H '■■■:,■::::■■■■■■:■■...■.• IIhIHH IHHilii Hi 1 fflflm HM Hnliii lllliUlBlin! H \mm ■ ■■1111 ISHHiilHil ■ in (H II B Jll MiMPIillBm i f'^HI IS ■ HUP ■ HBHH HI Wmmmm KP* HHHH ■ Class Copyright N° COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. / J SHORT STORIES IN THE MAKING v A WRITERS' AND STUDENTS' INTRODUCTION TO THE TECHNIQUE AND PRACTICAL COM- POSITION OF SHORT STORIES, INCLUDING AN ADAPTATION OF THE PRINCIPLES OF THE STAGE PLOT TO SHORT STORY WRITING BY ROBERT WILSON NEAL, A.M. il, NEW YORK OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS AMERICAN BRANCH: 85 West 32nd Street LONDON, TORONTO, MELBOURNE, AND BOMBAY HUMPHREY MILFORD 1914 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED °^ir$ 7_ ON) 5 Copyright, 1914 by Oxford University Press american branch DEC -7 1914 ©CU38783'S y To My Wife FOREWORD What is wanting in this book, critics, teachers, and students will all too readily discover without my help. Let me rather point out, then, what it is meant to do. First, It deals with short stories (contes) in the mak- ing. Therefore it is intended for the writer. And be- cause many of the readers most interested in such a book are beginners, it is intended in large part for the in- experienced. Yet it is intended for the advanced under- taker of story-telling too ; for no one can stake the border between elementary theory and expert application of it, and even the experienced writer may find surety and improved method in a study of technique. Yet the book is for the non-writer also — for him who wishes in compact form a reasonably complete and concrete explanation of the short story and its nature. Second, The book does not profess to be scholarly certainly not to be scholarly in the academic sense. It has avoided the historical entirely ; it attempts no comparative studies in development and types, no evaluating estimates ; it is not a research volume, and the reader will seek through it from end to end without finding a single formal citation of authorities, the proof that the writer knows the conven- tional doctrine, dares not depart from it, and is ready with marshaled knowledge to protect himself from any who may accuse him of betraying the gentle trusting reader by novelty or new departure. Not that this book can pretend to either of these. At most (and even this it does not viii Foreword profess), it adds a trifle of discussion at a place or two. But it does undertake to make its own approach and use its own plan in summarizing what is our present knowl- edge of the theory and technique of the short story. Third. The book is written, not from the critic's but from the practicing author's viewpoint — from the stand- ing-ground and outlook of the man to whom the abstract theory, although interesting and valuable, is less interesting and valuable than the concrete management and application of it. It is written to meet the needs of the man who, for practical and utilitarian reasons no less than from ab- stract intellectual interest, desires to know the what, the how, and the why of the short story. I have written good, bad, and indifferent short stories, and hope to keep on writing; and this interest in the mechanics, the artisanry and art, the technique of the work, has caused me to treat the subject from the viewpoint of the active worker rather than from that of the esthetic theorist or the literary investigator. Throughout, I have been concerned to learn the governing rule, and then to state it in such form that my statement may make it available to other practitioners, especially to apprentice workers striving to extend their workman's knowledge and develop their artisan skill. '(The author expects to publish soon a companion volume, To-day's Short Stories Analyzed, in which the practice of modern writers of short stories will be fully illustrated and exemplified.) Fourth. Most of the principles stated are drawn as much from reading and observation of the ordinary mill run of short fiction, in book collections and in magazines, for the last twenty years, as they arc from the recognized authorities on short story writing. Tic who reads and runs Foreword ix away sometimes carries with him well-defined ideas that are usable another day ; and I have felt that such readers' observations and conclusions .are as valuable in checking up the statements of the authorities, as the statements of the authorities are in checking up one's own observations and conclusions. I owe (as any one can see from this book) a great debt to some of these authorities — especially to Pitkin, Albright, and Esenwein, if I must discriminate — and I here acknowledge it, with gratitude. But even so I have endeavored to remain independent in reaching and stating my conclusions ; and in this I have been frequently aided by personal experience of success or failure in handling problems of like sort in my own writing. Fifth. The book attempts to define terms with especial precision ; with tedious over-precision, some may think. It tries, too, not to employ the same term with two meanings in any position where confusion may result. Probably it fails sometimes in this attempt to avoid ambiguity and confusion; but on the whole I trust that it succeeds enough to lessen for its readers the difficulties of this sort that occasionally I have met in my own reference to treatises upon fiction. Sixth. Plot being indispensable to the true short story, or conte, and the short story being in effect a narra- tive drama, the book undertakes to re-present the familiar theory of the stage play, but to present it adapted and applied to the nature and needs of the short story. This fact calls for mention only because so outright an applica- tion of formal stage plot theory to short story narration has not been made elsewhere — not, at least, in English. A satisfactory treatment of the theory of the specialized short story (conte) plot has yet to be produced; but lacking x Foreword it, the student will find in a re-statement of the theory of stage plot like that given in this book, a helpful presenta- tion of essential principles. . . . Need of a specialized term by which to indicate the specialized form of short fiction sometimes awkwardly called the true short story, has long been felt. Professor Canby's suggestion of the term conte has not been bettered ; and as without undue violence to historical descent or to strict meanings conte can be applied to this particular type of short prose fiction, I have ventured to employ it interchangeably with the term " short story," in order that students using this book may at least become familiar with this possible synonym. Those who complain of the fullness and, possibly, re- dundancy of the treatment given very simple matters, I would ask to remember that the book is largely for begin- ners in short story writing and readers of ordinary educa- tion seeking instruction or an increase in literary under- standing and appreciation, who can find these things in study of short story principles. Those who mislike the occasional discussion of remote or special problems, will please remind themselves that I am writing for persons also who have more than a tyro's interest in the technicalities of the subject. Those who blame me for omitting an explanation of narration itself, are referred to the numerous excellent treatises already in print upon the general principles of narrative writing, with the sug- gestion that even in writing about the short story, one must begin somewhere, assuming some preparation at least for study of the special type. Ami those who wonder why matters BO important to literary art as style and A.' Foreword xi esthetic qualities are not discussed, are told — in the strict- est confidence, please — that style and literary art are quite another story. A last word — to those who scoff at " attempts to manu- facture writers." This book is written to guide and help persons who wish to write short stories. But it is not written with the belief that short story writing, or any other form of literary composition, can be taught. It cannot. Literature is art, and art is incommunicable. Theories of its methods and success can be inferred and explained; its practical technique can frequently be ex- plained and acquired. But neither theory nor technique makes art; the living spirit is not in them. Moreover, many a person who aspires to write lacks ability to achieve even technique. Books such as this are not written with any other belief. They can aid intellectual expansion; they can enable the competent to acquire technique; but more than this they cannot do unless the student bring to them an equipment of capacity, ability, and natural gift approaching talent or genius. Technique can produce well conceived, well planned, well constructed, and often salable stories, but it cannot produce living literature. Let no prospective student think otherwise. Robert W. Neal. TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER I. Theory of the Short Story Type (Conte) . 1 I. Fiction Aims at the Interpretation of Life and the Di- version of the Reader, by Means of Concrete Presentation. II. The Short Story, or Conte, Is a Type in Itself. III. The Short Story, or Conte, is a Drama in Narrative. IV. The Plot of the Short Story, or Conte, Must Be Dramatic. V. The Short Story Requires Persons in Action in a Time of Crisis. VI. Singleness of Effect Is Necessary to the Short Story. VII. The Short Story, or Conte, May Aim at Different Kinds of Effect. VIII. Some Short Stories, or Contes, Emphasize Theme. IX. Some Short Stories Emphasize Plot. X. Some Short Stories Emphasize Character. XI. Some Short Stories (Contes) Emphasize Atmosphere. CHAPTER if. Theory and Practice of the Plot . .71 XII. The Short Story Plot Much Resembles That of the One-AcJ; Play. XIII. The Exposition Is the Introducing Part of the Plot. XIV. The Exciting Moment, or Inciting Impulse, Begins the Development. XV. The Rising Action Develops the Plot to Its Decisive Moment. XVI. The Falling Action Brings the Outcome and Close. CHAPTER III. The Compositional -Construction of the Short Story 122 XVII. The Opening Seizes Interest, Introduces Action, Strikes the Keynote, and (Perhaps) Conveys Exposition. XVIII. The Purposes of the Opening Can Be Served by Various Kinds of Beginning, xiv Table of Contents PAGE XIX. In the Body of the Story, the Chief Constructional Problem Is That o! Sequence. XX. The Ending, if Separate from the Climactic Moment, Exists Merely to Supplement and Close the Narrative. XXI. A Preliminary Scheme of Important Compositional Facts Will Help the Author. CHAPTER IV. Other Problems of Fiction- Writing . .178 XXII. Observance of Certain " Unities " Prevents Dis- persal of Effect. XXIII. Decision upon Plot and Selection of Developing Material Must Be Determined by the Author's Detailed Familiarity with the Facts Involved. XXIV. Characterization Involves the Presenting of Human Traits, Class Attributes, and Personal Traits and Mannerisms. XXV. " Character " Implies an Original Conception of a Person Having Definite Individuality; Its Traits Being Portrayed by Description, An- alysis, Psychological Narration, and Especially Act and Speech. XXVI. Dialogue Lightens the Narrative, Contributes to Exposition and Intensification, Furthers Ac- tion, and Characterizes. XXVII. The Main Practical Problems of Dialogue Are, How to Make Sure of Essential Truthfulness and Produce Verisimilitude. AFTERWORD. The Question Answered . . . .249 CHAPTEK I THEORY OF THE SHORT STORY TYPE, OR CONTE I. Fiction Aims at the Inteepeetation of Life and THE DlVEESION OF THE ReADEE, BY MEANS OF CON- CEETE PEESENTATION 1. When we ask, what is the purpose of fiction? we find that a complete answer mnst include two assertions. True, in many discussions concerning fiction, its structure, its methods, and the like, sometimes one of these asser- tions, sometimes the other, is disregarded. But a complete understanding — one that is philosophically sound — never- theless cannot be had without including both in the answer. 2. These two purposes of fiction when fiction is typical and at its best, are: A. To interpret human life, and B, To interest (amuse, divert, entertain) the reader. " Interpret " must here be understood to mean, produce in the reader a clearer understanding of or a sense of having experienced human life. But much good fiction is pro- duced in which emphasis is laid mainly and even solely on entertainment. This does not, however, mean that such fiction is without interpretive value. 3. We must understand, however, that this interpretive aim is not an immediate, but rather an ultimate and sub- 2 Short Stories ix the Making conscious aim. The author is at the moment of writing, not engaged expressly in producing an interpretation, but in giving a char account of certain persona and acts as he th m. Yet as a serious man, given to observing and pondering life, he feels himself responsible for a sin accurate report. Such an author would not be sati^ with his work unless, under all its artistry, wit, humor, incident, plot, and amusement, th to be found a definite view of existence; and though he may not aim first of all directly at interpreting humanity, yet — in the end — this often is his great purpose. 4. With the best writers, this need of showing forth mankind " as in itself it truly is," constitutes the great and often the all-sufficient compulsion to writing. His very nature compels the true fiction-writer to interpret life. Nevertheless, much diverting or merely entertaining fiction is written in which the emphasis is laid on the amusement, not on the interpretation. But with the steady advancement made by the reading public in the appreciation of technique and the power to comprehend human motives, even the writer who aims only to amuse must in our day base his tale upon conceptions that are true to the world as clear-sighted men know it to be. The best fiction of its very nature does and must have both these aims. Interest and interpretation are so combined by the best art that no one but persons of limited mentality or education can fail to profit from and appreciate each of the twain. 6. Fiction, we have said, must interpret life. But to interpret life, it must first present life. Frequently — in- deed, more frequently than many authors realize — this is all it nerds f<> do to interpret life. A true, vivid, stirring Theory of the Short Story Type 3 presentation is enough to compel us to sense, think about, and understand more fully this human world. Seeking the shortest expression of the purpose of fiction, we there- fore may say that fiction aims to 'present life, Now let us see how fiction may effect this presentation. 6. To present life, fiction must embody some truth or truths of human life; for only truths, only abstract con- clusions, more or less completely perceived and appreci- ated, make up what we call our understanding of life. But in dealing with these truths, fiction does not much discuss them, expound them, or argue about them. Neither does it seek to deal with them as abstract truths at all. On the contrary, it seeks to avoid, not only the abstract form of the truth, but also the explanatory methods essen- tial in dealing with truths as abstract thoughts. It prefers instead to show forth concrete facts in concrete forms, letting the abstract truth that underlies these facts be expressed in the facts themselves. That is, fiction seeks as its final result to embody, or body forth, some truth or truths of human life, but seeks to bring about this re- sult in a particular way; namely, by embodying, or bodying forth, in concrete form specific and concrete facts wherein the truths of life are exemplified. We must, however, note this: Fiction does not necessarily begin its presentation with these truths in mind; that they are found in the work of the good artist, he could not help if he would, for they are embodied there as a result of that process of concrete presentation which fiction must employ. Fiction has, as its immediate purpose, to body forth, not truths, but concrete facts, of human life. 7. What " concrete " means a few illustrations will show. Anger is one of the facts of human life — an 4 Short Stories is the Making unpleasant truth in bur existence. Yet no one ever -aw, tasted, smelt, touched, or heard anger; he merely has seen and heard manifestations of it. Anger as we know it is an abstraction. But a scowl, a blow, a curse — thea concrete things that manifest anger. Again, charity does not take on a concrete form until some individual act of charity is done — a shilling passed to a ragged beggar, or a wearied laborer given a lift in our automobile. Such acts are concrete manifestations of a thing which is merely an idea bearing the name " charity. M 8. So is the groat engine in the ship's depths a concrete embodiment of power, as is likewise the stroke of a hammer that drives in a nail. Affectionate devotion is concretely embodied in the acts of Mr. Peggotty, wander- ing throughout southern Europe in search of his wayward Little Em'ly. It is embodied equally as much in a wife's act when she writes a letter of forgiveness to the husband who has wronged her. 9. In short, by " concrete " we here mean an individual instance; for in such an instance, we can always discover bodied forth, or manifested, a truth of human nature and life. Moreover (although this fact is not necessary to our essential understanding of the term), the concrete mani- festation always comes to us embodied in acts or facts that in part at least we can perceive by means of our physical senses. Only, in fiction we are not in the presence of the actual fact; the fact is presented to us, not in actuality, but in an imagined form, by means of words. 10. This presence of imagined instead of actual fact is vital to fiction; for the very term "fiction" carries the idea of things made up by the mind. Fiction deals, not with pure fact, which is only something actual, but with Theory of the Short Story Type 5 imagined fact conceived to embody truth; and truth, though not actual, is something better than actual — that is, real. Actual fact can — let us realize it now — he less true than fiction. A few years ago, a community near New York was shocked by the act of a father who burned his children's tender hands with match flames as a means of " teaching " them. The report was true ; he did just that. But what he did was terribly untrue to human life. The truth of human life is, that most parents love their children and undergo suffering and death to save the little ones. This is a reality of parental nature, a truth of life, not a mere fact, which may be quite untrue to life. The less effective forms of fiction are those that come closer to actual fact; they present truths which are of a less general nature, and hence are more nearly like actual facts and less like universal principles. Melodrama, for illus- tration, imagines what might happen sometimes, but is unlike the general course of life ; it deals with the excep- tional fact, not the general truth. 11. We can now sum up in a final statement the aim of fiction. Fiction deals with the truths of human life; it aims to present these truths embodied in concrete forms, or instances; and it deals with imagined facts, not with the actual. We say therefore that the aim of fiction is, to present some truth or truths of human life manifested con- cretely in a body of imagined fact. 12. Before we close this section, however, a few words will be worth while about imagination. Imagination is the power or operation of the mind that builds up new conceptions, ideas, or pictures out of those already in its possession — that is, out of experience. Experience is made up of all the knowledge — physical, mental, moral, spiritual 6 Short Stories ix the Making — that has come to us in any way, by any //fans, at any CltlH. 13. There arc three degrees of imagination. The most ordinary imagination is that which merely reproduces in its possessor's mind a body of imagined fact entirely simi- lar to the actual fact from which the imagination has drawn its originals. It does little more than reproduce in the mind incidents and scenes already experienced. Evi- dently this degree of imagination (if imagination indeed it be) is not much better than good memory. It is re- productive imagination, or imaginative memory. 14. The second degree of imagination does more than merely reproduce a sort of combined memory-picture of past experiences. Drawing on memory — as all imagina- tion must — it nevertheless selects, rejects, recombines, and remodels until the body of facts that it produces is a new one. From past experiences, it rebuilds a new structure, using the old materials as a skilled builder might, who, selecting choice materials from many old buildings, put up a new edifice perhaps surpassing any of the old. This selective and constructive degree of imagination we term constructive imagination. 15. Yet, superior as constructive imagination is to mere imaginative memory, it is nevertheless inferior to imagination of the third degree. Imagination of the third degree works as does constructive imagination, and it uses past experience. But it has a greater power than has con- structive imagination — a power resulting from deeper in- Bight, stronger sympathies, more catholic taste, keener and wider observation, stronger intelligence, stronger emotions, and whatever else contributes to artistic genius. II • its material is not old material reworked, but rather new Theory of the Short Story Type 7 material, originally discovered and got out by the writer through his deeper insight and understanding, and handled in a way original with and possible to him alone. 16. The consequence is, that what it produces is not merely something put together, but something created — something we are likely to call real, with the feeling that it springs direct from nature — something convincing, true- seeming, alive, capable of making one feel it as if it were an actual, a primal fact, not merely an output of the mind. Such products of the- imagination of genius are creations, 1 not constructions. This highest degree or power of imagi- nation we call creative imagination; and when it bodies forth a series of fact for us, we feel as if we stood in the presence of the truth of human life itself. 17. But no matter what be the degree of imagination possessed by the fiction- writer, the object of fiction is al- ways the same: to body forth concretely in imagined fact some truth or truths of human life. This does not mean that fiction ought always to be heavy or even serious. Few things could be worse for the beginner than to think so. Indeed, the quality of the writer's imagination will, if high, make his treatment even of trivial themes creative (consider many fairy stories) ; and on the other hand, a lack of creative power will result in dead writing, no mat- ter how serious and high the theme. While realizing, therefore, that fiction aims to body forth some truth of human life, the young writer should at the same time realize that this aim will be attained by him only after he has mastered the art and methods of fiction. Nor will it 1 Dickens created Sam Weller ; Thackeray created Becky Sharp and Colonel Newcome; Shakspere created the scenes of Ophelia's madness and Lear's passion; Mark Twain created Tom Sawyer. 8 Short Stories in the Making be attained even then unless he knows also the human heart and human life. He will best s< rve his ambition by dev( loping his intellectual and spiritual gifts, by studying and man, "ml by mastering his craft — by learning to sec facts, to understand people, and to tell a story well. II. The Short Story, or Conte, is a Type in Itself 1. By (l short story " we do not nowadays mean any short piece of narrative fiction. The term has come to mean a particular kind of writing, having its own charac- teristics. Loosely, we speak of all the shorter pieces of fiction appearing in the magazines or in books as short stories. But in fact a large number of such writings be- long to some other class. They may be character sl-etches, tales, scenarios or outlines, novelets, anecdotes, episodes, incidents, or what not; but many of them are in no strict sense contes. 