Writing Advice from 1908, Part 2

Last Wednesday I offered you some words of wisdom from Writing the Short-Story by J. Berg Esenwein.  Published in 1908, it was one of the first creative writing manuals. Here are some more of his tips, useful or otherwise.

* "As a character the detective cannot be much more than a dummy.  That is, his individuality cannot be brought out in a single short-story, except by a few bold strokes of delineation; but when he figures in a series of stories, as does Sherlock Holmes, the reader at length comes to know him quite well."

* "The novel is expansive, the short-story intensive."

* Sir Walter Scott said that "in nature herself no two scenes were exactly alike, and that whoever copied truly what was before his eyes, would possess the same variety in his descriptions, and exhibit apparently an imagination as boundless as the range of nature in the scenes he recorded; whereas -- whoever trusted to imagination, would soon find his own mind circumscribed, and contracted to a few favorite images."

* "Wise is that writer who patiently awaits the hour of full-coming before attempting to write."

* Esenwein says there are three main streams of fiction. He does not do a great job of explaining them or giving adequate examples but here you go: Realism (which "paints men as they are" and in which he suggests the author should not express a point of view), Romanticism (such as Kipling's "The Man Who Would Be King,"), and Idealism (which expresses the world as the author wishes it was, such as "A Christmas Carol.")

*"Must I typewrite my story? You need not, but you ought to.." 

* There are  many ways to tell a story. "Another variation is that in which a minor character tells of the deeds of his enemy, who is nevertheless the central figure in the story." 

* "A hackneyed device is to tell the story in the first person after having introduced the speaker by a second person, who really thus reports the story 'as it is told to me.' You may be sure of two things in this connection: a story begun in this style must possess unusual merit to offset the triteness of its introduction; and, it is a hard task to convince the reader that you could not have plunged into the story in the first person direct, relying upon the opening sentences to set the scene.  Still, if you can do it exquisitely, go ahead.  No rule in art is so good but that it may well be broken by a master stroke." I point out that Henry James' "The Turn of the Screw" was written a decade earlier. 

* "All things must be looked at with an eye to their possible literary use."

* "Many an unwary author has slipped on the simple matter of forgetting that it takes time to travel here, there, and back again; that people normally get older with the lapse of years; and that events must be consistent with the procession of the seasons."

* "Wit deals with externals, humor seeks out the heart; wit consorts with contempt, scorn and hate; humor abides with friendship, benevolence and love; wit holds folly up to darting ridicule, humor looks with gentle sympathy upon weakness."

* "In the mystery story the author should begin early to set his wires so that with a single pull the whole house of bafflement may come tumbling down before our eyes, at a glance disclosing the secret. In the short-story the mystery must be less complex than the novel, hence the uncovering of the secret will require less time. But if I knew how to hold a breathless mystery up to the last moment and then disclose it all in a trice, I could not -- and perhaps would not if I could -- impart it to others.  This is the very incommunicable heart of the plotter's craft."

Some Previous Owners

* "The use of quotation marks does not convert a passage into dialogue." - Arlo Bates

* Could a story have two reasonable but different endings?  Robert  Louis Stevenson: "The whole tale is implied; I never use an effect when I can help ir, unless it prepare the effects that are to follow; that's what a story consists in. To make another end; that is to make the beginning all wrong... The body and end of a short-story is bone of the bone and blood of the bone of the beginning."

* Character's "speech must show not so much what they say as what they are." 

Near the end Esenwein lists "One hundred representative stories."  I had read eight of them (e.g. Bret Harte "The Outcasts of Poker Flat"), heard of 39 other authors, (e.g. Rudyard Kipling "The Man Who Was") and was completely unfamiliar with the rest. Such is fame, or my ignorance.

Thanks again to Mary Lou Condike for giving me much to think about.

Scrooge McGrinch and the Four Elves (a Christmas Puzzle)

E. Scrooge McGrinch

In the hour before the sun peeked around the mountain, a green, green figure clumped up the hill, dysphoria washing over him yet again. Scrooge McGrinch felt misunderstood. His shrink explained he suffered from hereditary hormonal imbalance, festiphobia (a fear of holidays) and affluenza (a love of money). As the 7^th generation following the historic marriage of Ebenezer Scrooge Jr and Ethylene Glycol MacGrinch, his skin still bore the same pigment as an eight-dollar bill.

