced
to treat the self-same theme, that
has suggested itself to the new
sender.
But, for his comfort, the beginner
may recall that there was a beginning,
also, for his most successful competi
tor ; that, as such began, so may he,
with perseverance, care and merit!
The old German proverb is philoso
phy: “One must creep, before he may
walk.”
For his further comfort, let him
what is best for the public taste.
Mobile, Ala., November, 1892.
A Word from Ex-Editor Seals.
Editor Sunny South :
As a loving father feels for his pet
child, so do I feel for the dear old Sun
ny South , and I am pleased to learn
that you will issue this w 7 eek a superb
edition as a sort of Thanksgiving souve
nir. Your pations will appreciate it,
and I trust it will meet your highest
expectations and bounti ully remuner
ate you for the extra heavy outlay.
Readers like something fresh aud
new 7 . It is an evidence of enterprise,
and everyone enjoys a live paper. But
how 7 thoroughly can I sympathize with
you in the exhaustive labor and per
plexing worries incident to preparing
a fresh feast from week to week for the
intellectual palate! And when it comes
to getting out an unusually handsome
and attractive issue for some special
occasion, then conies a genuine “tugof
r.” Old Satan, with his diversified
machinations, is sure to take a hand,
and how 7 he does upset things! He
first causes the paper maker to delay
the paper. Then he blunts or breaks
the graver’s tools, and spoils the illus
trations. He causes the printers to de
lay the composition, gives the press
man a toddy too much, or freezes his ink
and rollers and the press work is spoiled.
So lie manipulates and conspires until
editor, publisher, foreman and all get
sick and disgusted with everything,
and especially with a printing office.
Haven’t I been along there? Indeed,
have I not been there more than once?
Nearly eight months have passed,
dear Sunny South, since I vacated the
editor’s chair and bade a final adieu to
the worries of a publishing house and
active journalism; but the smell of
benzine and printers’ ink still clings to
my clothing; and though the office and
machinery are all far removed from
, I can still hear the familiar click
ing of the engine and the heavy rum
bling of the old printing press as its
huge revolving cylinders roll out the
freshly printed papers and pass them
along into the folding machine for the
mailing rooms. And as I sit in my old
sanctum and look around, I see scores
of pigeon holes and boxes filled with
manuscript of all kinds, and they are
peeping out and anxiously waiting for
some friendly hand to release them
from their long imprisonment and pass
upon their merits. No doubt many a
gem is buried there—many a sweet
poem or story, full of pathos or burning
sentiment that flowed fresh from spark
ling fountains of poesy and love.
But these are not buried forever.
As the new management gets more
thoroughly organized they will all be
turned over into competent and friend
ly hands for examination aud final dis
position.
But allow me to commend again and
again the old paper to all waiters, old
and new, and to every good and true
heart. It claims and merits your pray
ers and patronage. It has fought a good
fight and you should crow’n it with
fadeless laurels. Help it to grow and
circulate until its bright pages cover
the whole country as thickly as leaves
Vallambrosa. It is our one great
success in literary journalism, and that
of itself should stimulate every good
citizen to stand by it.
And now, Messrs. Editors and Pub
lishers, allow me to congratulate you
upon your successful management thus
far, and to compliment you in advance
upon your souvenir issue, which, I am
informed, will be a gem of beauty and
a gold mine ot glittering literary nug
gets. Hurriedly, but faithfully yours,
J. H. Seals.
that human nature may become as
legible, as any other book ! ” doubtful morality, in theme itself, is know that almost any old, experienced
This may be largely generalization, ever dangerous, however stroDgly the essayist, romancer, or other writer,
But so must be all rules, meant for the master hand may touch the keys of might thus concrete his own experience
greatest good of the many, just so long passion and of sin, in harmonious dis- into practical truth. I can frankly de-
as God makes men and women with cord to that purity which must ever be clare that I never considered any ar-
minds as different as their faces. For the motif of truly successful expression tide of my own positively good, or
the rest, common sense suggestions, to of thought!
fit most cases, are simply these : The most widely read—and, by many
Do your very best, in whatever you times the best paid—of all the writers
attempt to write; striving to make of the South, if not indeed of America,
bad—from a commercial stand-point—
until I received the check for it. Wbat
seemed the very best, to me, was fre
quently “turned down,” by skilled
A Head Master of Harrow.
From the Strand Magazine.
He had a way essentially his own of
getting rid of little boys whom he in
vited to breakfast. You know, little
boys have a peculiar habit of becom
ing inconveniently glued to a chair.
The hospitable “head” would quietly
go up to the youngster—who was per
haps in the middle of another muffin—
and say very gently, and with paternal
kindness: “And must you really go?"
The little boy invariably went.