2. All these types of fiction are closely related in some way to the short story (conte) ; but they are not identical with it. They are worth writing; they call for skill; they have their own place in fiction; practice in them aids one in writing the conte. But they lack, one and all, some- thing that the conte has, and consequently some of them are, and any of them may be, inferior to it both in final effectiveness and in artistic quality. The conte — although perhaps it can never, being short, be absolutely as great as a great novel — at its best is at the present time the most finished, artistic, and closely wrought form of narra- tive fiction. It manifests a higher art and perfection of technique than the novel has attained, and it equals tho besl drama in constructional excellence. Theory of the Short Story Type 9 3. Although the student cannot, before he has mastered the definition of the short story given in section III, com- pletely grasp the differences between this form and other types, these differences are here enumerated. They should be reviewed and studied by the student after he has learned what the conte is. (a) Character or other sketch. — Lacks dramatic plot;* lacks dramatic action; may be descriptive, not narrative. When having dramatic plot and dramatic action, thor- oughly unified to produce a single predominant effect, it becomes a conte. (b) Tale. — JLacks dr am a tip, plot; may lack dramatic action; may leave the reader with several distinct and equally strong impressions, instead of the one impression that is the final result of the short story. Like the charac- ter sketch, passes over into the conte if given dramatic plot and action producing a single predominant impres- sion. (c) Scenario or outline. — The scenario is merely a skeletonized outline of the action, plot, scenery, etc., of a play, a story, or a moving picture film. It gives the sub- stance merely, not the effect, and it may be concerned with any form of drama or narrative. Further, it may be so condensed that it is nothing more than a catalogue of essential personages, action, setting, and " business." (When it outlines merely plot and action, it is technically known as action-plot rather than as scenario.) (d) Novelet. — Merely a short novel; subject to the same looseness of structure, content, method, and treatment as the novel may and frequently does show (no similar looseness is permissible in the conte) . (e) Anecdote, episode, incident. — Usually very brief, 10 Short Stories in the Making and therefore do not permit development of dramatic plot ; often involve no more than a single isolated act or speech ; do not necessarily aim at single effect, although on account of their brevity they frequently produce it ; and frequently do not aim at dramatic effect. (f) Allegory, fable. — From the narrative viewpoint the fable is little more than an anecdote, episode, or inci- dent, except that it frequently makes not men, but beasts, its persons. Allegory is a method of symbolic presentation, not a type of narrative. Therefore it should not be com- pared with or contrasted to the conte. The conte may be allegorical ; an allegory may be given the form of a conte. III. The Conte is a Drama in Narrative 1. The short story is a drama in narrative form. " Drama " is here used in a strict sense to mean a play, the plot of which is closely wrought. By " plot " we commonly mean a series of acts, events, or incidents that runs through a play or a story, giving it framework and carrying it on to its end. Plots may be loose, or they may be close-wrought; and the close-wrought plot may further be dramatic. 2. The loose plot is nothing more than a chance succes- sion of incidents, without necessary relation to one another or to the outcome of the story. If I say, " I have had a day of disappointments/' and outline it thus: Burned toast at breakfast ; missed my usual train to the city ; lost a good customer; crushed my straw hat against a low beam; and found I had no cigars at home for an after- supper smoke — I outline a loose plot. The series of inci- dents is wholly chance and accidental. Moreover, there is Theory of the Short Story Type 11 no final, climactic act or situation to which all these prece- dent incidents have led up and which they make the natural or inevitable outcome. 3. Now let us turn this loose plot into a more closely- wrought plot; we accomplish this by introducing the re- lations of cause and effect. Waiting for new toast at breakfast causes me to miss my train; missing my train, I reach my office so late that my customer, disgusted; has gone, leaving word that he withdraws his trade; this worries me all day, and so takes up my mind on the way home that I do not notice the beam against which I smash my hat ; and stopping to get a new hat causes me to forget to buy cigars to take home ; hence after supper I miss my accustomed smoke. 4. Evidently our plot has become more close-wrought, because each incident in the series leads up to and is the cause of the next. But even yet these incidents do not interweave and interlock ; they merely follow each other as single causes and effects, not as an interacting body of cause and effect. Moreover, the story is still without a climax ; it is a succession, but not a progression and ascent to a conclusive outcome. If the plot is to be close-wrought to the full, something must happen at the end that is more important and more impressive than anything that has gone before (or at least fully as impressive and important), and this something must be the direct and combined out- come of all the incidents together that have gone before, not merely the last event of a string of events, each of which is merely the cause of the next one in the chain. 5. Let us therefore make our plot still more close- wrought, and thus bring about this final achievement of artistic plotting. We will start again. Let us assume 12 Short Stories ijst the Making that we mean to show through our story how ordinary, everyday events may create a tragic situation. The final event, or scene, will be the combined result of all the others taken together, and will be that in which the tragic situation is completely revealed. 6. Now for simplicity we will omit the incident of the cigars; and to prepare for the final situation, we will as- sume at the outset that I have been guilty of a murder, but have escaped capture and established myself prosper- ously in a respected business in this distant city. I am an irritable, quick-tempered man. The burned toast, the missed train, and the lost customer gradually rouse my anger. It is on the point of boiling over already; and when I strike the beam and crush my hat, it gets beyond control. I break into profanity. When a policeman cautions me, I swear at him. He arrests me. I am taken to the station — and recognized. As I am led away to prison, I realize that I am going to the scaffold. 7. Step by step our plot has led forward, simply and naturally, to a point of crisis when, standing in the police station, I am recognized and realize my ruin. Incident has interlocked with incident, my character has affected my acts and my acts have reacted on events, until all together have produced a culminating situation that suddenly is perceived to be tragic. Not only do the incidents consti- tute a progression; they constitute an interwoven body of influences so closely related, every one with the others, that each is felt to have a part in the final outcome — to be a part of the total motivation and result. Here manifestly we have a plot that can fairly be called close-wrought. Theory of the Short Story Type 13 IV. The Plot of the Conte Must be Dramatic 1. Now we come to the plot which is dramatic. A dra- matic plot is always a close-wrought plot ; it can never be (in the strictest sense) a loose plot. But it not only is a close-wrought plot ; it also is a close-wrought plot that de- pends upon and grows out of the traits of character of the persons involved in it, and in turn produces some after- effect in or upon these persons. What this means, a few illustrations may make clear. 2. Assume yet again that the appearance of burned toast is an incident of the plot. In dramatic plot, this in- cident must in some way grow out of something in my own character, and must also in some manifest way affect me or my future — either establish my course in life more firmly, or change it, or confirm or alter my character, or leave me in some pleasant or unpleasant situation, or influence my fortunes for good or ill — in short, in some way make itself felt as a determining element in my existence. 2 3. Now, how may the incident of the burned toast grow out of some trait of character in me ? Suppose me to be a domineering sort of man, given to enforcing services from others regardless of circumstances. It is my way to demand help of the cook without considering her con- venience ; and I have shouted to her this morning for shav- ing water, then for clean towels, then for the shoe-brush. Knowing my disposition, she has hurried to wait on me, leaving the breakfast to its fate. Hence the charred toast. 2 The student is cautioned that this influence need not be felt in a serious direction. It may result in nothing more than making me ridiculous for the moment. Thus, in a humorous story, the mock-hero is made laughable. 14 Shoet Stoeies in the Making The burning of the toast is therefore the result in fact of this imperious element in my character; 3 and to this ex- tent the incident may be regarded as constituting part of a dramatic plot. 4. But the incident must not only spring from some ele- ment of character in me; it also must have some effect upon me, my character, or my after life. Again, let us assume that I am ill-tempered. We will also assume that my wife and I have quarreled frequently, the consequence being that we are almost at the point of separation. The black- ened toast stirs my black temper; I fling some insult at her ; and because of it she refuses longer to live with me. Plainly my future will be different as a result of this in- cident. It may indeed be different in various ways or to various degrees. My wife may have been my good angel, and lacking her influence, I go to the dogs (character de- velopment). Or it may be that, deeply loving my wife, I am horrified at my own behavior, and thereafter live a different life, conquering my temper and transforming my ill disposition (another instance of character development). Or again (a weaker outcome), my wife may have been my banker ; so that withdrawal of her money deprives me of the capital necessary to carry through my industrial plans, and I go to pieces upon financial reefs. 5. If in any manner the incidents, growing out of some trait of character in me or in other persons of the story, thus affect me or the other persons, our future life or char- acter, they make the plot which they constitute a dramatic plot — one in which character shapes event and incident, 8 Let the student observe that, by shifting the character emphasis, he can make the burning of the toast result from the weak or subservient character of the cook. Theory of the Short Story Type 15 and event and incident react on person, character, or life. 6. What we have just been considering is known tech- nically as motivation — making every act or result spring from a clearly perceivable and adequate cause in the nature of the person and the situation, and making every cause produce a logical consequence affecting the person, char- acter, or situation. A dramatic plot, therefore, may be described as one that is adequately motivated throughout — it being always understood that character enters into mo- tive. We must not suppose, however, that the incidents or outcome of a dramatic plot must always be serious. Both may, on the contrary, be light, even within bounds frivo- lous ; and a plot can be farcical and burlesque, yet observe this principle of dramatic motiving, or motivation. V. The Short Story Eequires Persons in Action in a Time of Crisis 1. Our understanding of the essential nature of the conte may be made clearer by stating the requirements of this form of fiction anew. The essence of the short story is this : persons in conclusive action, each according to his own character, in a time of crisis. To understand this crisis, we must perceive that it has grown out of incidents which these persons, each according to his own character, have helped to make, and that it will inevitably affect the present or the future of one or more of these same per- sons. 4 * Stories occasionally appear in which the dominant character is that of some one not introduced at all as a person acting in the story. For practical purposes, however, we may regard this person as one of the persons of the story. 16 Shoet Stoeies in the Making 2. For the moment, let us regard the idea of crisis as most important in this description, or definition. By this time we must have realized that, rightly understood plot before everything else is the essential element of the short story (conte). The consequence of this importance is, that the construction of the plot demands exceedingly careful procedure. Our plot must not only be close-wrought, it must be close-wrought according to the strict dramatic re- quirements of motivation; and we are now to see further, that this dramatic plot must virtually consist, not so much of a long series of incidents terminating in a climactic scene, incident, or situation, as of this climactic scene, inci- dent, or situation itself, with the preliminary incidents and complications of which it is the culmination, subordinated to it, or even suppressed when suppression be possible with- out rendering the climactic situation obscure or lessening the total impressiveness of the story. For the conte is written to show forth character in conclusive action at some moment or in some period of crisis. 3. Hence the plot of the conte always tends to cover: (a) So much preliminary incident as — and no more than — may be necessary to make clear the essential aspects of the crisis with which it deals; and then — (b) The situation, incident, character-play, or action that creates and constitutes the crisis. This situation, inr cident, character-play, or action it develops particularly, carrying it through a climax 5 to its logical conclusion* " See Sec. XV., on the Rising Action stage of the plot, and especially the paragraphs concerning decisive moment and climactic moment. 6 The conclusion must be merely logical; it need not be (as some say it must) inevitable from the first. It becomes inevitable only at the decisive moment. Theory of the Short Story Type IT 4. This fact — that the characters acting dramatically to a logical conclusion in a crisis are the main object of attention in the conte — must be borne constantly in mind. In application, the principle permits a wide latitude; in the hands of some writers, it may even seem to be disre- garded without interfering with the success of the story; but it is nevertheless fundamental, and examination will show no successful story in which it has not been respected. For the conte exists for the sake of an effect that cannot he produced except with the aid of conclusive action taking place in a time of crisis; whatever does not help to cause this action, or to create the critical situation or free it of obscurity, has no place in the plot development ; 7 and mat- ters that help to rid the situation of obscurity, or to create the crisis, or to cause the action, belong in the plot, but belong there only in so far as they do actually thus con- tribute to the crisis. 5. Let us emphasize the fact that the short story tends to present only the incidents and elements of the crisis at its height, subordinating or suppressing all unessential pre- liminary matters.* How characteristic this method is of the short story (conte) — as it is in fact of the short drama also — is shown by the assertion of excellent critics that the true short story is produced only when the crisis alone 7 To say that it has no place in the development of the plot is not to say that it has no place in the story. It may have uses as an aid to characterization, theme emphasis, atmosphere creation, etc. So used, it does, however, contribute at least indirectly to the plot development. 8 The student is cautioned to bear in mind that we are now speaking of action, incident, and plot only. We shall see later that for its total effect a story may require the introduction of material that is not essential to the plot when considered by itself. 18 Short Stories in the Making is presented. Kightly understood, the assertion is true; but without explanation it is likely to mislead. For the term " crisis " is ambiguous. In our discussion crisis re- fers to a critical situation of affairs at a certain time, and this time may be either the briefest space of time or a long period. Sometimes, it is true, the plot permits the almost complete suppression of preliminary explanatory incident ; it is merely hinted at — suggested through some speech or act belonging to the critical situation itself. Moreover, this suppression is characteristic of the theoretically ideal plot. But many things theoretically ideal are not practi- cally ideal, and the preliminary incident may be so in- wrought with the crisis that it will demand full narration. Thus, in De Maupassant's The NecMace we are carried by the preliminary plot-matter through a period of ten years, through all which time the grand climax, the height of the crisis, is preparing. Moreover, the climactic moment, the height of the crisis, occupies but a minute or so of time ; it is put before us in a single short speech, and of itself, without the preparation given by the preliminary matter, it would be forceless and artistically unintelligible. Throughout the story, the persons are acting in a time of crisis; the critical period, in truth, extends over ten years ; yet De Maupassant's story is as thoroughly a short story as any wherein all preliminary matter is suppressed and the climactic moment alone presented. A study of The Necklace will make this plain. (Incidentally, too, it will show the student that in stories of this type the plot is likely to include several preliminary or preparatory cli- mactic points, each bringing nearer the grand climax or height of the main crisis.) Theory of the Short Story Type 19 VI. Singleness of Effect is Necessary to the Short Story 1. The artistic success of a conte, like that of the one- act play, is to be judged by the singleness of the effect or impression that it produces. An impression so strictly single is demanded of no other type of fiction except the play. Few novels or romances, even purpose novels, yet approach the conte in concentrated singleness of effect ; and in some respects such effectiveness is beyond attainment by the longer forms of fiction. In poetry, only the lyric can be compared with the conte with reference to concen- trated impression ; for the purpose of the lyric is, to con- vey to the hearer a single poignant emotion. The tale may produce several effects and still not fail of its purpose; Rip Va?i Winkle, for instance, at one point leaves the reader impressed with Rip's good-natured vagabondage, at another with the mystery of his adventure, at another with the pathos of his return. It has no single impression on which readers would at once agree. But the true short story (conte) must produce just such an effect 2. To define " single effect " is less easy than to feel the singleness of the effect when it is present. No one can miss the one overwhelming effect in the situation here outlined : The scene is laid in the poorly-furnished room of an employee of the Paris Electric Light Company. In one corner is a little bed, on which the child of the workman and his patient wife lies very ill. The mother tells the father that the doctor, who has been to see the child a short while before, has said that the crisis will come in about three days. £0 Shoet Stoeies m the Making The man tells his wife that he ought to go to a meeting of the labor union to which he belongs, as important matters are to be decided; but says that he does not feel like going out, because of their baby's condition. His wife, however, urges him to do so. "Nothing can happen," she reassures him, " because the doctor said three days." Meanwhile, their friend, Mme. Marchaud, will stay with the wife. The women sit and talk. Madame tries to pacify the wife's wrought-up feelings by telling her of the sickness of her own youngsters. * Suddenly a sound is heard from the bed. The mother springs up, hurries to the bed, looks at her baby, and screams. The baby is strangling. The -friend rushes for the doctor. " May I ask you to leave the room ? " he says to the mother. " You will only suffer, and your presence will disturb me. There is no reason to worry. The crisis has simply come earlier than I expected. It is better as it is. Just a slight operation — I give you my word of honor that all will be well ! Go!" The mother leaves the room. Reaching for the single electric light that illuminates the room, the doctor moves it next to the bed and, taking out his instruments, begins hastily to sterilize them, Mme. Marchaud standing by his side ready to help him. Quickly he bends over the bed and makes an incision. Another. Then another. Suddenly — darkness! The lone light has gone out. /" Great good God!" he shouts wildly to the woman. " Why did you turn out the light % " Theory of the Short Story Type 21 " I didn't turn it out," comes from the darkness. " Then quick, quick ! " literally screams the man. " On with it again ! " A pause. " But it won't light ! " from the woman. In the black room the doctor pulls at the switch; but the light will not come. The mother rushes in. At last — it seems hours — a candle is found. They light it with quivering fingers. They bend over the bed. Too late! The baby is dead. A noise. The sound of marchers is heard in the street below. It comes nearer ; it grows louder. They are sing- ing the Marseillaise. The door of the room bursts open and the husband, his face aflush with triumph, stands in the entrance. " Victory ! " he cries. " Victory ! We've won ! There's not an electric light burning in all Paris to- night!" 9 3. We feel this effect, but what is it? It is just one thing— the shock of horrified sympathy for the man who, through the very victory over which he is triumphing, finds himself the means of his child's death. And here we have a good practical test for singleness of impression. It is this. A single effect is susceptible of statement in a single sentence, not unreasonably long, which itself fulfills the requirements of rhetorical unity. To state it still more simply : A sentence is the expression of a single, complete thought. If the effect of the story can be summarized in such a sentence, it may fairly be regarded as unified. We ' 9 From "Trained Nurses of the Thrill" (George Jean Nathan), Associated Sunday Magazine, May 25, 1913. By permission. 22 Short Stories in the Making may further test the effect by condensing the plot into a sentence in the same way. If the plot can be stated in a single unified sentence, then the story, if well constructed, should itself be unified and result in a single effect. 