[For our vast audience of molecular biologists, see DAT1, DRD2, and SOD1-/- in ‘Condition Green’, Morley et al, JAM, 2022.]

Then he heard a racket, a cacophony of four voices, and his spirits leaped in joy. Off the trail, caught in an avalanche of snow, were wedged his sworn nemeses, a quartet of bratty elves who made his pitiful life miserable.

Four Awful Elves

Boozy, Doozy, Floozy, and Woozy had awakened at 4:30, giggling and chuckling. The lads chortled at the notion of joyriding the village’s most recent resident, Bolderdash, understudy for the nine celebrity reindeer. In the dark of the mudroom, they pulled on boots, mittens, and stocking caps. Emboldened by a generous slug of wintergreen schnapps, they headed toward the barns.

Bolderdash was not thrilled to be shaken and awakened when a bridle slipped over his nose. The brightly lit factory and rail yard swarmed with activity at that early hour, so the jackanapes led their captive reindeer into the dark before climbing aboard.

They cantered down the tracks of the Polar Express and galloped into the night. At the edge of the plateau near Kringle International Airport, a landing FedEx cargo plane zoomed overhead, startling Bolderdash. He balked. He had had enough. In a fit of pique, he bucked and skidded to a halt at the edge of a precipice.

Four little figures flew over a cliff and landed up to their chins in deep snow, fortunate they didn’t set off an avalanche. They found themselves trapped in cold white stuff, unable to move. Meantime, Bolderdash sulkily stalked back to the barns, hoping for a little more sleep before roll call.

The Problem and the Proposal

A half hour passed until Scrooge McGrinch stumbled upon the naughty elves. He said, “You… You in the red hat. What are you miscreants doing?”

The elves appeared confused. Two wore red hats and two wore green hats. “In the dark, O Verdant One, we grabbed toques without noticing the colors. None of us can see what we’re wearing.”

“You brats wear colorful hats, but you don’t know the hue, do you?” said McGrinch. “Let’s play a little game.”

Scrooge McGrinch wasn’t a mean man… Well, okay, he was mean in multiple senses of the word, but he wasn’t entirely heartless. Following a modicum of smug enjoyment, he said, “If anyone can figure out the color cap you’re wearing, I’ll rush to Ski Patrol to dig you out, else I’ll call your parents and they won’t be happy.”

The elves shivered. “We’ll give it a try, Your Viridescence.”

McGrinch grimaced. “Fine. Here are the rules.”

The Puzzle

1. Four elves in a row are immovably buried up to their chins in snow.
2. Their names and positions are Boozy₁, Doozy₂, Floozy₃, and Woozy₄.
3. Two wear red hats, two wear green, but no elf knows what color he wears.
4. Each elf can see only the elf or elves directly ahead.
5. Woozy is separated by an impenetrable snowdrift.
6. None can glimpse their own hat, nor do colors reflect off the snow.
7. Elves are not permitted to discuss what they see.

Solution after the break.

And so Scrooge McGrinch promised to rescue them if any elf correctly identified the color hat he was wearing, otherwise they faced the humiliation of begging the Big Elf’s help. Which elf might deduce his hat?

Here It Comes, Ready or Not

 

I have often been asked, over the years, for advice on how to submit short stories to publications--mostly magazines. I don't know how helpful that's been, but I've always tried to deliver honest guidance, and the only reason I feel qualified to advise at all is that I've submitted a lot of stories and I've done some of it the wrong way.

The truth is, in the old days it was much harder to submit stories to editors and much easier to make a submission mistake. I can recall forgetting to sign my name on cover letters, leaving pages out of manuscripts, not putting enough postage on envelopes, binding the pages the wrong way, using the wrong kinds of envelopes, forgetting to enclose cover letters, and forgetting to enclose SASEs (remember those?). I once put together a neat submission, packed it all into one of those 9 x 12 envelopes, and then forgot to mail it. My wife found it under some papers in the back seat a month later.

But even in our modern, electronic world, you (I should say I) can still make submission mistakes. One of the worst, of course, is an error in the story itself. Some of those are minor (misspellings, typos, punctuation errors, etc.) and some are major (plot holes, factual mistakes, unintended POV switches, etc.). All are embarrassing, and are a good reason to try harder in the future to proofread, proofread, proofread before sending a story off into the hard and competitive world.