4. While speaking of singleness of effect, we should consider the word " short " in the term " short story." Why short? Many contes contain only 1,000, 1,500, or 2,000 words (the shorter stories often lack in literary quality). But, on the other hand, stories as long as 8,000 and 10,000 words, and even more, are accepted by some editors. Indeed, fiction running to 40,000 words or more (10,000 or 15,000 words longer than some novelets, and only 20,000 words under the length of writings sometimes classified as novel) is properly deemed short story, pro- vided that it otherwise meets the requirements imposed on this form of writing. 5. The fact is, that the conte does not have to be notably short. Usually it is short, however, because it seeks the singleness of effect described above. Comparison with the drama is here useful again. We have already seen that the short story and the one-act play are especially near akin. We know, too, that even the most intense and closely- wrought drama is hard to watch for three hours; the tendency is, to keep the time down to two hours or there- about, because a longer time is likely to dull the spectators' impression. The play is planned to make its impression within the time for which the close attention of the specta- tors can be held. The one-act play ordinarily takes still less time than does the two- or three-act play, and it is found to produce a correspondingly more unified impression (not invariably a deeper impression, how- ever) . Theory of the Short Story Type 23 6. In this fact we have also the reason for the shortness of the short story. It is planned to be " taken in " at a single sitting — to be read through without interruption; to be grasped, understood, and felt as a whole. If. the reading of it be interrupted, the impression, the " spell " of the narrative, is broken. The powerful effect of the conte depends in no small degree upon this fact : the narrative is not too long to be completed in one absorbed reading. 7. The wide range between the longest and the shortest contes commonly accepted by editors — from 800 words to 8,000, 10,000, and occasionally 15,000 — is to be accounted for by two things. First, many readers are not capable of concentrated attention and continued understanding beyond a few hundred words; a story of 5,000 or 8,000 words is beyond their powers. Second, the adequate development of some plots, or the adequate presentation of the full story material, requires in some instances only 1,500, 2,000, or 2,500 words; in others, adequate presentation demands eight or ten times as many. The student should not be misled by any insistence upon the need of com- pression in the short story (and compression is needed) into thinking that absolute brevity, too, is essential. Adequate presentation is essential; brevity is not, provided that singleness of effect is preserved. And as a matter of fact, an educated reader can read a close-wrought story of 40,000 or 50,000 words at a sitting, and get from it its single dominant impression. But few single critical situa- tions involve an amount of essential facts so great as this for their adequate understanding and conclusion, or call for such amplified development as a means of producing their effect. 24; Short Stories in the Making VII. The Conte May Aim at Different Kinds of Effect 1. We have been insisting strongly upon the supreme importance of the plot. Lest that insistence result in a serious misapprehension, we must now insist also on a vital distinction. Plot is of supreme importance to the structure and outcome of the story , but the plot may be of minor importance in producing the effect of the story. 2. We will examine this assertion more closely. It depends on this fact: the conte involves two chief factors toward final effectiveness — an outcome and an impression. The outcome belongs to plot only; the impression is the result of plot combined with various other elements, and these other elements may in their importance as impres- sion-producers quite overshadow plot. Let us make this still clearer by restating once more. 3. The plot is the logical summary of that body of incident and event which creates and constitutes the dramatic crisis. The essence of the short story is people acting dramatically in a time of crisis. In order to pro- duce a single crisis that shall be single and unified in effect, the plot must be close-wrought, single, and unified. But this crisis does not have to be itself the most im- portant thing in the story. It may exist either for its own sake, or merely for the sake of affording effective presentation of other impression-producing elements. But however this be, we shall ultimately perceive that underly- ing this total effect of the story, the most important ele- ment contributing to the outcome through which the effect must at least in part always be reached, — are persons acting, each according to his character, in a crisis brought Theory of the Short Story Type 25 about by a dramatic plot. Without persons, and without certain things done by these persons in the course of a crisis, there can be no outcome of the dramatic sort — and therefore no short story (conte). 4. Now these persons, doing what they thus do in the surroundings and under the conditions determined by the dramatic crisis, may, according to the management of the story, thus produce in us any one of four predominant impressions; namely — (a) Impress us with a theme (thematic story) ; (b) Impress us with the qualities of their own charac- ter (character story) ; (c) Impress us mainly with the incident and action of the plot (plot story) ; or (d) Impress us most distinctly with a feeling; perhaps merely of the conditions and enviromnent surrounding them, and of which they are a part, during the time in which they are in action, and perhaps of a deeper emo- tional or spiritual quality (subjective coloring) belonging to them and their deeds (atmosphere story). 5. We see, then, that the materials and essential elements of a story, gathering round and depending on the persons-in-action and governed by the plot, can be so managed as to produce stories of different classes ; and these classes can be discriminated one from another according to a clear, logical principle. Neither plot, nor substance or subject-matter, affords such a principle. Plot especially does not, for plot is essential in every conte. But in the effect produced by the different possible ways of managing the materials and elements (including the persons-in-action) which are found in the short story, we have a safe classification by which to distribute contes into 26 Shoet Stories in the Making groups. According to this principle, every short story will fall into one or another of four classes, as the emphasis may be placed on one or another of its four elements; namely, (1) theme; (2) character; (3) plot, incident, and action; (J/.) atmosphere (total conditions and environ- ment; subjective coloring). VIII. Some Short Stoeies Emphasize Theme 1. The conte that emphasizes theme is either among the easiest to write, or among the hardest. If it attempt nothing more than to present a " moral " — that is, if it is nothing more than a piece of didactic writing in narrative form — it is comparatively easy of composition ; it has only to announce its theme, or moral, group a set of incidents together that make the moral idea, or lesson, that it presents obvious to the reader, and so end. But the short story that does not aim at bald didacticism is a far different and more difficult achievement. 2. The baldly didactic narrative scarcely deserves the name story, for in desire to make its moral obvious, it is ready to sacrifice all the literary qualities. It amounts to little more than argumentation masquerading as narra- tion. But the literary story that concerns itself with the effective presentation of a theme is, on the other hand, thoroughly artistic. It strives for impression, not for conviction or conversion. Therefore it is careful to characterize, to find adequate motiving and true-seeming incident for its plot, and to create a setting and environ- ment equal to their task of giving atmosphere. 3. Thus to work into a consistent artistic whole signifi- cant traits of character; true human motives resulting Theory of the Short Story Type 27 in convincing acts that illustrate and develop the theme; and a coherent body of incident that likewise demonstrates a central thought ;— and withal to keep this central theme itself clear, prominent, and dominant — this demands great power of imaginative conception and high skill in literary construction. We will therefore drop out of consideration the merely didactic narrative and, in further mention of the thematic story, understand that it is the true short story emphasizing theme to which we refer. 4. The thematic conte, so limited, may be either a pur- pose or a problem story, or a pure-theme story (see par. 13). The purpose story is the literary parallel of the un- literary didactic narrative. It differs from the didactic narrative by giving adequate attention to those elements of fictional material which we found the didactic narrative neglecting: character, atmosphere, and well-motived plot. It establishes its theme by means of an impression depend- ing upon artistic method. Character, plot, incident, and at- mosphere are used to emphasize the theme, and the theme is emphasized in order that the reader may be persuaded to espouse some theory or belief. The purpose story aims at conversion, it is true ; but it aims at conversion through artistic effect. 5. We must observe here that excellent authorities main- tain the impossibility of an effective purpose short story. They urge that conversion cannot be the aim of the conte ; that the presentation of arguments is not consistent with lit- erary effect ; that short stories do not afford scope or room for marshaling facts and debating a proposition ; and that any theme about which there is a division of opinion is unsuited to the short story, because the short story must immediately appeal to each of its many classes of readers. 28 Short Stobies in the Making 6. Now it is true that no great number of true contes aim at convincing or converting the reader, and that those which have this aim often fail in it. But one reason for these facts is, the difficulty of constructing an artistic purpose story — one that does not drop into the merely didactic class; and perhaps another is, the feeling which writers have — brought about by commercial necessity — that stories seriously attacking a disputed theme will have less chance of a market with editors. That such stories will sell less readily is true, not because the conte cannot be a purpose story, but because editors are fearful of offending readers who may not agree with the theme advanced, and of wearying that not inconsiderable class whose mental energies faint in presence of any effort greater than that necessary to wrestle with the impressive moral truth of " See the man ! " and " This is a cat." 7. But inherent reason there is none why a narrative built upon a dramatic plot and producing a single effect should not aim, through this effect, to persuade or convert the reader to a definite theory or belief. That such short fiction is influential is indicated by the little whirlwinds of discussion that occasionally arise over stories thus ad- vocating a cause by embodying its appeal in the impres- sion created by well-managed narrative. Only the editors who get the letters of approval and protest know how impressive such an appeal may be. 10 10 American drama has in recent years supplied some interesting examples of purpose plays — naturally analogous to purpose short stories. Study of The Lure and The Fight, each presented in New York City at the beginning of the season of 1913-14, will be suggestive. So will consideration of their fate, illustrative of the grotesque unwillingness of certain classes of people to let either drama or literature offer an interpretation of life by presenting it Theory of the Short Story Type 29 8. We are therefore compelled to conclude that the short story may be written " with a purpose," but that the artistic success of the story so written will depend mostly upon the literary gift and skill of the author. If he present his theme artistically embodied in concrete facts that are truly significant of human nature and life, so managed that they produce a single, dramatic effect, we as different from what it conventionally is supposed to be. The attacks upon these plays will give the writer an idea of the re- ception likely to be met at any time by problem or purpose stories; although, to be sure, a story may escape much of the promi- nence that a play has which becomes the subject of public discus- sion. Probably the writer's conclusions will not be much changed by considering what explains but does not alter the situation; namely, that the fate of the plays mentioned seems to have been largely the result of a newspaper raid carried on by editors and reporters with the zest which most people feel when they have got hold of " a good thing " and have succeeded in persuading their conscience that it is their duty to make the most of it. Having observed the methods of several such campaigns — that, for instance, against Shaw's Mrs. Warren's Profession — the present writer cannot convince himself that they represent any " popular uprising " until the " revolt " has been stirred up. An admirer of New York City journalism, he nevertheless feels that the methods employed in some of these instances are a reproach to the profession. The news " stories " and the headlines over them were alike " editorial " and " colored " in character — full of expressions of opinion and inflammatory in tone; yet the highest ideal of good newspaper work is that of giving the facts, and giving them uncolored. However, that (whether sincerely or insincerely) the papers thus at times descend to sensationalism, and that their power is sufficient to stir up prejudice that neutralizes the artist's aim and wrecks his reasonable expectation of earnings, puts the author face to face with a serious personal problem. Shall he present life as he sees it, running the risk of vilification and probably business ruin, or shall he conventionalize and popularize his work, consenting to take the artistic " Easiest Way " ? 30 Short Stories in the Making have no right to quarrel with him because the facts thus presented carry a logical corollary that convinces us. 9. Unlike the purpose story, the problem story does not try to convince the reader that its solution of the problem is the right solution; it endeavors merely to lay before him a clear proposal of the problem involved by the situa- tion, whatever that be. To understand " problem," we must, however, consider the term " crisis." 10. The conte requires a crisis. Crisis exists when the character of the persons and the nature of the incidents are such that a conflict of interests, desires, or duties is brought about — that is, when the plot has developed what is called a complication. If the person decides or acts in one way, a certain set of consequences will follow; if he decides or acts in another way, an altogether different and probably quite opposite set of consequences will follow ; and it is immaterial whether at the moment of his de- ciding or acting he know that he is doing something to bring on such consequences, or not. The critical moment, now, is that in which he makes the decision or performs the decisive act. (This is not necessarily the moment of supreme impression, i.e., the climactic height.) 11. Now the purpose story and the problem story (like all other short stories, or contes) have each a crisis, which — technically — is ended with the decisive moment. Moreover, each presents a problem, some question of right or wrong, or better or worse, out of which its crisis grows. Still further, they center the interest on this problem ; they lay it before us with the implied question, What is best to do in such a situation ? In which way ought this person to decide, or in which way will it be more fortunate for him to act ? Theory of the Short Story Type 31 12. We now come to the difference between the purpose and the problem story. Having once laid its problem before us, the purpose story does one thing, the problem story another. The purpose story not only solves the problem, but solves it in the way that, it would persuade us, is the only true or right way. But the problem story either does not solve the problem at all (The Lady or the Tiger?), or it solves it so impartially as to convey no opinion of its own concerning the expediency or rightness of the solution. 13. In other words, the purpose story answers for us the question, What is best? and intends this answer to satisfy and convince us. But the problem story (al- though of course it usually solves the complication of the plot) does not attempt at all, notwithstanding this solution, to answer the question, Which is right or what is best? It aims only to lay the problem clearly before us, leaving us, uninfluenced by the plot outcome, to decide on the answer for ourselves. In such stories (we must be sure to remember) the outcome is an artistic or dramatic out- come, not an ethical inference; it works out the plot to one of its possible conclusions, but this conclusion does not answer, and is not meant to answer, the question of right or wrong, or better or worse. Notwithstanding the plot outcome, the problem is left with us still unanswered. 14. The third kind of thematic story we have not yet discussed. This we called the pure-theme story. In fact, however, purpose stories, problem stories, and all other contes of the thematic class, are pure-theme stories; for by theme ive signify the central topic or proposition, the ultimate working-thought. 11 If the writer's intention be 11 See paragraphs 19 and 20. 32 Short Stories in the Making to convince and convert, he nevertheless must reach his end by dramatically developing his theme. If his inten- tion be to propound a problem, this very problem is the sum and substance of his theme. 15. But besides the two sorts already discussed there remain the great majority of thematic stories. In these, the author's immediate intention is neither to convert nor yet to propound problems as such. Instead, starting with some central thought or proposition, he strives to build this up and amplify it in a course of dramatic narrative, until he has transformed it from a bare logical proposition into a coherent body of action, character, and setting, making of it a portrayal which can leave but one main impression. By employing dramatic narrative, lie gradually enlarges on and develops his proposition until it reaches the reader as an impression, unified, whole, and artistic, realized through the imagination and emotions rather than through the reason or the intellect. This dramatic bodying forth of a proposition or a theme it is — whether the theme be bodied forth solely for its own sake or with a purpose also to convince or to propound a problem — that makes the thematic story effective; and it is emphasis laid especially upon the theme that produces the thematic story. 16. Before closing this section we should make note of one further fact about the theme. In one sense, every story has a theme. Yet many stories have no immediate theme ; their " theme " is an exceedingly general proposi- tion, perhaps even nebulous in its universality. 12 In 12 The theme is virtually the " masterplot " — a conception, or rather a proposition, of so general a character that it can be bodied forth in a large number of distinct plots and stories. See plot germ, working-plot, etc. Theory of the Short Story Type 33 stories of this kind, the working-plot is likely to be mis- taken by the careless thinker for the theme itself. But the plot is not the theme; it merely outlines the body of incident which, combined with character-portrayal and atmosphere, will body forth the theme. Concrete examples will enable us to realize the nature of the general, remote theme in contrast with the specific, prominent theme characteristic of the thematic story. 17. In " Nine Assists and Two Errors " (Charles E. Van Loan, Saturday Evening Post, May 31, 1913) the theme is: A winning personality overcomes prejudice and commands friendship. A thousand plots might be built up to present this theme. It is so general that, in a story of much incident, characterization, or atmosphere, it is likely to be overlooked entirely — not a bad thing for artistic effect, provided only that the reader feel the theme, even though he is not consciously aware of it. And in fact some thought is required to determine the ultimate theme of this story. But its plot is easily stated. A young man, ambitious to be a baseball pitcher, but quite without ability, through his pleasing personality over- comes the prejudice of a manager, gets on the team, and actually persuades the "old man" to " throw " an unim- portant game in order to help him win his lady-love, an admirer of ball-players (a surprise element is introduced by making the lady-love the manager's daughter).. The story is a character, atmosphere, and humor story, not a story of theme ; and only upon consideration can we deter- mine the underlying conception which the plot embodies. 18. But in " Nerve" (by William Slavins, Collier's, September 20, 1913) the theme is intentionally made prominent by the writer. In this story (which is taken 34 Short Stories in the Making merely at random as an example) there is a philosophical introduction, mainly dialogue, wherein different views of the same question are presented ; and in the course of the dialogue the man who presently tells the story that exem- plifies the theme, says : " To my way o' thinkin' a man shows clean game when he does the thing that's hardest for him, whereas the same thing might be just like eatin' a meal to me." Here we have the theme stated in exact words — thought out and shaped up for the reader's atten- tion before any element of the plot has been introduced. In fact, the introduction is no true part of the actual plot and story ; it is merely the author's device in this instance for making certain that the theme is emphasized so plainly that no reader, in the interest of the story itself, shall overlook it. 19. In the two stories here cited, we have therefore excellent though haphazardly chosen examples of extremes in theme importance. But the fact that in Mr. Van Loan's story we really do not need at all to know the theme, and yet with a little thought can readily find it, illustrates this truth: Every conte embodies a theme, no matter how general or remote this theme may be; for no reasonable plot can be stated, based on the realities of life, that does not exemplify or contain in the concrete some truth of human existence. Were it otherwise, the story would be untrue. 20. The thematic story, we may here remark, is ex- ceedingly adaptable to purposes of direct interpretation. We have already noted that the best fiction does more than merely interest ; it contributes to the better comprehension of life itself. It brings before the reader, in coherent inter-relationships, motives, influences, deeds, ideals, char- Theory of the Short Story Type 35 acter; and when he comprehends these relationships, he comes into possession of a theory, a view, or a principle of human nature and its workings as the author conceives it to be. This conception on the part of the reader is identical (at least theoretically) with the conception on which the author built up his story; that is, with the theme itself. Therefore, the writer who wishes particularly to interpret life — to give the reader an explanation and simplification of life as it appears under certain definite conditions — has an effective means in the thematic story ; for in the theme he summarizes his interpretation, and in the development of his story constantly emphasizes and illustrates this theme, 21. From these explanations, one important conclusion follows. Unless one is writing a thematic story, he need not worry about finding a theme with which to begin. If the plot he well built and the action truly motivated in character, they will inevitably embody a theme. The beginner, therefore, will do as the experienced writer often- est does: first seek a plot, or at least the "germ" of a plot. When the plot idea, or germ, is discovered, it will develop into a story if rightly managed; and behind the story there will always be a theme. 22. Unless the presentation of an emphasized theme be the writer's main object (let us repeat), he need not worry about anything at first but the creation of a plot, with its developing material. True, he cannot build a plot without realizing that in it is embodied some central idea or proposition. But the gift of art is, to present things in the concrete ; and its value is, that as it sees deeply and truly, that which it presents concretely is itself, by reason of this grasp and insight, an illustration 36 Shoet Stoeies in the Making of or a commentary upon life or character. A clearly visioned, truly motived story, therefore, always contains some inevitably embodied theme ; fit matter for reflection. But it is reflection on the part of the reader. To him the writer had better leave the discovery and weighing of the theme, provided only that the story as the writer cre- ates it, incarnates this controlling conception in a body of coherent fact and action, true to human nature and to life. IX. Some Shoet Stoeies Emphasize Plot 1. We have already seen that the final effectiveness of the conte involves two chief factors: an outcome, and an impression. " Outcome " w r e are to understand somewhat narrowly. The incidents and action of the story bring- forth a final deed, incident, or situation — the outcome; something done or happening that puts a close to the series in such a way as to be the conclusion of the whole matter — the consequence and end of what precedes. 2. Some outcome is necessary to the conclusion of every short story, but this must not be thought to mean that the outcome itself is always the principal source of the im- pression. " Impression " indicates the sum total of the effect worked on the reader by the story — aroused interest, stirred emotions, character appreciation, etc. — united and merged in one definite, single, predominant effect™ In making this impression, theme, character, atmosphere, and plot have each a part; but in one type of conte, that which emphasizes plot, the plot of course is the leading impression-maker. In the plot story, the total effect must 13 Inasmuch as this effect is worked by stimulating fancy, imagina- tion, and emotion, the impression is predominantly emotional in nature. See Sec. XI., 14. Theory of the Short Story Type 37 mainly depend on the two plot parts ; namely, the incidents and action that produce the outcome, and the final situation and outcome itself. 3. The plot story therefore must have much quick action, stirring incident, adventure, surprise, mystery; complicated situations, romantic situations, etc. Not that all of these are likely to be found in any one story, but that every one of them is likely to supply the material for a plot story or to constitute an important element in its effectiveness. 4. For the sake of simplicity we may include all of these characteristics, and any others belonging to the plot story as such, in three categories. We shall then see that the plot story is a story in which the effect is produced through (a) lively action, (b) abundant incident, and (c) abundant activity. Roughly defined, an incident is one of the single coherent events included in the story as being either essential to the action or as otherwise clearly contrib- uting to the total effect. Action is the combination and advance of incident and events toward a definite outcome in accordance with the scheme provided by the plot. Activity is the behavior, acts, deeds, and " business " (stage meaning) of the persons singly or together. Quick action, abundant incident, and much activity, are the characteris- tics of the plot story. 14 5. Classification of plot stories into sub-groups is diffi- cult. We may, however, further indicate the nature of 14 Somewhat more loosely, " action " carries the idea of " all that's doing" or "whatever is doing." It then indicates all that we have classified separately above. — A story may include several groups of incident; incident groups may then be termed "events," the term " incident " being reserved for the single coherent event of smaller compass. 38 Short Stories in the Making the plot story by mentioning various sub-types, provided that we do not regard these sub-types as clearly delimited and mutually exclusive. With this understanding, we may say that plot stories fall into two classes. They are either stories of ingenious complication or else stories of. lively action. In the one case, the interest lies in the ingenuity of fancy, incident, entanglement, and solution. In the other, it lies in the excitement of the rapid move- ment, the quick passing from deed to deed, incident to incident, and event to event, up through a stirring climax to a stirring outcome. Usually, of course, rapid action and ingenious plot-complication go together. 6. In stories of the ingenious-plot type, the attention is held, not primarily by the persons who act, nor by the surroundings or atmosphere in which the action takes place, nor by the theme embodied in the story; first and mainly it is held by the body of incident itself. What interests the reader is, the single incidents and successive events as they are wrought together, one by one, and the situation or situations 15 brought about by these incidents as they succeed and combine with one another, and so draw on toward the grand climax. 6a. The more ingeniously these are wrought together, to arouse interest and yet to keep the outcome seemingly uncertain, the more concentrated will the reader be in 1B " Situation " indicates the state of affairs existing at any particular moment by reason of the development of the story up to that point; especially, the critical state of affairs existing at climactic moments in the progress of the action, usually those pro- duced by the culmination of a definite stage ("movement") of plot development. In the theater, for instance, the curtain is not allowed to fall except when a " situation " has been developed to bring it down, thus marking the close of a scene or an act. Theory of the Short Story Type 39 his pursuit of the plot to its conclusion. Eor it is the skill — indeed the ingenuity — with which detail is woven in with detail and incident with incident, moving steadily toward an outcome the more eagerly anticipated because its nature cannot be accurately guessed — it is this that gives the ingenious-plot story its fascination. 7. Various kinds of story are of the ingenious-plot type. The " surprise-plot " story is a good example. In this, the plot is skillfully shaped to lead the reader into anticipating a certain outcome, or to keep him from guessing the outcome that is intended; then at the last — and always suddenly if the best effect is attained — an un- expected outcome leaves him gasping with surprise. The surprise-plot story, well done, unquestionably is effective; and occasionally an editor is found who regards it as the chief among short stories, if not indeed the only sort worth printing. But this is an extreme opinion. Even the ingenious-plot conte can exist without a surprise out- come ; and a large amount of exceedingly valuable material could not be utilized at all by the short story if it had to be presented through a surprise plot. Imagine the render- ing by surprise outcome of such a tragic procession of events as that of Mrs. "Wharton's Ethan Frome! Yet Ethan Frome — testing by ultimate standards — is worth dozens of the ordinary surprise-plot story. 16 19 The purpose of this book being the explanation of the method, or constructional principles, of the conte, the author has but seldom introduced comment depending upon those larger esthetic principles by which final worth in literature must be estimated. In other words, he has for the most part refrained from judgments in which an attempt is made to evaluate stories, types, forms, or points of view. The few exceptions will (he trusts) explain and justify themselves. 40 Short Stories in the Making 8. Again, the surprise ending itself is subject to abuse — as in stories made to end with a surprise that, shocks the sensibilities, or does illogical violence to the sympathies of the reader, or to his liking for the personages of the story. Indeed, the surprise ending can quickly grow into tyranny over its employer, becoming an offensive and a fatal trick. When it has thus established domination over a writer, he will use it in place and out of place, emphasizing trivialities, subjecting his plots to mechanical and artificial manipulations, and at the end introducing impertinent incongruities to the exclusion of serious con- clusions. In a word, abuse of the surprise plot is easy, and may result in flippancy, artificiality, and a general cheapening of effect. 9. Mystery stories are another interesting and favorite sort of ingenious-plot story (the surprise ending is fre- quent in them). As mystery stories we may classify all stories of which the chief purpose is, to solve some problem of explanation, means, or discovery. Such for example are detective stories; ghost stories and other tales of the weird, horrible, or occult, w T hen the interest lies in the explanation, not the phenomena ; 17 and many stories of crime or vengeance. 10. Commonly, mystery stories assume a state of affairs such as seems well-nigh inexplicable, together with an apparently quite inadequate body of fact from which to solve the problem of explanation or discovery. From the facts thus assumed, with the discovery and introduction from time to time of additional facts, they proceed by 17 When the effect depends on merely the presence of mystery, not on the explanation of it, we have an atmosphere conte, not a plot conte. Theory of the Short Story Type 41 reasoning (both inductive and deductive) through stages of advancement and renewed complication toward the final solution ; and at last, by a sudden decisive piece of logic — usually accompanied with action — bring forth the true con- clusion. The stages (" movements ") by which the denoue- ment, or final untangling, is approached, do not, however, always seem stages of progress. On the contrary, the facts, as the narrative proceeds, appear now to point to one con- clusion, now to another, and are all the time baffling ; and their total effect prior to the completion of the disentan- gling is, to keep the reader excitedly puzzled about the out- come and eagerly interested to know it. 11. To the beginner, one caution must be emphatically given about the plot in the plot story. It must not be overcrowded with either incident or action. True, it will be complicated; but all plots are that. This means no more than that it includes some element that checks, or stops, or changes, the otherwise plain course of the action. Without such an obstacle, there could be no conflict, no crisis, no uncertainty about outcome and result. In the short story that emphasizes plot, the number of such com- plicating influences tends to increase rapidly. But at their most numerous, they must not be so many that they congest the story, cramp the action, interfere with the just development of characterization, or require a total amount of setting out of proportion to the other narrative elements. ISTor must ancillary incident overflow either the plot it supplements or the other bounds of proportion. In other words, even the plot story must not be all plot and incident; there must be an adequate proportion of the other fiction elements. 12 ? The reason for all this is very practical. The 42 Shokt Stoeies in the Making conte must be short enough for reading at a single sitting ; excessive incident or action, with a due proportion of stag- ing and characterization, would extend the story beyond the time limit in which the necessary single effect can be attained. jSince in the market few stories longer than 8,000 or at most 10,000 words find a welcome, the practi- cal inadvisability of including copious incident or requir- ing unstinted action is evident. But except for this, no limitations need be observed so long as the inci- dent and action continue to contribute to the single effect desired. 13. Turn now from the type of plot story in which in- genuity in construction and the creation and combining of incident is the leading characteristic, to the type in which action rather than ingenuity is emphasized. In the action type of plot story, the leading position probably is occupied by the adventure story. In company with this should be mentioned the stories that are built largely upon romantic elements other than adventure; for the two are difficultly separable. " Adventure " as just used has the older sense of physical adventure — that involving physical courage and endeavor, daring in the face of bodily danger, and the like. Naturally the story of in- trigue (when active behavior instead of ingenious plot dominates it) associates itself with the story of adventure and romance. 14. The word " adventure " is however rapidly taking on a broader meaning, in which the merely physical con- notation is much less ; and this meaning is showing itself in recent literature, especially in fiction. We have had, for example, Adventures in Contentment (not cited, of course, as an example of fiction) ; and of late years fiction has Theory of the Short Stoey Type 43 been rich in narratives that deal with industrial, business, and sociological emprise. To many of the incidents in such narratives, the term " adventure " is to be applied quite as justly as it was originally to the other kind of adventuring. These stories, we should note, have, however, a natural relationship with realism through dealing with matters that are so closely associated with ordinary life; hence they not infrequently develop a tendency to realistic treatment. The natural outcome is an effective if not a novel blending of romantic with realistic elements, produc- ing work of no little value in interpreting life in its daily aspects. But as the realistic elements increase, the plot naturally ceases to occupy so prominent a place; hence realistic stories of this sort (like most other realistic stories) soon pass out of the plot story class. X. Some Contes Emphasize Character 1. " The proper study of mankind is man." This is the underlying conviction of all good literature and indeed of all art. Whatever else finds a place in fiction, finds its place there because in some way it is associated with man and the life he lives. Nature, for illustration, enters into fiction because it forms so much of man's environment, stirring his love of beauty, terrifying him by the relentless power it exerts, stimulating him to effort in order to con- quer and dominate it, exalting him to awe and reverence by its sublimity. Plot and incident find a place in fiction because they show men in action under the manifold im- pulses and influences that shape human destiny. Theme is important in fiction because it supplies a means of sum- 44 Shoet Stories in the Making marizing conclusions about man and his destiny, or of stating human problems in a suitable form for concrete observation, analysis, or demonstration. 2. Accordingly, whatever material yields itself to fiction is material found in man's relationships with the universe ; whatever mood or tone or method is employed in treating this material, is employed because it is a mood or tone or method that springs from these relationships. From the most serious novel to the lightest skit, the final concern of the writer and of the reader is man and his existence, seen, of course, in the character and behavior of individual men and women; for fiction, being a form of art, deals as we saw with concrete instances rather than with general con- ceptions. 3. These relations of man with the universe are three. He deals and struggles with, influences and is influenced by, the physical world ; deals and struggles with, in- fluences and is influenced by, other men; and deals and struggles with, influences 18 and is influenced by, the moral and spiritual world — the forces for good and evil that lie (or seem to lie) largely in himself. In all this dealing, struggling, and influencing, it is the character of the in- dividual that is principally involved. We may therefore say that character manifests itself — (a) In the dealings of men with the physical world. (b) In the dealings of men with one another. (c) In the dealings of men with their own moral or spiritual nature, and the forces that influence it. 4. When therefore the writer creates a story that em- phasizes character, and emphasizes it successfully, he creates a story that, in its appropriate class of light or 1S For instance, he establishes his own codes of morals, Theory of the Short Story Type 45 serious, is exceedingly vital and worthy. For in a charac- ter we read, writ small and in a fragmentary monument, the nature and destiny of man. To the portrayal of sta- tionary character, and still more to the presentation of character in process of growth or deterioration, all the utility of plot, theme, and atmosphere, and of all other literary accessories of narration, may rightly be directed. Especially effective is a combination of characterization with theme emphasis ; for the theme embodies the central thought concerning life, and the characterization clothes on this thought with all the vraisemblance, all the true-seem- ing, of actual human life itself. 5. Yet the beginning writer should not be led to suppose that he ought to turn his prentice hand to the character story only. Quite the contrary is true. He should first accustom himself to the management of plot ; for in the conte the most indispensable element is plot — even when the plot is wholly subordinate. And although the tyro in writing may soon begin to practice on character sketching, and even on characterization in dramatic nar- rative, he must not expect in any sudden burst of develop- ment to blossom into the master's skill of character treat- ment. 6. There is too another reason for delaying besides that of making thoroughly ready before attempting the work of characterization in dramatic narrative. It is this : although as a type the character story probably is superior to any other of the individual types of conte, it is not by any means a universal favorite. A lamentably large proportion of readers cannot (if the truth must be told) appreciate or even comprehend it ; it commands a more limited public, perhaps, than any other type commands, unless it be the 46 Shoet Stoeies in the Making atmosphere story. This assertion, of course, will not al- ways hold of the best short stories; but that is because the best short stories do not emphasize any one element at the expense of another, but emphasize proportionately theme, plot, atmosphere, and character; and they are, more- over, often so simple, so human, so " universal " in their appeal (as the cant phrase runs), that readers even of comparatively limited culture can enjoy them, even though unable to appreciate them. Saying this is but re-saying what is so well known already, that many of the true masterpieces of literature are — within limits — for all sorts and conditions of men. 7. And yet even the tyro, delaying in order to make sure preparation before attempting the character story, will have the character story always before him as part of his ideal. For the plot story that is also a character story is doubly excellent ; the atmosphere story that is also a character story is doubly excellent, and the theme story that is not also a character story is doubly in danger of failure even as a theme story. To study human nature, to study men and their ways, to observe the thousand-and-one manifestations through which the temperament and the human nature of every individual may reveal itself, to perceive the innumerable influences that affect men, shape their character, and help to determine their destiny, and to strive always and unceasingly to body forth in story form the facts learned in the course of this never-ceasing study — this must always be the aspiration and aim of the true artist in fiction, unsubdued and unsubduable in him because it is the very essence and spirit of his genius. 8. We should now define clearly to ourselves what Theory of the Short Story Type 47 character is. All animal creatures may be said to have character. That is, they have a set of fundamental or primary instincts, or natural tendencies or habits of re- action which have been developed by an age-long course of existence under particular conditions. These instincts, tendencies, and habits are common to all members of the family, and by virtue of them, all members of the family respond in the same way to the same stimuli and motives to action. 9. But in each individual, especially in the higher forms of life, these instinctive, nature-given tendencies have been more or less modified by particular influences affecting the individual only, whereby the moods and acts of this individual are caused to vary from the family or racial standard, or norm. To illustrate: All horses have the same primary, fundamental, or nature-given instincts and tendencies (we will not confuse ourselves by consider- ing how domestication has modified these as they exist in the wild horse). Yet, notwithstanding these identical in- stincts and characteristics, one horse is affectionate and another fierce; one is patient, another nervous and im- patient; one trustworthy, another treacherous, and so on. Even different colts of the same mare and sire may have notably variant characteristics. This basic nature in the creature, modified or shaped into individual traits and tendencies, is the character of that creature. It is manifested through the creature's behavior and con- duct. 10. We may pause here to remark that there is one immense difference between the behavior and conduct of mankind and that of other animals. The action of man is reasoned; that of beasts is based upon no reflective 48 Short Stories in the Making foresight. This fact is what makes drama and fiction possible, for it is what makes possible motive and therefore conflict — the conscious struggle between man and the physical world, between man and man, between man and his own spiritual nature. The uncertainty, the. variety, the comedy, the tragedy, all the interest of human life, spring mainly from this ability of man to perceive and consider alternatives, to weigh consequences, to pick and choose or predetermine (or at least attempt to predeter- mine) results. Fiction is interesting largely because it thus shows us man employing — or failing to employ — this faculty of reflective foresight; and motivation and plot are possible only because there exists this reasoning faculty in man. 11. We return now to our consideration of character. Men as a genus, family, or class, have their dis- tinctive nature, their peculiar set of instincts, nature- bestowed tendencies, and habits and emotional reactions so long kept up that they have practically established them- selves as instincts. This is human nature — the whole set of instincts, tendencies, emotions, and motives common to mankind. And human nature is the basis of human character. 