It's something that's especially important to me because one of my so-called rules for the submission process is to not read a story again after I've sent it off to the publication. After I hit SEND to dispatch my emailed submission to an editor, I try to forget that story, and I mean completely forget it, until I receive a response. If the eventual response is a rejection, fine--I then re-read the story, make any changes that I think are needed, and submit it elsewhere. If the response is an acceptance, I usually also re-read the story. But--I'll say it again--I don't re-read the story while it's out for consideration. I erase it from my mind and start working on another one.

Now, consider this. What if ignore that advice, and decide to take another look at your story after submitting it? Hopefully you won't find any mistakes, but . . . what if you do?

If the error is really minor, I would let it go. Everybody makes mistakes now and then. Make a note of it to yourself if you want to, but do nothing more. Don't contact the editor. Go back mentally to the point when you emailed the submission and think no more about the story until you receive a response. 

But what if it's a major mistake, like one of those I mentioned earlier? What if you re-read the story while it's in transit or under consideration and find that action B cannot logically follow action A in your plot? What if the geography's wrong, or the timeline is wrong, or the hero knows things he couldn't possibly know, or the device your character used in your historical mystery hasn't been invented yet? Or maybe Janet Bradley on page 2 has changed to Janice Brady on pages 4 through 10. After you slap your forehead and spew a few words that shock both your family and your dog, what do you do?

That's happened to me. (Well, except for the dog.) In my case, it was an error in a fact that I just hadn't researched as well as I should've. It not only made my plot look stupid, it made me look stupid. I still remember thinking Did I actually write that? But I did. And I submitted it to a magazine, only a few days earlier.

What happened then was, I reluctantly send a followup email to the editor, one I thankfully knew, and I told her I'd screwed up a story I'd sent and would like to resubmit a corrected version of that manuscript. She was kind enough to allow me to do that (she probably hadn't read the botched submission yet)--but even so, I suspect my request annoyed her. And annoying editors doesn't top anyone's list of smart things to do.  

But what if I had found the mistake and hadn't sent the followup note? One of three things might've happened, and they're the same things that might've happened if I hadn't found the mistake: (1) the story could've been (deservedly) rejected; (2) the story could've been (undeservedly) accepted, after which the editor would probably have corrected the mistake or asked me to correct it; or (3) the story could've been accepted and published with the mistake intact. And believe me, that can happen as well.

Anyhow, it has become my practice to submit a story and then leave it alone until I get a response. Call me irresponsible, call me unreliable, but that's my policy. I make sure my submission is written as well as I can write it, I send it off, and I forget it. My reason is, if you re-read it and don't find any mistakes, you've wasted your time. And if you re-read it and do find a mistake, you either alert the editor or you don't. If you don't, you'll probably still worry about it for the next few weeks or months, and if you do alert the editor, you run the risk of irritating her and could be wasting your time anyway, because the acceptance/rejection outcome might be the same. Bottom line: I'm not convinced that finding an error once the bird has flown does anyone any good.

One more thing. I think my decision to not look at a story again after it's submitted has made me a more careful writer. It's forced me to look a lot harder at the story beforehand. 

So here's the question. What's your policy? Do you forget your stories after they've been submitted for consideration? Do you re-read them after submission but before you've received a response? Have you ever found a gastric-distressable error at that point? If so, what did you do about it, besides Maalox? Did you contact the editor, and if so, how'd that go? Was the story accepted or rejected anyway? Have you ever made story mistakes, small or large, that somehow got past all the guards and found their way undetected into print? (I wish I hadn't--they don't stay undetected long.) Come on, be honest. Confession's good for the soul.

Meanwhile, keep writing the best stories you can, check them carefully, and send 'em in. Some of them will surprise you, and actually make something of themselves in the world.

May the odds be ever in your favor.

Alimentary, My Dear Watson!

I blame Dickens for my household’s attempt to cook a Christmas goose some years ago. My wife and I had always been charmed by the Cratchit family’s dinner of goose and Christmas pudding depicted in the 1999 TV version of A Christmas Carol starring Patrick Stewart. We followed Julia Child’s instructions to the letter, but did not have the “tight-fitting lid” for our roasting pan that is so critical for properly rendering the bird prior to roasting. For weeks after, I felt as if everything I touched in the house—my eyeglasses, my computer keyboard—was coated with a fine film of goose fat. It’s not a fowl I desire to ever eat again. The Cratchit bird fed eight, and I get it. One slice of that rich meat is all anyone needs to survive winter.

I’ve since come to respect geese. The living specimens are fierce protectors of their turf who figure prominently in ancient art. In Rome people told us that if you didn’t have a dog, you could rely on a goose to keep your yard safe from intruders. No one wants to be bitten in the butt by an angry honker.

Alas, when the fowl shows up in literature, it’s usually on someone’s plate. The “unimpeachable” goose who is the star of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle” starts out alive, then ends up dead and the centerpiece of a mystery. Interestingly, as we shall see, that goose kept coughing up mysteries well into the 20th century.

The 8,000-word story is the only Christmas tale in the Sherlock Holmes Canon. It first appeared in the January 1892 edition of The Strand magazine. (You’ll find it in the first book of collected stories, The Adventures.) If you know your Holmes, it’s the story that starts with the great man deducing the heck out of a bowler hat that has lost its owner, and later confronting a nervous amateur jewel thief who has stolen a precious gem—a blue carbuncle—from the belongings of a countess lodged at a London hotel. To keep the jewel safe until he can consult with his fence, the thief thrusts the gem down the throat of a living goose in his sister’s backyard. The goose gets switched on him, is sent to market, and zaniness ensues.

I reread the story recently to see what sort of Christmasy details Conan Doyle folded into his prose. They’re sparse; mostly Watson describing cold weather, warm fires, a cast of chilly characters, and ice crystals forming in windows. There are no Christmas trees or presents. Since the story is nearly 133 years old, I don’t think I’m spoiling anyone’s enjoyment by revealing that in the end, Holmes lets the repentant thief off scot-free. Because, he argues, “it’s the season of forgiveness.”

I enjoyed the story immensely this time around, and then foolishly read all the notes about it in my copy of Leslie S. Klinger’s The Annotated Sherlock Holmes. That’s how I learned that serious Sherlockians have long quibbled with fine points of the tale.

Some examples should suffice. A carbuncle is a garnet, which are typically red. Though they have been found in other colors, there’s no such thing as a blue carbuncle. No garnets have ever been found in the Chinese river Holmes mentions as the origin of this stone. The detective botches a discussion of the jewel’s weight, presumed value, and chemical composition. The law enforcement official in the story conducts a hardness test on the stone that does not prove what he thinks it does. Moreover, of the eleven or so deductions Holmes makes about the bowler, Sherlockians dismiss at least four as highly illogical.

But hey, if our author couldn’t get the number of Watson’s wives straight, or the location of the shrapnel the good doctor brought back from Afghanistan, why do we expect him to get such details right? Conan Doyle wrote to make glad the heart of geekhood. He was a little like the Hungarian-American director Michael Curtiz, who when someone pointed out all the implausibilities in the script for Casablanca, replied, “Don’t worry. I make it go so fast nobody notices.”

Sometime after WWII, however, a clever female reader proved just how much the largely male membership of Holmes societies knew about geese. Throughout the story, we are told repeatedly that the stolen gem was found in the goose’s crop. That word is mentioned five times in the story. Since many birds do not have teeth, they pre-digest their food by funneling items into a separate anatomical pouch, which is sort of a pre-stomach.

I remembered seeing such a thing as a child, watching my mother butcher a backyard chicken. The bird’s crop was filled with tiny pebbles, which chickens instinctively swallow in their pecking. That grit is later used by the gizzard, the muscular end of the stomach, to grind bugs and vegetation so they can more easily be digested.

In a sidebar in Klinger’s Annotated Holmes, our editor tells us that the “Blue Carbuncle” was referenced during Christmas season 1946 by Chicago Tribune columnist Charles Collins, who was a friend of Vincent Starrett’s and a founding member of the Chicago chapter of the Baker Street Irregulars. A longtime journalist, Collins wrote a popular column called A Line o’ Type or Two for the newspaper. Some days later, astute reader Mildred Sammons fired off a note, taking issue with his six-paragraph summary. Her brief note appeared in the newspaper the day after Christmas that year. 