12. But in character there is always a second element ; for character is the basic human nature shaped and modi- fied into individual traits and tendencies that are mani- fested in the conduct of the individual. This second element in human character we may say is temperament, the quality or disposition peculiar to the individual. This temperament, or temper of the individual (to adopt an Elizabethan term signifying quality as it results from a particular and successful admixture of ingredients), may Theory of the Short Story Type 49 be the consequence of any of an indefinite number of modifying influences. Thus, it depends often upon con- stitution, upon nervous organization, or upon physiological conditions. Congeniality of surroundings or of occupation affects it wholesomely. Indeed, its healthiness largely depends upon the proper gratification of individual tastes and appetites. It is also partly determined by the in- dividual's amount of will-power, enabling him to adapt himself to his surroundings; and intellectual or spiritual discipline, resulting from either education or experience, will always result in an increased control of environment by the individual, and thus by controlling one of the most important shaping influences indirectly determine tem- perament itself. 13. Again, habits affect temperament, whether they be developed through natural inclination or through con- straint. Years of study will unfit for active pursuits a man originally of the most active tendency. Teachers of composition afford another example. Required by their business to maintain constant watchfulness for small errors, they not infrequently find themselves developing querulousness and a tendency to petty fault-finding. How- ever, exhaustive enumeration of the influences that de- termine temperament is impossible; for anything and everything, even interplaying qualities of human nature itself, may react on the individual to modify into variant aspects the elemental traits and qualities of our common human nature, and thus determine temperament. 14. So much for the two constituents of human charac- ter. What then is character itself ? Character is the sum of the moral, intellectual, and physical instincts, tenden- cies, qualities, and habits of the individual, resulting from 50 Shoet Stoeies in the Making the union of human nature and temperament™ and mani- festing itself in what he thinks and does. This manifesta- tion may be internal, appearing merely in the thoughts and imaginings of the man, or external, appearing in action — his speech, acts, behavior, outward conduct. 15. For purposes of dramatic presentation, only ex- ternal manifestations of character are available. Pure psychological analysis, or narration of psychological ex- perience — recounting the events in the march of conscious- ness, or picturing forth in its flow the so-called stream of consciousness — is not dramatic. Hence it is expedient, even though arbitrary, to exclude fiction that is developed by this method from the class of the conte. This is not to say, however, that there are no true psychological short stories. The true psychological conte, however, is that in which the mental state and action are not narrated, de- scribed, or analyzed directly, but are instead made clear through the truly dramatic — i.e., actional — means of external manifestation. What is said and done in the course of the plot development reveals (but does not relate) what the person is thinking and feeling. The psychologi- cal story that presents these mental states otherwise than by this truly actional method of speech and act, possibly should be regarded as in fact a peculiar class. We may call it psychological description, or psychological narration, or name its product the psychological-analytical narrative, etc. ; we may even argue that there is a dramatic quality 19 The student of men in the mass will find various divisions and subdivisions between the race and the individual. Each of these will have its own distinctive characteristics — those of nationality, for example. Each social rank, each profession, etc., has its peculiar class characteristics. It follows, therefore, that characterization must take note of individual, of class, and of race traits. Theory of the Short Story Type 51 in many psychological situations or operations. But the fact remains, that psychological analysis does not present persons acting; and therefore it is doubtfully dramatic in the sense required by the short story. However (although it has seemed well to discuss the matter rather fully here) , the problem of presenting psychological phenomena is in truth more a problem how to portray a person during his passage through a psychological experience than it is a question of character and its manifestation. 16. We return therefore briefly to direct consideration of the short story that emphasizes character. The means whereby character can be dramatically presented in nar- rative will be discussed in some detail in a later chapter ; consequently we need here only repeat that speech and acts are the main, if not the sole, dependence of the author in showing forth to the reader through his imagina- tion the character of the persons of whom he is writing. Therefore, in the story written to emphasize character, speech and act will be prominent. They will not, however, be prominent for their own sake, or for the thrill they may be able to communicate through directly exciting the reader, as they are in the story that emphasizes plot. They will be prominent because in and through them the reader beholds character; they are the index, the outward symbol, the key, the manifestation, the effect of which character is the cause. And as the reader, in order to interpret them, must be able to translate the symbol into terms of the thing symbolized, to judge accurately what the cause is from seeing only its results, so the writer on his side must be able to translate character into suitable symbols (words and acts) ; to perceive what the true and natural results of any well-defined character, taken as the cause, would be, 52 Shout Stories in the Making and by depicting it through such results, or symbols, — the acts and speech of the persons, — make it apparent to the reader. 17. The first task, therefore, for the writer of character stories, is the conceiving of a consistent, and, of course, true-to-nature character for each person in his story. By consistent, we do not mean a character in which are no conflicting elements, but a character in which (whatever the elements of conflict) there is no self-contradiction. How far the conflict between character elements may go without rendering the character self-contradictory, is shown by Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Perhaps we should be safer were we to say merely that the conception must not seem to be inconsistent, or self-contradictory — that it shall stand the test of a sound plausibility based upon knowledge of man and men, and a strict observance of the possibilities of character as thus discovered. Charac- ters so conceived will be true to life, and will accordingly stand every test. We have, therefore, arrived at the point, to which we shall always find ourselves returning, at which we must recognize the fundamental importance of observing men and the ways of men and the influences that determine these ways — in other words, the importance of being familiar with character in detail. To write good fiction, one must know man and men, human nature and temperament ; and to know these, he must have been a close observer of men in their activities. 18. Moreover, this knowledge must be practical, not theoretical. This assertion needs to be emphasized. Many writers — young writers of a scholarly turn especially — think that if they read books and gain an understanding of the elements of human nature as these are revealed in Theory of the Short Story Type 53 poetry, fiction, history, or the like, they have qualified themselves for their work as writers. They are wrong. The writer of drama and dramatic fiction narrative must know men. He must have seen human life living itself in the lives of many individual men. He must know men so well that the human nature and the temperament in every individual will distinctly separate themselves to his understanding. He must know not only the types of men, but the individual variations that occur within the type. He must know what are the type actions that go with the standard instincts and emotions — but he must also know how these type actions are changed or modified in the individual. And all these things should be so familiar to him that, the moment he conceives a person of a certain type, he will be aware what that type of person will do in a given set of circumstances; and beyond that, what this one person he has conceived — an individual having his own character, made up of human nature modified by temperament — would do in the same set of circumstances ; for in the action of the individual will always be some degree of individuality, and the writer who knows men should from his knowledge realize instinctively what this individuality of conduct and speech will be. So intimate, so closely accurate, so extensive, so sure, should be the fiction writer's knowledge, not merely of man, but of men. He can never become perfect in it, yet he should never cease to perfect himself in it. And for this there is but one way — that of meeting and dealing with men closely and constantly. 19. To the writer of contes in which character is em- phasized, such extreme familiarity with men is indispen- sable. For since he must make the words and acts of each 54 Short Stories in the Making person clearly spring from and reveal the character of the person, he must know, even to the littlest, the words that men use, the tones in which they speak them, the gestures they employ and the occasions on which they employ each, the decisions — instinctive or reasoned — to which they come, the way they behave while coming to them, and their manner of acting (each according to his own character) in accordance with their decisions. To make the character story convincing, all such things must be set down, and set down as they would be were the story a fact and not a fiction story, For if they are not set down as they would be in life, the reader will feel the incongruity, even if he cannot name it ; and both story and character will disap- point him. Hence the chief study of the writer of charac- ter stories must be, how to set forth a varied body of speech and act that shall clearly reveal character, the character itself being consistent and true to life — to human nature, to class-type, and to the individual. XL Some Contes Emphasize Atmosphere 1. Last of the four possible types of short story that are produced by laying emphasis especially upon a particular element, or factor, of fiction narrative, we name the type that emphasizes atmosphere. But in giving the atmos- phere story the last place, we are making it neither the least nor the greatest among these types. For the conte has its masterpieces of plot story, of theme story, of character story, and of atmosphere story; and if we raise the question of comparative merit, we are likely to be forced, on consideration, to dodge it, answering that the greatest of short stories is not to be found in any one of Theory of the Short Story Type 55 these special types as such, but in that conte which com- bines all these elements according to its needs, attaining its effect by a presentation of life through the artistic union of all the four. 2. Nevertheless, considering as we are for the present the emphasis of particular elements in individual stories, we must in fairness set down, that the atmosphere story is often tremendously effective. As some of the most wonderful of modern paintings are those that have caught the atmosphere of the desert, the plains, or the sea, so some of the most wonderful novels and contes of our day are those that have caught the atmosphere rather than the details of phases of life — the spirit and essence of some environment in which life is lived significantly. 3. Of the four elements of fiction narrative that we are considering, — theme, plot, character, and atmosphere — atmosphere is the hardest exactly to define; for it is not, like the others, reducible to a process, a formula, or a method, but is that more delicately impalpable thing, a subjective quality to be sensed or an emotional impression to be received. Therefore we can, before formulating a definition, profitably consider the thing itself somewhat. 4. Atmosphere we may describe as the quality felt in a story or drama, through the impression created by setting, mood, character, action, theme, incident, persons, personal- ity (either that of the author or of the persons in the story) , tone, and so on. Or we may call it the source of the total subjective impression left by the combined influence of all the elements, accompaniments, and surroundings of viewpoint, characters, action, and scene. The atmosphere of a story is the encompassing medium in which the nar- rative exists and moves. It is the psychological medium, 56 Short Stories in the Making as the physical atmosphere, with all its attributes of light, warmth, translucence, rarity or density, color, stimulation or depression, clearness, heaviness, purity, etc., is the purely physical medium in which animal life exists and moves. Or it may be described as the sum total of environment, psychological and physical, as the habitat of an animal, with its peculiar set of physical, vegetable, geographic, climatic, animal, and animal-nature, condi- tions, constitutes the total of the environment of that animal. 5. Atmosphere is, then, the total 'psychological, emotional, or tonal environment wherein character and action present themselves subjectively to the reader, 20 to 20 The test of atmosphere is the presence of a quality in the narrative itself, permeative and intangible rather than explicit and locable. Upon further analysis, we should find that this impression of atmosphere depends on either or both of two qualities: first, the quality of place, environment, and determining conditions; second, the quality of mood. The first gives a sense of the milieu and circumstances; the second gives a sense of the tone — of the emotional quality and nature — belonging to the story, its persons or events. Roughly, the one is material, physical, or social, the other immaterial and psychological — the one perceived as external fact, the other as internal fact. But almost always they exist to- gether. The effect of either is always mainly emotional — that is, subjective. Hence our discussion of atmosphere has not attempted to separate them. — Let the student compare a mood story with a story of setting (realized best in the local-color story). Mrs. Wharton's Ethan Frome is pre-eminently a mood story; Harris Dickson's stories of negro life {Saturday Evening Post) are local color stories — almost any of the " Old Reliable " series will serve, as will most of Bret Harte's California stories, Mrs. Freeman's stories of New England, etc. Yet all such stories will reveal that (except when the setting is described merely for objective interest), the introduc- tion of an element of milieu or conditioning circumstance affects mainly the mood of the reader, thus giving him the impression of subjective tone or coloring in the story. We " sense " the tone and Theory of the Short Story Type 57 create which, every artistic element unites which is capable of producing through literary means the impression of a physical sensation or a perception of mood, or of moral, spiritual, ethical or esthetic quality, or tone, thereby pro- ducing a sense of subjective quality. To phrase the thought in yet another way, atmosphere is the consequence of bringing to bear upon the reader the full power of subjective impression exerted through any sort of literary or dramatic device: its purpose being, to put him into complete emotional understanding or rapport (responsive- ness and sympathy) with the various elements of the story. It thus enables him both to perceive the external quality and to feel the internal quality and spirit — ac- curately and truly, because he feels not only the thing itself, but also the conditions and surroundings which are a part of it and'of which it is a part. 6. From this preliminary description of atmosphere, let us now formulate a working definition. Atmosphere is that subjective quality in a story resulting from highly characteristic elements, or accompaniments, conditions, and surroundings, of the setting, persons, character traits, and action; by virtue of which the persons, incidents, character, and action are seen in a medium of natural and significant psychological, tonal, or emotional environment of which they are a necessary part and which is a necessary part of them. Condensing this, we may say that atmosphere is quality of a scene rather than perceive it merely. Stevenson's The Merry Men; Hamlin Garland's early western stories (as in Main Traveled Roads), Poe's Fall of the House of Usher — these are merely a few of the stories that owe their subjective effect, or emotional impression, mainly to the combined influence of environ- mental and mood elements. For in successful writing, the two cannot be kept distinct, 58 Short Stories in the Making that quality which produces its effect on the reader by means of a subjective coloring of any or all 21 of the elements of the story. Its impression is made almost en- tirely on the subjective sensibilities — on the emotions — and is made in either of two ways : first, by direct appeal, as when the material used itself is emotional and address is made outright to our subjective senses; second, by indirection, as when such aspects of objective matters are chosen for presentation as are associated with subjective experiences, these aspects being, therefore, sure to stimulate an emotional response even though doing so indirectly. 22 Subjective coloring will be found inherent in, or can be given to— 21 A scheme will help to show forth the fact, as follows: 1. Objective facts: setting, appearance of persons, costume, acts, deeds, incidents, etc. 2. Determining conditions: influences of time, place, associates, social and in- dustrial environment, education, etc., etc., such as affect character, behavior, deed, motive, etc. These may be either (a) objective (see 1 above) or (b) sub- jective (see 3 below). 3. Subjective facts: the relationships, in- fluences, and reactions that pre-emi- nently affect or belong to psychological experience — the inner life. Therefore, we may have either objective atmosphere or subjective atmosphere — that productive of mood or tone. Further, the story may be so written that its mood or tone will be the result of either (a) its own materials (complete detachment on the part of the author), or (b) the author's arbitrary selection of details to produce a particular mood or tone determined by himself (author's mood, or attitude). 22 From what has been said, the conclusion follows, that the term subjective coloring is a full descriptive synonym for atmosphere, and perhaps even a more accurate term. Theory of the Short Story Type 59 7. Among the elements that aid in creating atmosphere, setting is highly important. It is not to be confounded with atmosphere, although the terms are sometimes used synonymously; neither is it equal to environment. By setting we really mean the physical surroundings — what the stage manager would classify as scenery and properties. Setting is objective and can always be indicated by some direct method of description, although, of course, direct description is not necessarily preferable to other methods of presentation. Moreover, the mere introduction of description is not enough to give atmosphere, unless the setting and the description are themselves such as to be significant and produce the artistic effect desired. 8. Environment — a larger term — implies not only setting, but also all other surroundings and accompanying conditions; and, therefore, it may be psychological and non-objective. Well indicated, environment is an effective producer of atmosphere — indeed, is perhaps the main de- pendence in most atmosphere stories. Among the elements entering into environment are time, place, occupation, moral and spiritual surroundings, and (in general) what- ever accompaniments of existence influence character and life. A. Time: Time may determine the atmosphere of a story. Thus, there may be stories with an atmosphere of war time or of peace ; of particular historical periods ; of Christmas, Memorial Day, or other holiday; an atmos- phere appropriate to the night, to daytime, to spring, summer, fall, or winter, to sowing time or harvest time, etc. B. Place: Place may determine the atmosphere of a story. Thus, there may be stories with an atmosphere 60 Short Stories in the Making of the streets, the theater, the church, the home, the amusement-park, the city, the country, the tropics, the school, the sea, the veldt, the plains, the jungle, the air (aeronautical stories), etc. C. Occupation: Occupation may determine the atmos- phere of a story. Thus, there may be stories with an atmosphere appropriate to medicine, journalism, the law, the ministry; to the life of the day-laborer, the iron- worker, the weaver or mill-hand, the fisherman, the soldier or marine, the professor, the housewife, the speculator, the gambler, the prostitute, the nurse, the clerk, etc. D. Other Conditions: Besides the influences such as have already been mentioned, almost innumerable items or elements of environment exist that contribute to the im- pression of atmosphere. Such for instance are illness in the household ; educational influences ; religious surround- ings; the character of associates; poverty, manners, personal tastes and habits; dress; eating; — in brief, what- ever can be responsible wholly or in part for the mood, tone, or other quality essential in the life itself that is portrayed. The introduction of such items as material for narration can be so affected that it will cause the persons, incidents, and action to be seen in an encompassing medium of consistent, natural, significant psychological environment ; the story will, in all its parts, give evidence of the close observation, adequate comprehension, and full power of sympathetic presentation without which it will be deficient in that indispensable quality, subjective coloring. 9. By way of concrete illustration, assume now that several clergymen are gathered in a vestry room to discuss a religious crisis. If the material be well handled, the Theory of the Short Story Type 61 atmosphere will be an atmosphere of deep religious earnest- ness, with clerical and personal manners seen in a setting of church surroundings. Now, enter to the clergymen an ex-pugilist, converted in a mission chapel but retaining all the mannerisms produced by his breeding in the slums. In the proceedings that follow, he is prominent; and inevitably his appearance, personality, speech, and be- havior modify the previous atmosphere. It may be more human; it certainly will be less clerical and churchly. Further suppose that the worldly daughter of the rector, a society girl, now comes into the action. She modifies the atmosphere anew; her dress, her manners, her personality and ideals, are all felt, subtly but surely, in a changed quality in the situation. They suggest other influences in life than earnestness and religion, another outlook on life — an outlook foreign to the clergymen's and equally foreign to the crudely earnest pugilist's. Or let us assume a hos- pital ward, with nurses attending to their duties, and a pickle-faced martyr to her conception of duty haranguing on the subject of his soul an unfortunate nephew, occupa- tionally a ball-player, laid up in one of the beds. Merely to suggest such a combination of time, place, persons, and character, gives an impression of atmosphere — an atmos- phere individual and distinct. Then suddenly remove the maiden lady and in her place substitute a member of the invalid's team, airy, jovial, confident, and hearty. Presto ! the atmosphere is vitally changed. 10. Or again, let us assume a tenement house in the city. The halls reek with the smell of cabbage, corned beef, and onion. Doors stand indecorously ajar, display- ing glimpses of disordered rooms, scattered garments, old brooms, boxes, slouchy women, and dirty shouting chil- 62 Short Stories in the Making dren. Is not here an atmosphere of shiftlessness or in- competence? But add now some laughter and broad repartee. An impression of the element of irresponsible happiness supersedes the previous impression of shift- lessness. Then let the rent-collector and an officer ap- pear, with dispossess writs against one of the tenants; laughter gives way to grief, and neighborly merriment to neighborly sympathy. Yet again, suppose the author to conceive a story of village life, in which the selfish per- sistence of one man in keeping pigs produces unsanitary conditions from which an epidemic starts, causing the death of several neighbors' children. The author, tak- ing this theme seriously, turns out a story the atmosphere of which is heavy with selfishness and tragedy. And then suppose that he conceives his theme lightly instead of tragically, constructing a story in which neighborhood pigs, neighborhood rows, and simon-pure human nature supply a farcical narrative. The atmosphere is now quite changed. In these two instances, it is the author's viewpoint that determined what the atmosphere — and therefore the subjective effect on the reader — would be.' Illustration could be continued indefinitely, but the fact is already manifest. Anything whatever that, whether by outright assertion or by reactive suggestion, serves to produce a subjective impression, to create the illusion of psychological quality, is atmosphere material. 11. Atmosphere, we said, is hard to define. The at- mosphere story is hard to write — successfully. It is the work of the highly skilled ; for atmosphere is the fine flavor of literary and dramatic ingredients blended by a master. A writer may be able to develop a theme, construct and manage a plot, and portray a character successfully, and Theory of the Short Story Type 63 yet fall short of attaining true, or natural, or satisfying atmosphere. 12. For atmosphere is the product of high artistic gift rather than of immediate effort. Before there can be atmosphere there must be sharp and deep insight, catholic sympathy, and almost universal observation; and these must be accompanied by great powers of accurate literary expression. Without this observation, this knowledge of one's material in all its aspects, this under- standing and sympathy, or without the literary gift that enables one to give to others, through words, a realization of things as they have revealed themselves to him, — without these, there can be no fine exhalation of the inner nature of personality, surroundings, incident, and action into the illuminating, clarifying, softening, individual- izing, naturalizing, humanizing quality that we term atmosphere. 13. Of which comment, the moral is this: Before attacking the atmosphere story, master theme, plot, and characterization; learn nature, human nature, and men; acquire the habit of observing with all the minute care of the scientist and all the sympathetic understanding of the artist; and develop a master's skill in exact words. When this has been done — when you can report the thing as in itself it really is — you will not have to strive for atmosphere. The atmosphere will create itself for you, secured surely and accurately through the truthfulness of your report. 14. The student may feel some confusion about the relationship between atmosphere, as here defined, and the emotional appeal, frequently spoken of in discussions of fiction. The terms merely name different aspects of the 64 Short Stories in the Making same thing. Atmosphere is a quality possessed by and permeating the story, and inherent in its parts and ma- terials. Then, having atmosphere, it has emotional ap- peal — is able to set up in the reader a subjective, or emo- tional, response to its own subjective, or emotional, qual- ity. The one is cause; the other is effect. As we have noted, any and every element of the narrative may and usually does have, in some degree, subjective coloring, or emotional quality. It follows that every part and portion of the narrative may have emotional appeal (sub- jective stimulus). One well-chosen word, expressing a clearly-sensed feeling of the author for some inherent quality or mood of the situation, the person, the charac- ter, the scene, the environment, the act, may tinge or dye all the story with this same quality or mood. Emo- tional appeal (or subjective stimulus), therefore, depends upon subjective coloring, i.e., atmosphere; and atmosphere depends upon the fineness of sense with which the writer feels the manifold qualities of his materials and the ef- fectiveness with which he is able to translate these quali- ties into the words with which he reports the story. 15. Ultimately, then, atmosphere and subjective effect depend upon the author — first, upon the fineness, the sympathy, the comprehending power of his understanding and interpreting imagination, enabling him to put himself in every situation and in the place of every person in every situation, sensing deeply and truly the essential qualities inherent in them; and second, upon his well- considered selection of the particular qualities to be em- phasized and intensified for the purposes of the story. We shall see (XVIII. 3) that the story may be told from either of three main angles of view — as if it were nar- Theory of the Short Story Type 65 rated by (a) an actor in it, (b) an observer merely, or (c) a person completely dissociated from its events in every way — and that the author cannot get far in plan- ning his story until he has decided which of these angles of view he will adopt for his narration. We must now note also that his attitude of sympathy and emotion as well as his angle of narration will mightily affect the quality discernible in his story. It determines the in- herent quality by determining the particular aspects of the materials which he shall select and the particular qualities in these aspects that he shall, by means of his treatment and expression, intensify and make dominant in the narrative. He may elect to be sentimental in at- titude; in which case he will select incidents, settings, acts, character traits, speeches, and situations, that are predominantly sentimental. He may elect to be pathetic; in which case it will be the quality of pathos that he will seek in his selection of materials and his manner of treat- ment and expression. Or he may elect to intensify pathos into tragedy, or to assume a humorous 23 attitude ; his choice of materials, of treatment, and of expression always varying according to the requirements of this attitude. 16. The attitude, therefore, or subjective point of view, assumed by the author toward his story, is what determines its emotional appeal, or subjective quality; 23 The effect of the conte always tending to be in the main emotional, humor is suitable to it, but wit less so; wit being less emotional than intellectual in quality. The guises in which humor appear are: (a) permeative — dispersed throughout the story, re- gardless of its particular form or type; (b) comedy; (c) farce comedy; (d) burlesque. The presence of wit in dominating quantity tends to produce rather comedy of satire and irony than comedy of humor. 66 Shout Stories in the Making and it determines this by determining the selection of materials to be incorporated in the story as a means of provoking in the reader a subjective response to the feeling of the author — of putting him into a subjective attitude corresponding to that assumed by the author. A word more, then, may be worth while about the means available for communicating this feeling, and provoking this attitude. The sense of the subjective coloring, of the emotional quality, is communicated, first, by the ma- terials themselves, and second, by the language chosen with which to report them. The two means are of course always co-workers. But in the work of the inexperienced and the artificial writer, too much dependence on words and too little upon materials are often found ; they de- pend on words, not facts, for effect. Yet the words can produce (heir effect only when they are fully adapted to the thought and emotion — only when they adequately and truly report the facts to express which they have been as- sembled. Hence words merely, unbacked by feeling, are futile. The subjective quality must exist in the materials before words can be chosen fitly to embody, express, and communicate it. Yet the number of writers who depend on words instead of materials for subjective effect, is legion. 17. The selection of materials, therefore, wherein the subjective quality is inherent — of materials that are sig- nificant of subjective cjuality and mood — is imperative. This selection well made, the adapting of the language to the material may call for either of two procedures : cutting down the number of words, or increasing the number of words, i.e., using more words with a view to the full com- munication of a sense of the subjective quality. Words Theory of the Short Story Type 67 are to be increased when the facts themselves, less fully reported, will not sufficiently or certainly carry the effect of emotional quality. The author then employs epithets, descriptive phrases, and other quality- or mood-suggest- ing expressions — either denotative or connotative — in order that an adequate sense of the particular subjective quality may be aroused in the reader. Words are so used in the sentence, " Her vestal mannerisms and her too knowledgeable manner, as if she were overripe from mani- fold experiences of the world. . . ." 18. On the other hand, some facts and situations are so great and fundamental as to imply, without comment or addition, the quality or mood inherent in them. They make their emotional appeal simply, directly, and un- aided. The power and adequacy of the simple assertion, " Jesus wept," has been noted endlessly as an example. In dealing with such self -interpreting facts and situa- tions, the superb economy of speech often characteristic of the Bible is advisable. To be sure, every situation is a new situation, and therefore a rule unto itself; but no situation that is intrinsically emotional calls for much verbal exploitation. Such situations are those that most depend upon the primal, basic instincts and emotions of man; whereas those that depend upon less universal facts for their subjective quality may need interpretation. When, therefore, subjective effects are involved that de- pend upon acquired emotions, ideals, or points of view, 24 fuller characterization is necessary; for the quality of these is at once more diverse and less familiar to general 24 Such emotions, ideals, and points of view, for instance, as result from education; from sophistication; from economic and social status; from the refining influences of culture, etc. 68 Short Stories in the Making experience. Comparatively few words (for instance) are likely to be needed in conveying the emotional quality of a scene in which father and mother stand by the death- bed of their first-born; the situation carries and com- municates its own emotion. But writers have not un- happily expended pages in bodying forth the feelings of Penrod the grammar-school boy in some of the juvenile crises of life. The less obvious, the less familiar to general experience, the less an outcome of universal fact, the subjective quality is, the more likely it is to require fuller word-portrayal ; the more it depends on universal fact, the more familiar it is to general experience, the less it will require multiplication of words to procure it comprehension and provoke response. 19. With some more general explanation, we can now close this part of our discussion. As the story must have emotional, or subjective, quality, and as the quality pre- sented must be true, the author must, to produce the es- sential subjective coloring, have himself felt and com- prehended the feeling that he attempts to embody in his story. The more deeply and widely he has felt, therefore, the more will he be able to find in life, and to reproduce in his work, the essential elements of emotion. To have lived, to have loved, to have laughed, to have wept, and through accumulated experience to have ripened — this seems the logical preparation for the highest effectiveness in creating stories that will have emotional appeal — especially so in stories dealing with the more serious aspects of life. True, the exuberant fancy and spirits of youth make up to some extent for unripeness and in- experience — but not when the deepest meanings of exist- ence are to be interpreted. Youthfulness of spirit need Theory of the Short Story Type 69 not end with the early years of manhood; rightly con- served, emotion strengthens and intensifies itself, not thins and perishes; and he can best portray life who through maturity of thought and feeling — through long experience — has most perfected his knowledge of life. 20. But experience may produce, not ripeness, but that false maturity, sophistication. Better the green but vital imagination of youth than the mature but sophis- ticated indifference and cynicism of years. For deep, spontaneous, and natural emotion is not to be felt in sophistication. Neither is the sophistication belonging to a class, society, or age, to be permitted to pass its conven- tions and attitudes off in the place of true emotion. These things abound in subjective quality material, but are never to be mistaken for or presented as true emotion, and the author must preserve an attitude toward them that will result in showing them forth for what they are, not for the things they falsely assume to be. Before the deep as well as true emotion can be portrayed, the accidental must be stripped away, 25 and when persons who have be- come sophisticated, over-refined, or corrupted to a false conception of men and life, — when such persons are to be presented as feeling true emotion, they must first be brought back ruthlessly to their primitive human nature. This can be accomplished only by subjecting them to the humanizing influence of events that strike with brutal primal directness at the roots of their pride, pretense, 25 In such cases, the value of the " foil " — the character or situa- tion that offsets and contrasts with another — is great. The effect of presenting sham, convention, and pinchbeck emotion in contrast with the true emotion, is often tremendous. Consider the Maid of Orleans, in her sincerity and devout unselfishness a foil to all the court of France, and of England also. 70 Short Stories in the Making prejudice, ignorance, and self-complacency. And to be able thus to discriminate between the true and the false, between perverted and fundamental human character, the author must devoutly have preserved himself from false culture, false refinement, false pride, and false wisdom — which is sophistication and black ignorance. To see and to understand all things in all men — this must be his aim and achievement. 21. Yet truth compels the acknowledgment that an emotional appeal is sometimes made — at least with tem- porary success — by artificial stimuli, not by the legiti- mate method of reporting with accuracy the thing together with its natural accompaniment of subjective quality. It is possible to heap up pitiful details excessively — to portray emotion where none is present — to play on the feelings falsely — to get a burst of tears or a burst of laughter under Ci false pretenses." Bad practice, this, bad art, and bad artistic morals, the only temptation to which will perhaps be, the chance to sell to editors whose readers have a perverted taste and small artistic judgment. Whether 'tis better thus to sell, perchance to thrive, or to withstand the darts and slings of editorial rejections, keeping thereby one's artistic self-respect — that is the question. Let him who writes solve it, remembering that sucb editors do not represent all the market for literary wares; remembering, too, that the conscience too long accustomed to light behavior presently loses much of its sense of differences. Literary creativeness may fly out of the window when literary charlatanism comes in at the door. CHAPTER II THEORY AND PEACTICE OE THE PLOT XII. The Short Story Plot Much Resembles That of the One-Act Play 1. The conte is a one-act play narrated, not acted. On the whole, this is so nearly true that we can take the play, especially the one-act play, as a guide to most of the short story principles that are dramatic, not narrative, in their essentials. The principles of dramatic plot are especially available. If not all of them can be appro- priated bodily by short story art, those that cannot be ap- propriated can nevertheless be profitably studied by it. 2. What then are the essentials of a dramatic plot? They are : A. Persons acting. B. Persons acting in accordance with, or else (under the stress of conflict and situation) contrary to their previous character. C. Things happening or done (acts and incidents), these things constituting an interlocking series ending in a conclusive outcome. D. The things that are done resulting from the char- acter of the persons plus the situation (the sense of the word here is both general and specific). E. These things reacting on the persons in some such way as to seem likely to affect their future (especially 71 12 Short Stories in the Making as determined by their character. This will be shown in the outcome, in which the character will be seen either to persist unchanged after passage through a crisis, or else to have been altered in some respect as the result of pass- ing through the crisis). F. A set of conditions or influences, whether the re- sult of character or of circumstances, that affect the per- sons and are in opposition some to the others; this con- trary pull or push of influences rendering the outcome uncertain and thereby constituting the complication in the plot, this in turn creating the conflict and consequently the crisis. 3. Again, regarding the plot as an interlocking series of events culminating in a definite outcome, we shall find in it these fundamental elements, or constructional materials: A. Motive, motivation : The reason, or causes, of the things happening or done. These causes will lie in char- acter, or in the circumstances, or (usually) in character and the circumstances reacting on each other. B. Action: The things that happen or are done — acts and incidents (see Sec. IX, 4) proceeding toward the outcome. C. Outcome: The fulfillment, or issue of the action under the influence of the motivating causes. 1 4. Every plot must have a beginning, a middle, and an end ; that is, the matters that precipitate the action, the progress and development of the action and situation, and the conclusive outcome of the action as this action is in- 1 The technical term catastrophe is so often associated merely with tragedy and tragic outcome that it becomes confusing when used to designate outcomes that are not tragic. Denouement likewise is confusing and ambiguous. Therefore, the simpler term outcome is employed. Theory and Peactice of the Plot 73 fluenced by the attendant circumstances. The beginning is that portion of the plot-facts which makes plain to us enough of the character traits and circumstances in- volved to enable us to understand the action. The end- ing is that part which brings the outcome and its conse- quences. The middle includes all the plot-facts not be- longing to the beginning or the end — the main course of action, the main body of incident and event, the main part of the characterization, and (usually) the main portion of the atmosphere effects. 5. At this point we should make note of the difference between the order of events and incidents in the plot, as the plot is conceived to support the action and outcome (that is, as an abstract, or outline, of motivating causes and events), and the order of events and incidents as they may present themselves in the completed drama or story. In the plot abstract, everything must come in the natural order — cause before effect and motive before deed. Unless this order were followed, logical plotting would not be possible. But in the play or story that is built on the plot so conceived, this order is subject to free manipula- tion. The deed may be shown before its motive is re- vealed, the effect become apparent before its cause. This is here equivalent to saying that the opening of a play or story does not of necessity contain the material that actually constitutes the beginning of the plot, and that other variations also of the natural sequence may occur. This fact is mentioned at this time merely that the student, shall not be left to think that the beginning of the story necessarily is identical in content with the be- ginning of the plot. Let us therefore return to con- sideration of the plot. 74: Short Stories in the Making 6. Technically, the plot consists of several divisions, representing stages of progress, namely: A. The exposition, or stage of introductory explana- tion. This ends with the exciting moment, or inciting impulse — the moment at which the complicating influences first appear and the conflict begins to reveal itself. B. The rising action, or critical period. This begins with the inciting impulse, or moment, and continues, often by successive stages of increasing power or intensity, to the decisive moment. This point — that at which the out- come is, by the progress of events, made now sure — should when possible coincide with the so-called grand climax, height, or climactic moment. The climactic mo- ment, as usually defined, is the moment when the sus- pense is greatest, and therefore the interest most tense; it is frequently, though confusingly, termed the climax. But in truth the decisive moment, not the so-called height or grand climax, marks the end of the development and the beginning of the falling action; for this moment is that at which one certain outcome at last is made sure by the combined effect of events already past. Evidently, therefore, the most skillful plotting will be that in which the decisive moment, or height of the plot, likewise is the climactic moment, or height of the action — the point, that is, of greatest suspense and tensest interest. This does not, however, always happen; the height of the plot may not coincide with the height of the action, and therefore the grand climax may precede or follow the decisive mo- ment. It is more likely to follow than to precede. 2 2 In tragedy, the decisive moment is also known as the tragic moment. With the decisive moment (when recognized immediately), "anticipatory delay" begins; this continues until the outcome is Theory and Practice of the Plot 75 C. The falling action. This part is that which fol- lows the decisive moment. It can be regarded as the beginning and approach of the end. Frequent names for it are denouement, untangling, or resolution of the plot. We shall, however, be accurate enough and more com- prehensible if we call it merely that part which carries us on, as rapidly as may be, from the decisive moment to the outcome. It may contain the climactic situation; but when it does so, the interest of this situation will not in- frequently be found to depend on intensifying influences other than those of the bare plot. D. The outcome (also called by some denouement or catastrophe). In modern plotting, the tendency is more and more to telescope falling action and denouement into outcome, ending the action as quickly as possible after the decisive moment and the grand climax. Indeed, in the conte and the short play, " falling action " is often scarcely to he found. Instead, the decisive moment and the moment of grand climax practically include the out- come, or at least bring it immediately after them. Conclu- sions following the outcome are no longer found. 