Regarding the Sherlock Holmes Christmas story, “The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle,” discussed in the Line o’ Type column on Dec. 17: It contains a statement that the missing jewel was found in the crop of a goose. Let me remind you that a goose has no crop.

You could hear a feather drop in the great and glorious Kingdom of Holmesiana. By then the tale was 54 years old; in all that time none of the geniuses had spotted this error.

After consulting various waterfowl experts and butchers, the U.S. experts conceded: “[T]he lady is correct. Holmes made an alimentary error, which the Baker Street Irregulars should have noted long ago.” There was talk in the pages of The Baker Street Journal of granting Mildred Sammons some sort of award “in gratitude for her discovery.”

I don’t know if she ever collected, because of course it didn’t end there. Scholars on both sides of the pond kept interrogating poultry experts, further beating a dead goose. The problem went all the way to the UK’s office of the Minister of Agriculture and Fish. The Ministry’s Chief Poultry Adviser—who of course turned out to be a Holmes geek—weighed in, saying that the American experts were correct. “However,” he added, “as a Sherlock Holmes fan I am glad to say that this fact does not necessarily invalidate the theory in the story of the ‘The Blue Carbuncle.’”

The reasoning: Yes, chickens and turkeys have a separate organ or pouch called a crop. Waterfowl such as geese and ducks have no such pouch, but their gullet is just long and extendable enough to accommodate food—or the occasional precious gem—that will be stored and later digested. If the goose’s stomach is full, a swallowed item might well remain lodged in the gullet, awaiting its turn. (I beg your indulgence here. I am not an expert on poultry anatomy. I am relying on articles such as this, on the glories of the digestive tracts of waterfowl. Feel free to cry fowl if I've screwed anything up.)

Naturally, this engendered a flurry of further academic papers, the most hilarious of which was written by a Sherlockian who posited that the hullabaloo was all beside the point. Maybe, just maybe, quoth he, “the long debate is centred on a printer’s error, which substituted an o for Watson’s a.”

And on that note, I’ll wish you all the best of the season, however you celebrate and whatever graces your table.

* * * 

Please use the comments to share some of your favorite holiday stories. I could use a few suggestions.

I recommend Connie Willis’s 544-page A Lot Like Christmas, if you can stomach that much Christmas, much of it novella-length SFF. I also recommend Kristine Kathryn Rusch’s Holiday Spectacular, which she describes as a virtual advent calendar that delivers one new story—a romance, mystery or fantasy by various authors—to your inbox every day from Thanksgiving through New Year’s Day. All holidays are represented, not just Christmas.

See you all in the New Year!

Joe

josephdagnese.com

 

Vegas: Well-Spring of Story Ideas

 

A room with a view-photo by the author.

So as it turns out the Most Wonderful Woman in the World is both lucky at love and at cards. And the Luckiest Man in the World– that’s me by the way– got to do a ride-along when the aforementioned Most Wonderful Woman in the World went to Vegas for a couple of days last week.

We had one heck of a time. My lady love has mad skills in the casino, and I wrote a bunch. Plus the Bellagio’s atrium is currently decorated for Christmas. If you happen to find yourself in Vegas, it would be a shame to miss it.

Longtime readers of this blog (Both of you!) will no doubt remember that l lived and worked in Vegas for a couple of years back when the world was young. It was the beginning of my public school teaching career, and I could not have asked for a better baptism of fire than teaching in one of the Clark County School District’s schools.

Because I worked with some of the best teachers in the world. Because they were generous with their time and their advice, and they were overwhelmingly effective in their example. I learned tricks of the trade that I use every day to this day.

Stuff like learning a kid‘s name. Using it. Making sure to pronounce it correctly. Letting them see you do that. It’s a great way to show you care enough to say their name right, and that means that you care about them. You build a relationship with these kids– and this is true anywhere in the world– and your work gets monumentally easier. My heroes, the Vegas teachers, taught me that.

So anyway, it’s always nice to visit Vegas, and when I go, I try to get out to places that tend to be far away from the strip (like Red Rock Canyon. Not to be missed!), and the best thing about it, is I always return home with ideas for stories. Because Vegas is full of characters. Let me give you just one example.