7. For a good many pages now our attention will be occupied by discussion of plotting and the plot. In con- sidering this discussion, the student should bear in mind this caution : the word " plot " may and often does cover everything from a bare statement of the central thought, theme, or germ-idea of the plot, up to the completed story embodying the plot in its final and most finished form. reached. Within it comes often a point of " final suspense," at which the outcome, before assured, seems again to hang in the balance. In fact, the anticipatory delay may include a numbeT of points of balanced suspense. 76 Short Stories in the Making Perhaps this will be clearer if we say that the plot may present itself in various degrees of fullness. These de- grees of amplitude, or stages of amplification, may be listed roughly as follows : A. Plot germ (or "master plot"). A more or less general conception, or thought ; the first undeveloped form of an idea out of which may grow a true plot. In effect, it is a theme ; and if the figure of speech be continued, we can say that the first stage of development from the plot germ produces the plot embryo (see B here following) ; the material is no longer in plasmic form, but has been organized and limited enough to have its own distinct form and characteristics, and its own natural tendency to grow or develop in a certain definite direction. That is, the plot germ turned into a plot embryo produces the working-plot. The embryo is more commonly the first form in which the plot occurs to the writer's mind. (See Hawthorne's notebooks for many examples of germ and embryo. ) B. Working-plot, or plot embryo. In the working-plot, the germ thought has been developed enough so that it affords a clear epitome, or miniature, of the full plot as it will be when developed. It is the complete plot com- pacted into the fewest possible words. The working-plot represents the first stage in the evolution that is enough advanced to present the plot definitely as a whole, al- though only in miniature. C. Plot abstract or synopsis. The plot abstract gives us the working-plot enlarged into a skeletonized summary of the leading incidents and action. In the plot abstract the writer provides for the solution of all his serious problems of motivation. Theory and Practice of the Plot 7T D. Scenario. A plot abstract amplified further, and rearranged to bring incidents, scenes, etc., into the order they will have in the completed story. Here the writer must adjust anything he finds amiss in the previous moti- vation; provide for the auxiliary and supplemental in- cident and situation and for any atmosphere materials not involved in his motivation of incident, action, and charac- ter ; and in general, reconstruct and amplify until he has a very definite forecast of the story in its completed form. The scenario may be regarded as a thoroughgoing ab- stract of the story in its completed form. A scenario confined solely to plot elements (amplified synopsis) is known as an action-plot. E. Fulfilled plot. This is merely the amplified scenario, or completed story. 8. The evolution of a plot, therefore, begins with the plot embryo (or the germ). Plot abstract and scenario represent the workman's devices for managing and subjecting his materials to his purpose. The fulfilled plot, or completed story, represents his skill as a workman in handling his materials and employing the devices of his trade, plus his innate literary ability. In reading the discussion that follows, the student will be helped by keeping these distinctions in mind, although the refer- ences are usually to plot abstract, and action-plot — the most important stages of plot construction. 9. Examples of plot germ, working-plot, and plot ab- stract are here given: (1) Germ: Dishonorable conduct on the part of a son who lacks a sense of honor may crush a highly hon- orable father. (2) Working-plot, or embryo (the germ idea developed 78 Short Stories in the Making into a more concrete conception) : Billings, lacking a sense of honor, by mispresenting facts induces his father to become surety on a bond for construction work that Billings fails to complete; and his father, scrupulously discharging the obligation, is ruined. [Another: Bill- ings, lacking a sense of honor, basely betrays an innocent girl, and his disgraceful conduct breaks his father's heart.] (3) Plot abstract: Billings, an unscrupulous man, is a contractor, and bids upon an important piece of con- struction. To make certain of winning, he names too low a price and specifies terms obscurely under which he expects to ''catch" the employing firm and recoup himself. But this firm is doubtful of him, and requires an iron-clad bond, which he cannot procure. In despera- tion he deceives his father about the facts and gets his signature to the bond. But Billings has to perform his contract under a competent and incorruptible inspector, and is therefore unable to work the tricks by which he expected to make his profits ; so that he finds himself with- out funds to complete the work and is ruined. His father, refusing to take advantage of technical defenses against his responsibility, sacrifices his own fortune in meeting his obligations under the bond, and is completely ruined. (4) Action-plot: This again would amplify the plot abstract, working out in detail the general action indi- cated in the abstract, and making any transpositions or inversions that seem desirable in the order of events. (5) Scenario: Would be the action-plot with the addition of the other necessary elements of the story in- dicated in compact form. Theory and Practice of the Plot 79 XIII. The Exposition is the Introducing Part of the Plot 1. Every plot has an outcome. This implies that there has, in the course of the action, been either a change or an imminent likelihood of change, from one state of . things to another; the change either took place, or else it was averted. This in turn implies that, to understand this change and the manner in which it came about or was averted, we must know what the state of things was at the time when the action began. The purpose of the exposition in plot is, to make known this state of affairs from which there is to be a change, or in which (after a period of struggle or critical uncertainty) change is to be averted. That is, the function of the exposition is, to make the story clear by putting before us the facts that belong to the beginning of the plot. 2. No one should take the term " exposition " to mean what is known technically in rhetoric as exposition, or infer that exposition, in the rhetorical sense, is the means finally to be employed in making the situation clear out of which the action has its rise. Eormal exposition has no prominent part in any stage of dramatic or narrative writing. This part of the plot is expository only in the sense that through it is clearly explained the beginning state of affairs. But even in the plot abstract, its methods are not the methods of rhetorical exposition, and like the completed story, it depends, even in its condensed form, mainly on narration, dramatic action, and description. Certainly when the time comes to embody the intro- ductory facts of the exposition in the story itself, they are to be presented as far as possible through the words 80 Short Stories in the Making and deeds of persons belonging to the story, and not through any formal explanation. 3. In the exposition, great compression and economy of detail are to be observed. By economy of detail is meant the introduction of no more facts than are neces- sary to serve the purpose. This implies the careful in- spection of all the pertinent facts, to determine which are most serviceable and which can be set aside. For some facts will prove unnecessary, either because they indicate matters that are already sufficiently shown, or because they indicate matters that are not essential to a clear following of the story. The principle of economy of detail is important throughout narration, hut it is es- pecially important in the exposition. For the exposition does not exist for it- own Bake, but merely as an aid to the understanding — an introduction to and initiation of the action; and it- usefulness and interest cease as soon as it has brought the reader to the poinl where he can begin to follow the movement of the plot for himself. •i. In the fulfilled plot, or completed story, distribu- tion of the detail closely follows economy of detail in importance. By distribution we refer to the gradual in- troduction of preliminary information as the narration proceeds. That all the information ultimately demanded by adequate exposition be introduced immediately when the story begins, is not necessary. The best results are likely to come from distributing this information through the story, some here and some there, as circumstances permit or demand. Xevertheless, in general principle, it should come as early as possible. Here it is necessary again to distinguish the order of the facts in the com- pleted story from their order in the plot abstract. In Theory and Practice op the Plot 81 the plot abstract, the facts necessary to the exposition of course come at the first, and it is not until we begin the. amplification of the plot abstract into scenario form that we face the problems of distribution. 5. As the information constituting the exposition can be presented in various ways, such a distribution is more easy than it would be otherwise. The information can be given in direct statement by the author; it can be em- bodied in descriptive passages;, it can be presented in the course of conversation between persons in the story; and it can be suggested by acts and incidents forming part of the action itself. Therefore, when he has the expository information clearly in mind, the writer finds many opportunities of distributing it, as needed, through" the narrative. That this method, when it is practicable, is the better, is obvious. An exhaustive outline of the situa- tion as a whole (whether this outline be introduced at the opening of the story or injected later on) is usually more mechanical and less pleasing than is an exposition skillfully scattered in inconspicuous places through the narrative. The distributed exposition does not attract attention to itself as such, but merges itself in the more important development of the story as a whole; nor does it interrupt or. delay the action as the undistributed . ex- position nearly always does. The explanation is realized without being perceived, and it so becomes more homoge- neously a part of the plot itself. 6. We well may emphasize the superiority of the dis- tributed exposition in bringing on the action more promptly. So far as narrative or dramatic interest is concerned, the story does not really begin until the de- velopment, or "movement," of the plot begins; all before 82 Short Stories in the Making this is nothing but prelude and make-ready. To hold back the reader longer than is necessary from the course of events in which his interest will find its source if he be- come interested at all, is poor artistry. To bring him as quickly as possible to the real stuff and business of the story is the aim of the skilled artist. A large proportion of the most successful stories open therefore with some- thing vital to the plot itself, leaving the expository matter for introduction later on. Frequently the necessary ex- position can be embodied naturally in the early speeches of the persons. This method is especially dramatic and effective. That by thus distributing this information the writer can usually clear the way for an Immediate plunge into the business of the story it-elf, is sufficienl evidence of the value of the distributed exposition. 7. Yet the general superiority of the distributed ex- position does uol imply that the distributed exposition is always t<> he preferred. A massed exposition may be better in particular instances. The nature of the ma- terial to be handled, the purpose of the author in telling the story, the mood or tone which he decides upon for the narrative, and the method of development which he adopts — any of these may make the massed exposition prefer- able or necessary. An illustration is afforded by one type of structure in the contrast story, namely, that in which the effect aimed at is produced by the difference between conditions as they are at the beginning of the story and as they are at the time of the outcome. True, distribu- tion of the expository matter may prove as advantageous in the contrast story as in any other kind, for the intro- duction of the successive portions serves constantly to renew the suggestion of contrast. But the writer may Theory and Practice of the Plot 83 prefer to set off the contrasted facts in two distinct groups, one balancing the other. He then unhesitatingly employs the massed exposition. 8. Somewhat of this type is Kichard Harding Davis's " A Question of Latitude " (in Once Upon a Time, Scrib- ner). In this story, the influence of tropical African life is shown upon the morals and tastes of a Boston gentle- man. The larger part of the story is consumed in making evident the nature, the savage brutality and vileness^of barbarian tropical existence; against which portrayal is balanced that part of the story in which the Boston gen- tleman is seen succumbing to these debasing influences. If we wish, we may object that part of this exposition is not exposition at all, but development, intensification, and atmosphere creation. Even so, however, the utility and effect of the massed exposition when used fitly can be plainly seen in Mr. Davis's story. 9. A review of these considerations reveals the fol- lowing chief facts about exposition as a plot factor : First, it is essential to an understanding of the outcome in all instances except those in which character, motive, and action completely explain themselves without preliminary exposition (that is, it gives us the beginnings). Second, the greatest compression and economy of detail are neces- sary in presenting the exposition, for the sole justification of the exposition is its service in making clear the story proper, and it must not usurp space or interest. Third, severe testing of all the information admitted is necessary, to avoid the introduction of matter that is impertinent or redundant. Fourth, in the fulfilled plot, distribution of expository matter through the story is usually preferable, because this enables the writer to enter quickly on the 84 Shoet Stories in the Making action of the story itself, and causes the exposition to merge more homogeneously in the narration; but the question of preferring the distributed to the massed ex- position must be answered by considering the nature of the material, the general plan of presentation, and the purpose of the writer. Finally, the test of a good exposi- tion is, sufficient but not superfluous explanation of con- ditions, especially at the beginning of the action, and thorough merging of this material into the story itself. 10. A list of the matters, some or all of which must be known in order to follow the plot understandingly, would be useful, but detailed enumeration is impossible. No one can foresee all the combinations open to the writer when his imagination begins to deal with the limitless mass of material at his command. Some suggestions, nevertheless are given. It will be noticed that all the items in such a list will be peculiar items — that is, they will name d\ tails peculiar to the one particular plot, theme, character, or atmosphere. Such matters as are common to all situations or are naturally assumed because they arc characteristic accompaniments of the situation developed by the story, call for no explanation. Information that is general property needs no exposition. 11. Expository information that the writer may need to mention includes: — A. Particular character traits that affect the plot (e.g., that a man is a woman-hater ; that a perfectly honest wife has the habit of flirting, etc.). B. Particular situations that affect the plot (e.g., that a broker is bankrupt, although his wife does not suspect it; that the maid is in love with the master; that the convict is an innocent man ; that the girl has inclosed the Theory and Practice of the Plot 85 wrong letters in writing to her two lovers at the same time, etc.). C. Names of the persons, with or without further in- formation at the moment (but at least a swift characteriz- ing touch is desirable). D. Occupation or station in life (is the hero a black- smith, a lawyer, a book-keeper? rich or poor? etc.). E. Personal facts — peculiarities, mannerisms, age, tastes, etc., as far as these things are necessary to the characterization or important to the action, theme, or atmosphere. P. Time, place, setting, and other elements of environ- ment. G. Any other items necessary to the comprehension of motive, complication, character, theme, action, atmosphere, situation, outcome, or to the final effect. XIV. The Exciting Moment, or Inciting Impulse, Begins the Development 1. The exposition represents the status quo, the exist- ing state of things, at the beginning of the action. 3 The moment this existing state of affairs, this status quo, is threatened with change, that moment the action — the movement, or development — of the plot begins. Something has happened or been done that threatens to produce, or actually produces, change ; 4 matters are not as they were ; a new condition or influence has thrust itself in, and this 8 The reader is cautioned to remember that the order of events in the plot abstract may not be their order in the completed story. We may now assume ourselves to be dealing with the action-plot. 4 This something we may call the generating circumstance % 86 Short Stories in the Making new element must either be overcome and got rid of, or else must be accepted and permitted to work its natural results. 2. From this moment, therefore, a struggle will be going on — light or serious, tragic or humorous — between this new influence and things as they were. Presently this contest will rise, through a period of climax, to a moment of crisis; then it will reach an outcome; and with this the story ends. Until this influence appeared, there was no complication, no uncertainty, no question of out- come. In the colloquial phrase, " everything was perfectly simple," quite plain. But the appearance of the compli- cating, or opposing, or change-threatening influence, the complication, brought on uncertainty, debate, struggle — that is, the con/lict. 3. Now the moment at which the status quo in which affairs were Bhown to us by the exposition, was brought to an end by the appearance of this complication, is known as the exciting moment; and the complicating influence, no matter what it be, is known as the inciting or exciting force or impulse. Evidently no action, and therefore no dra- matic effect, is possible before the inciting force is intro- duced. When the exciting impulse shows itself — again using the popular phrase — things begin to move; and with the beginning of movement in the plot begins the true development of the story. 4. We may now ask, what sort of thing can supply this inciting force, thus complicating a simple situation and commencing a conflict ? Theoretically, anything which in the experience of man has shown itself able to produce change in his affairs, either directly or indirectly, immediately or remotely, is available as a means of Theory and Practice of the Plot 87 complication. But technical, artistic, and practical con- siderations limit this range of choice of complicating influence. 5. It is desirable, for instance, that the conflict seem to spring from causes that are natural and even inevitable, and that the complicating facts fit the situation, agreeing with the persons, their character, their environment. That is, it must be natural and congruous. This is especially necessary for the generating circumstance. If either this, or the complication it introduces, be merely accidental, it is likely to seem improbable. If it be evidently manufact- ured, or be something " lugged in " or forced into the situation, it will seem artificial and untrue. To illustrate : It is not common for girls in the ranks of ordinary life to meet young noblemen; therefore when Annie, the daughter of the shoestore man, engaged to John the young, thriving, but, of course, bourgeois grocer, meets the prince of Schwindlermgut, who immediately begins to crowd John in the rivalry for her hand, we feel that the complica- tion is unnatural and forced. As a consequence, all the story seems untrue. But if instead of its being a prince who attracts Annie, it is Mike, the young plumber and hardware dealer, we do not have to gulp very hard to swallow the complication. Things like that do happen; they are natural ; and there is no incongruity about them such as there is in the courtship of a common and com- monplace girl by a prince. 6. Accidental complication is of two sorts: those com- plications arising from the ordinary chances and mis- chances of existence, and those arising from accident in the stronger sense of the term — a happening that is unusual and extreme. Extreme accident is illustrated by the 88 Shokt Stories ix the Making following : The wife of a paper manufacturer, happening to pick up, when visiting his mill, a sheet of paper from the waste about to be ground up for new pulp, finds it to be a love letter written to her, but never mailed, by her husband's trusted friend. By this she is led to fall in love with this friend. Xow such a discovery as that of the letter is possible, but so extremely accidental as to seem improbable. Only the remotest chance is involved; and if we accept the rest of the story, we can do so only by agreeing with ourselves to overlook the improbability that underlies the motivation at the outset. And this is hard to do; for the complication is vital to the story, and the generating circumstance must be convincing. It must seem natural and true to life. The inciting impulse and generating circumstance must seem more than merely adequate to produce the result that follows; they must seem true to the prevailing (not the exceptional) facts of human expi ru n< 7. The other sort of accident is that which constitutes the class of merely ordinary haps and mishaps — the kind common to everyday experience, occurring all the year round. Such occurrences seem probable rather than im- probable, they commonly bring no particularly significant consequences, and we instinctively class them with the ordinary events of existence; they soon cease to have meaning or distinction for us. Hence they are likely, when introduced as the inciting force or motivation, or the generating circumstance, to seem inadequate or to fail in impressiveness. This is why complications introduced by such accidents as sprained ankles, swimming mishaps, capsized boats, broken legs, runaways, fires, railway wrecks, sudden illnesses, and the like, usually lack the Theory and Practice of the Plot 89 quality of " convincingness " and make the stories fall flat. It is perfectly true that any one of such accidents may, if properly managed, constitute a thoroughly good complication. 5 Such is the complicating event in De Maupassant's A Piece of String. A pocket-book has been lost, a miserly old man picking up a bit of string alongside the path is believed to have found it, and from these simple happenings develops a series of incidents realisti- cally tragic in their outcome. 