The Calico Hills, Red Rock Canyon-author’s photo

More shots of Red Rock- all author’s photos.

Robyn and I were headed to the airport to catch our flight home. We had eaten at an Italian place I knew of away from the Strip, so rather than cab it, we called for a Lyft. And that was how we met Mark.

Mark’s SUV make & model

Nice guy. Early 60s, so a few years older than me. Drove a sweet Mercedes SUV. Spotlessly clean. Told us all about how he was working on getting his CDL, because the money was so much better than driving for either Lyft or Uber.

Not Mark-but definitely his fleece.

Now, this was a guy whose entire appearance practically screamed “MONEY.” Manicure. $200 haircut. Expensive base layer fleece that retails starting at firm $150. So I was somewhat surprised to hear him complaining (however mildly) about money.

Then came the segue. While talking about money, Mark made an oblique reference to the recent election (full disclosure: I think Mark would have been surprised to learn that in this election I backed the accomplished brown-skinned lady with the foreign-sounding first name.). He said, “Yeah, I was tired of seeing all of the money leave the country, instead of coming into it, and felt like we needed a change.”

Bear in mind that my origin story includes being born in, raised in, and taking frequent sojourns in what the chattering class have lazily begun to refer to as “Trump Country.” I call this “lazy,” because I am well aware that aside from campaign stops and photo ops, Donnie Dollhands wouldn’t be caught dead in places that bear such a moniker.

But I’m from there. I still have friends and family there, and I have learned how to either talk with the people I care about whose opinions differ from mine, or even more importantly, how NOT to talk to them about things like politics. It is definitely a skill.

I used that skill to evade being drawn into just such a discussion with Mark. But as it turns out, he wasn’t done trying.

When I mentioned I used to work in Vegas, he asked what line of work I was in. I told him I was a history teacher and a writer. 

He immediately seized on the “teacher” part. Asked about whether I had any exposure to students categorized as “ESL” (“English as a Second Language”- an outdated term outside of Vegas. Several years back the state changed the acronym to “ELL” - “English Language Learners”, and more recently to “MLE” - “Multilingual Education,” but I wasn’t about to tell him this.).

I replied that I did. In fact I worked very closely with kids in that program. 

And then he said it.

“I bet they’re a real drag on your resources, huh.?”

Well.

No.

Far from it.

And I made a decision that I wasn’t going to avoid this conversation after all. I mean why not? I kinda liked the guy. And all he was really doing was the all-too human move of seeking confirmation/support for his biases. We’ve all been there.

So I told him no. I told him my hardest working group of students tended to contain high numbers of “ESL” kids. I further explained that I teach in one of the most diverse districts in the nation (we are situated cheek by jowl with a huge refugee resettlement center.) and something like 240 different languages are spoken in my district.

And that’s the thing: I explained. I didn’t lecture. I didn’t proselytize. I kept my tone light, breezy, conversational. My very first response to his question about “those kids“ being a “drag“ was to say: “On no, far from it. Some of the hardest-working kids I have are ‘newcomers.’ I teach in a very diverse district with a ton of different languages being spoken there. And I invite anybody to come on into my school. Come on into my classroom. Mark, if you ever find yourself anywhere near my patch, get in touch with me. Come visit. It will blow your mind.” 

To his credit, Mark listened. Or he at least seemed to. Our conversation stayed pleasant. And then we moved on to him telling Robyn and I a cool story about him watching a semi truck practically blow up during a training exercise gone horribly wrong (no one was hurt) on a part of the freeway one of his CDL classes was using for training. 

I told him I was going to use his description in this other story I’ve been thinking about. This is one I’ve told before about a former student of mine who teamed up with a friend to steal cinderblocks from a construction site and spend a lot of time trying to drop them on cars from the loca I-15 overpass back when I  still taught down there. 

I think I’m gonna put those two together and I think I just might have something. I’ll keep you guys posted.

And I already promised Mark I would use his name.

So yeah, Vegas well-spring of stories! And as it turns out, civilized political discourse.

Who knew?

(Same view as above, only at night, and a panorama shot. Video by the author’s better half.)

And on that note, my time here draws to a close with this, my final blog entry of the year. I wish you all the finest of holidays, and a blessed new year. See you in January 2025!

Writing Advice From 1908, Part 1

A few months ago John Floyd asked if I would be interested in a very old book about creative writing.  Mary Lou Condike had found it and offered it to him.  John didn't want it but thought I might.  I said sure, why not. Mary Lou very kindly mailed it to me and it has been part of my bedtime reading for a while.  

Writing the Short-Story by J. Berg Esenwein was published in 1908.  According to Wikipedia it is one of the first creative writing manuals.  When Esenwein wrote it he was the editor of Lippincott's Magazine.

So clearly the information was going to be a little dated.  But I thought it would be fun to see what, if anything, I could learn from this book.  Don't expect a review, just a summary of things I thought were interesting for one reason or another. Some still make sense. A few will astonish you.

* Let's start with something that appears near the end of the book which I am sure will move the hearts of all the writers out there. In discussing the processing of submitting stories to magazines Esenwein asks:  how long should you wait to hear from an editor? "If you do not get an answer in three weeks, it may be wise to drop a line courteously asking for a decision, but you had better wait the month out."  That sound you just heard was the rueful laughter of thousands of authors.  In today's modern age of mad speed and instant communication, well... I have fourteen stories out waiting for judgment by editors.  The wait is currently an average of 131 days, with the median being 95 days.  Considerably more than four weeks.  

* Esenwein tells us the oldest known story is in The Westcar Papyrus.  I had never heard of it but it turns out to be an Egyptian manuscript from roughly 1600 BCE, although the stories seem to be a millennium older.  The tales are about priests and magicians doing amazing things. If you have ever heard that cutting an animal in half and restoring it to life is "the oldest trick in the book," this papyrus is the book.

* "Men are often interested in fictional characters whom they would not care to know in life."

* Mystery writers "all introduce the detective, amateur or professional, for the purpose of unraveling the mystery before the reader's very eyes and yet concealing the key-thread until the last.  Sometimes the web  of entanglement is woven also in full sight -- with the author's sleeves rolled up as a guarantee of good faith; and the closer you watch the less you see."

Esenwein

* Character "names should be fitting. Phyllis ought not to weigh two hundred, nor ought Tommy to commit suicide. Luther must not be a burglar, Maud a washerwoman, nor John spout tepid romance.  The wrong surname will handicap a character as surely as the wrong pair of hands.  Hardscrabble does not fit the philanthropist any more than Tinker suggests the polished diplomat, or Darnaway the clergyman."

* "A man who has a stirring fact or a thrilling experience has not a story until he has used it in some proper way - has constructed it, has built it." - Walter Page 

* Esenwein gives us a list of things a short story is not: an episode, a scenario or synopsis, a biography, a mere sketch, or a tale.  In a tale "events take a simple course," but in a short-story "this course is interrupted by a complication."

* "Never write back sarcastic letters when your offerings are rejected. You may need that editor some day."

* "In the detective plot, the author seems to match his wits against the detective's, by striving to concoct a mystery which presents an apparently impossible situation. It adds to his problem that he must leave the real clue in full sight, yet so disguised that the reader cannot solve the mystery before some casual happening, or the ingenuity of the detective, shows it to the reader at the proper moment."* "To make a first-class short-story longer would be to spoil it."

* Some themes for stories may just "pop into your mind." "Sir, Madame, I am a Story. Write me up!" I wish that would happen more often.

*The advice on the left will make most modern writers, not to say editors, shudder in horror.

* Sir Arthur Phelps quotes an anonymous friend: "Whenever you write a sentence that particularly pleases you, CUT IT OUT." An early statement of "Kill your darlings."

* "Whatever may be the thing which one wishes to say, there is but one word for expressing it, only one verb to animate it, only one adjective to qualify it.  It is essential to search for this word, for this verb, for this adjective, until they are discovered, and to be satisfied with nothing else." - Flaubert

* "Write at white heat because you can think big thoughts only under stress of emotion; but revise in a cool mood."

* Esenwein criticizes writers who "debase their gifts by presenting distorted views of life, placing false values upon the things of experience, and picturing unclean situations -- all for the sake of gain." Thank heavens that never happens anymore.

This is getting long so I will give you the rest of Esenwein's wisdom next Monday.   See you then!

Of Word Counts and Crickets

     My doorbell rang yesterday. Looking up, I saw a man's silhouette through the drawn shade. He was walking away. Assuming he was another delivery driver, I opened the door. A young man in a white shirt and tie turned back to face me. He launched into a long-winded spiel about the job skills he learned by going door-to-door peddling magazines. I interrupted, declined, and backed away, wishing him 'good luck.' 

    "I don't believe in luck," he told me. 

    I knew then that he had never submitted a story for publication in one of his magazines. 

    Publishing isn't just about luck--we know that. Follow the submission rules, adhere to the deadlines and word count, send a manuscript as error-free as possible, and stay true to the call's theme--all good and necessary rules for success. But don't discount luck. 

    Suppose you present a solid Super Bowl story to a sports-themed anthology. The editor, however, reads it moments after accepting a different Super Bowl tale. Your piece likely won't get published. The anthology has room for only big football game yarn. Good story--bad luck. 

    Since this is the holiday season and my last Sleuth blog of 2024, I've scoured the holiday legends for the best ways to maximize your luck in the new year. 

    Stick a loaf of bread on a broomstick. Jam the stick in the ground on Christmas Eve and leave it in front of your house overnight. Bad luck won't come your way all year. At a minimum, an impaled loaf of bread might make the magazine salesmen think twice. 

    On Christmas Day, rise before the sun and feed your pets by candlelight. They will be well-behaved throughout the upcoming year. How many stories have been waylaid by barking dogs? This sounds like the surefire cure. 

    It's bad luck to go fishing on Christmas. A writer should be home writing. 

    It is, however, good luck to find a fish scale under your plate. This is easier when your household serves the traditional Czech yuletide meal of fried carp. A fish scale signals luck and prosperity. Traditionalists carry the scale in their wallets throughout the year. If word count is the issue, leave it on your keyboard. (To maximize their holiday luck, Czechs allow the fish to swim in their bathtubs for a few days before preparing it. This may test your mettle or your hygiene.)

    Food matters. Eat an apple at midnight on Christmas Eve for good luck. Or toss down twelve grapes on New Year's Eve. Black-eyed peas, of course, are the down-home good luck standard for the New Year. Wrinkled collard greens are supposed to represent folded money; eating them will improve your chances of success in the upcoming year. Oplatki, thin Polish wafers, are to be passed around and shared with family as a good luck stimulus. The pink one in the package is intended to be eaten by the family pet. Giving them a biscuit is easier than feeding them at midnight. 

    Don't eat lobster on New Year's Eve. Many believe that because lobsters swim backward, consuming them will cause you to regress rather than move forward. 

    But do eat a herring to usher in the new year. The Swedes believe it promotes good luck. The legends don't say whether eating red ones helps a crime writer. 

    Should you eat a raw egg on Christmas morning? Superstition says it will make you strong throughout the year. Medical science, however, thinks it might give you food poisoning. Raw eggs worked wonders for Rocky Balboa. The signals on this practice, therefore, are mixed. You decide. 

    If the egg isn't upsetting enough, a South African tradition is to eat a fried caterpillar on Christmas for extra luck. The logic may be that if you finish off the year with something disgusting, it helps put your other troubles into perspective. 

    Give your cow a present. You'll be rewarded. The earliest practitioners probably anticipated increased milk production from their happy cows. I like to believe that the beasts will reciprocate with writing success. 

    Sneezing and hearing a cricket chirp on Christmas Day will reportedly gift you good luck. These are separate events. No legend requires you to sneeze while hearing a cricket chirp, although this would likely be the grand slam of luck hoarding. 

    In Finland, having a ritual sauna with your family as part of your Christmas Eve celebration is believed to be lucky. When finished, some families leave the sauna slightly warm, making it comfortable for the house elves to visit and leave good fortune. I don't know if it works, but as a practice, it sounds way better than chugging a raw egg. 

    A story completed on New Year's Day will always sell if the first draft was written using Helvetica font. I made up this one, but it's no stranger than eating a fried caterpillar. 

    Writers do have their lucky rituals and talismans. Charles Dickens always slept facing north. Dr. Seuss reportedly kept a secret closet filled with hats. When he felt stuck, he chose one to wear until he became inspired. Do you have any charms you want to confess?

    By whatever means you conjure up success, I wish you safe and happy holidays and a fruitful 2025. 

    Until next year.