8. From what precedes, it is evident that exciting 6 moment, or inciting impulse, involves two things: the complication itself, and the discovery of the complication. " Discovery," like " exciting force," is a technical term. It indicates the revelation of the existence of a complicat- ing influence, the discovery taking place at the moment when the reader (not necessarily the person or persons affected by it in the story) becomes aware that this complicating influence exists. 7 So far as the impression is concerned which the story, at least for the moment, will make upon the reader, the discovery is as important as is the complication revealed by it. And both are subject to the same requirements. 6 This is much more the case in realistic than in romantic treat- ment. Unfortunately, the novice in writing usually attempts to use these accidents as motivating incidents in — supposedly — romantic stories. 6 The student will have observed that " exciting " has the sense of "being the causal force that arouses to action." In this sense, tickling excites laughter. Excitement, in the sense of tumultuous or highly-wrought feelings, may be quite absent at the moment when the exciting force begins to act. 7 " Discovery " is like many other technical terms in having two meanings. Thus, it often means the revelation of a hidden identity, or similar plot fact, at some crisis in the drama or story. 90 Short Stories in the Making 9. These requirements we may sum up in the word plausibility. Discovery and complication must each strike us with belief; and complete plausibility exists only when we accept them without any shade of feeling that they may be open to doubt. Yet plausibility is possible with- out truth, and our complications (even more than the discovery of them) should be able to stand the closest critical examination if the reader chance to question them. The writer, of course, makes a thorough test of them in deciding upon his plot. 10. Plausibility of the sort that can stand a thorough test is the result of consistency. Consistency, however, must not be regarded as essential merely at the moment when the complication is revealed. // is essential in every part of the plot . in ev( ry incident, every prrson, every act, every >ii<>lir<\ nnr responsible cause.'' In music, motive, or motif, is the theme and purpose of the composition. The word — preferably in its foreign form, motif — has been broughl over into literary criticism with this special- ized meaning; bo thai to speak of the motif of a story is to speak of its basic theme and purpose, taken together. But motive in it- common acceptation — not that of motif — means either, (a) the reason or object which leads a person to do a certain thing (" What was his motive for the murder?"), or (b) the set of causes out of which a, i n, -I springs (" AVhat was the motive for the murder ? ") 11. The only difference, however, between (a) and (b) is this: in (a) the attention is fixed on the person who acts; in (b) attention is fixed on the act itself. In the one, we consider the responsible cause as it involves character; in the other, we consider the responsible cause as it affects the result. This difference indicates the distinction — if any can be drawn — between motiving and motivating. Motiving consists in providing good and sufficient cause for the behavior of the person; motivating co?isists in providing good and sufficient cause for conse- Theoey and Practice of the Plot 97 quences found in act and deed and in event. We motive acts in character. We motive incident and action by means of plausible causes of any sort. 12. Adequate motivation, therefore, includes the con- sideration of motive and character, plus such other in- fluences as likewise determine action or create incident. The term is a technical term indicating the process by which the literary artisan builds action and incident out of the materials of environment, character, and situation. As a matter of fact, however, the student is as likely to find the process indicated by the more limited term " motive " as by this more precise designation ; for motive is always very prominent in motivation. The important thing for him to remember is, that character, act, and in- cident — each and all — must be rooted deeply in adequate cause. 13. How he shall motivate the incident of his plot is a matter that must be left to the story-teller to work out anew with every story ; for every plot is a new conception, and brings its own problems of construction and manage- ment. Its characters, its atmosphere, its incident, its ac- tion, and the detail wherein each of these is embodied, are distinct from those of every other plot. They are peculiar to this one conception, and the combining of them con- sistently and effectively is a work that depends for its success solely upon the constructive ability of the writer and the skill he has acquired through practice. 14. Yet a few hints can be given. For instance, the " row-of -bricks " ordering of incidents is usually less nat- ural and less satisfying in results than is the " dissected picture " method of combination. By " row-of-bricks " is meant the plotting of the incidents in a series, the first 98 Short Stories in the Making of which results in the second, the second producing the third, the third the fourth, and so on, as one brick in a row, falling, knocks down the one next it, and so begins a movement that knocks down all the row one by one. But by " dissected picture " method is meant the dove- tailing, or interlocking, of each incident with various others, until all are fitted into place and at last — and only then, with the completion of the most skillful combination — the problem of the conflict shows itself solved. 15. An example of the chain-of-sausages, or row-of- bricks, plot will be found among those given in Section III. The weakness of this style of plot is twofold. In the first place, it is Dot as consistent with the usual order of events as is the plot <»t" interdependent incident, because in the natura] order <}' the situation, (he charm of the atmosphere, the power or attraction of the characti r traits, must not only continue, but grow. Unless in this sense the incidents constitute a Beries, the holding power of the plot itself will fail. No reader read- a story that "drops off" as the action proceeds. The very terms "rising action," "development," "growth," used to describe this stage of the plot, imply rising interest, developing int. wing interest, advancing interest. This result is essentially the object sought in dramatic plotting. The very aim and purpose of the close-wrought plot is, to produce and fulfill a rising interest 19. Yet in the struggle to make each incident of higher interest than the one before it, the inexperienced writer may easily fall into a serious fault — that of exaggerating, of over-straining for effect. Xor is the student to under- stand that the term " interest " is an absolute term, or that interest is synonymous with excitement, " strenuous " action or situation, or sensationalism in any form. It does not imply that, if incident A kills off a man for us, Theoey axd Practice of the Plot 101 incident B must kill off two or else fail of interest; the increased interest of incident B may lie in its showing us the murderer happily eating breakfast in the bosom of his admiring family. This mistake about the nature and quality of interest leads the writer to strive at any cost for increasing effect, and is as fatal as it is common. It produces an artificiality of plot and treatment that recklessly deserts nature and truth. Rather, interest must be measured by considering 10 the kind of story, the kind of situation, the sort of persons, the manner of incident employed, and the kind of outcome — all these together. The interest of the arrow-pierced target legs in Kipling's Cupid's Arrows is relatively as great as the interest of poor little Bisesa's chopped-off hands in the same author's Beyond the Pale, but it is of an entirely different kind and quality, and neither incident would for a moment be usable in the other of these two stories. 20. All this amounts to saying that interest is a rela- tive fact only, and is to be measured, so far as the sequence of incidents is concerned, solely by the standards estab- lished by the particular story that is in the making. The most powerful incident in De Maupassant's The Necklace is practically nothing more than the brief sentence of dialogue in which Mme. Loisel learns that she has slaved ten years to replace a lost necklace the gems of which were nothing but paste. Further, the interest of any incident does not lie solely in itself. The plot interest of any incident lies in the significance of this incident in associa- tion with all Us companion incidents (as in that just cited from The Necklace). The incident is interesting either because (a) it carries forward to a new stage what has 10 For suspense and interest, see XVIII. 102 Short Stories in the Making already occurred, or (b) introduces new elements of com- plication, or (c) adds significant information to what we already have, or (d) introduces action that seems to offset 'preceding events, tJius renewing or increasing uncertainty. 21. This being true, aw sec that the most trivial hap- pening, the most commonplace act or remark, may become, as an element of plot, vitally important and vitally interesting. From the point of view of plot, therefore, interest lies not so much in what the incident itself is as in what it stands for in the development of the plot Thus, in Moonlight (De Maupassant) we are not deeply concerned in the beauty of the night as the woman-hating Abbe Marignan Beee it: tens of thousands of men and women have seen and reveled in nights as fair. What makes it interesting i- not this, but its effect upon the Alilx'-; for it touches an unsuspected spring of sympathy in him, reveals what to him is a new element in human life; and thus, transforming his conception of God and man. remodels his character. Moreover, through the story, De Maupassant presents a theme thai cannot fail to inter- est many thoughtful persons, and from the theme too, the incident derives inter* st 22. Plainly, then, interest in any incident lies largely in its significance as a plot element " — in what it stands for or brings about in developing the action toward the outcome. But because, for plot purposes, the interest lies in the result more than in the incident, we are not to 11 This assertion is somewhat lopsided. In character stories, interest will lie largely in the characterizing value the incident has; in atmosphere stories, in its power to suggest atmosphere; and so on. according to the purpose of the story. This fact should be carefully noted. See concentrative incident, etc., ffl 30-42. Theory and Practice of the Plot 103 suppose that incidents which in themselves are uninterest- ing, can be safely used. Quite the contrary. No material that is inherently tedious will become less tedious for serving as an exemplum or an argument. True, incidents that are not, of themselves, of any particular significance, can be effectively employed — but only when they become positively interesting through their relation to the rest of the plot events, and the best results are those that follow when incidents themselves of positive interest are employed to carry forward a plot that itself is interesting. In thus attempting, however, to estimate the positive or in- trinsic interest of any plot material, we are on very dangerous ground; for to one who has eyes to see, ears to hear, and power to understand, nothing is without significance, and what is trivial, trite, jejune or com- monplace in the hands of the incompetent is not so in the hands of a master. So long as any incident or act is true to the nature of things and is so used as in some way to advance the presentation of a conception that likewise is true to the nature of things, and that is important enough to deserve development, so long will that act or incident be interesting within the story. 23. Reviewing, we recall that interlocking incident produces more effective plot than does row-of-bricks inci- dent ; that interest must increase with the progressive appearance of the various incidents essential to the plot ; that incidents are interesting, in their plot relations, not for intrinsic qualities, but for their significance as develop- ing elements in the action ; and that, with masterly insight and skillful handling, even the most commonplace matters become significant. We are now to see that the principle which prescribes a steady rise in interest with the develop- 104 Short Stories m the Making ment of the plot, is subject to qualification. But this qualification, let the student note at once, is in no degree a modification of the fundamental rule that we have just been considering. 2-i. The qualification mentioned is, indeed, nothing more than an explanation of conditions that arise when a more or less full or complex plot is to be carried to its decisive moment ; for in such a plot there may be several interlocking groups of incident (movements; events), the groups having perhaps little plots, or chains of develop- ment) of their own. Bui here we musl digress to say that subplot, or any complexity of incident, is danger- ous ni lli' conte. The mere -pace limitation of the Btory often make- adequate development of such a plol impossi- ble. Moreover, with an increase of complication and incident (involving more extensive characterization, more numerous persons and motives, more intricate motivation, a more inclusive in short, a multiplicity of interest elements and material-), the one single, unified, simple effect of the dramatic story (conte) becomes increasingly difficult to produce. Often single effect be- comes impossible, and the narrative passes over from conte into novelet or novel. 25. Yet the fact does remain that a certain amount of complexity of plot is possible, even to the extent of subplot. But these are occasional instances only, and development of subplot, and solution of the separate complications in them, must be possible with extreme simplicity of action and of detail. Only so will the narrative be preserved in the form of the conte. Keeping now in mind this important warning — that a complex plot, if given adequate development, may so increase the necessary amount of Theoey and Practice of the Plot 105 fictional material as to render singleness of dramatic effect impossible — we may return to our explanation. 26. In the complex plot, we said, there may be several groups of incident. These groups fit together to make the complete plot, but each of them is developed to a consider- able degree separately. Now, the requirement that interest steadily increase applies to the management of these groups in the plot when the plot is considered as a whole, just as it applies to single incidents in the simpler plot. That is, as the development passes from one group to another, the interest must continue steadily to rise. At the close of the development of group B, it must be higher than it was at the close of the development of group A, and so on. Indeed, every group, in its relation to the plot as a whole, is practically equivalent to a single incident in a simple plot ; it produces an advance and a higher interest. 27. So much is plain. But what happens when interest, following one group of incidents, or movement, through its individual course of development to its in- dividual climax, then finds itself suddenly at a stop unless it take up and follow through another group % Does not this pause and turning back produce a break and a let- down in the interest? It does. And this is one reason why the subplot and the plot of complex incident is dangerous for short story (conte) purposes. The breaking of continuous interest at the points where one stage of development ends and the action turns back or changes in order to develop another stage, may destroy the reader's feeling of unity, of totality, of singleness of interest, of material, and of outcome. If it do so — good-by to the true short story effect. 28. But, on the other hand, one group of incident may 106 Short Stories in the Making be very closely wrought in with the next, 12 and the groups can perhaps be so promptly and simply developed that the break does not become serious. Then no harm is done. As one passes from one group to the next, he feels that he is actually moving forward in the story; before one group is fully developed, the development of another has been begun, and whatever gap there might be is already bridged across. In fact, the rising action may be, and often is, not an unbroken upward increase, but rather an increase by successive stages, or degrees. Interest rises through Btage A to the climactic moment of that stage; then, Btill alert, it turn- quickly to the incident of stage B. So far as this B group is concerned, it is not yet thoroughly aroused ; but even at the outsel it is higher than it w<»uld be had it not been already excited by following through Btage A: and it continues to increase until, when the climactic height of Btage B is reached, it is as high as the effect of all the incidents in group B phis the held-over interest of Btage A can raise it. That is, we may compare the grand climax of the whole plot to a mountain peak in the further and highest range of a mountain Bystem. To reach the final peak, we must pass over several intervening ranges, with the valleys that lie be- tween. But every succeeding range is higher than the one 11 Some of the technical devices for binding such groups together are: Having persons who take part in one set of incidents appear in the other set; making a happening of one set become the cause of something that happens in the other; carrying one set partly through, then breaking off to take up the other, returning later to the first once more; causing the two sets to take place at one and the same time — a fact indicated by time references as may be needed. So slight a thing as the occurrence of two events in the same place tends to bind them together. Theory and Practice of the Plot 107 before it, and every succeeding valley is at a higher level than the last preceding valley; until the last valley is crossed and we attain the master summit. 29. Thus from stage to stage the interest is kept alert, held over, and increased. If at the beginning of each new stage of development it drops back a little from the point where the height of the preceding stage left it, it drops back but a little, and it quickly rises higher still as the incidents of the present stage combine with those of the preceding stages. By a series of successive climaxes, therefore, each having a starting-point higher than did the one before it — by such a series of successive stages or movements, the development goes on and the interest rises. The decisive point is reached; the grand climax is completed; and the outcome either has been revealed already (at the climactic moment) or is just before us. The ranges have been crossed, the peak scaled. Interest has been conserved at every point, and has been made to grow steadily through every stage of the rising action. In the story of complex plot, as in the story of simple plot, the rule of intensifying interest has held. 13 30. Before we pass to consideration of the next stage of the plot we must discuss, however, the function of the plot as the carrier of non-plot material. For often a con- siderable amount of story material must be introduced that 18 Evidently, the opening of the different movements in such a story is a trying problem. On the one hand, these "valleys," or internodes and points of lowered interest, are plainly the place for introducing massed exposition, description, etc. But on the other hand, they are as plainly under the necessity of getting the new movement under way as promptly as possible, so that interest may not slacken. Here as elsewhere, the safer practice seems to be, to reduce accessory matter to a minimum, 108 Short Stories in the Making is not plot material (in the strict sense of the term "plot"), but which is just as necessary to the success of the conte as is the plot itself, with its conclusive outcome. 31. The plot, we must remember, no matter how slight or how inconspicuous it be, is always and ever the frame- work, tin' supporting -keleton of the story. The skeleton must be filled forth into a body. Therefore, as the frame- work of the story, the pl6t must provide, in some or all of its different divisions, opportunity for the adequate presentation of every elemenl thai enters into the final effect of the story. Somewhere, the plot musl provide opportunity for presenting character, atmosphere, Betting, situation, m I, emotion — all that enters into the com- pleted narrative and helps t<» make it a finished creation. Therefore, sown whi r< in tfo /-/"/ as finally <>r/■ \ry jxissikjc of description and of dialogw . for < vi ry sa ne, act, situation, and incid al f<> getting lie needed story material before the n l<>f, but thai are, nevertheless, vital to the total effect of tJie presentation. Such incid re vital to the pl<>t are known as plot incidents : and it is this kind of incident with which we are concerned throughout the present chapter. But here we must mention the so-called developing, or amplifying, material — a better designation for which is intensifying or concentrative material. A plot incident is one that cannot be omitted, or of which the essential character cannot be made different, without destroying the plot itself by re- Theory and Practice of the Plot 109 moving its essential motivation, or else changing it so fundamentally that its outcome is thereby changed. 14 A concentrative or intensifying incident, however, is one that can be omitted without fatally crippling the plot in its original form, or that can be changed or varied materially without producing thereby a different outcome. 33. The purpose of the plot incident is, to achieve the outcome; the purpose of the intensifying , or concentra- tive, incident is, to center attention on significant facts of any sort, to concentrate in a limited space and time as much of typical action, characteristic trait, significant environment, and other elements of the desired effect, as it can pack in. By selecting elements and material that will go furthest toward producing the desired impression, and presenting this significant material in well-managed incident, the writer concentrates its force and intensifies through it the final effect of the story. 34. We here speak primarily of incident as the means employed to present concentrative material; but we must fix in mind that intensifying material does not lie in act and incident only. Both character (expressed in acts), and atmosphere, in all their limitless variations, are inten- sifying material of the greatest value. Nor is incident the only means available for presenting these sources of con- centrated interest and interpretative fact. But this we need not discuss here. 35. To distinguish or even to discriminate the plot incident from the amplifying, or concentrative incident, is difficult. In the best stories, plot incidents are likely to be the only incidents employed, the writer's gift ena- 14 Such incidents will seldom occur in the plot until it has reached the synopsis stage of development. 110 Short Stories in the Making bling him to conceive a plot so perfect, and to develop it with so sound judgment in the selection and command of material, that adequate presentation of the plot itself results in adequate presentation also of all other elements essentia] to the effect desired. Yet the introduction of incident-, and of other material, nol to further the plot, but to emphasize Borne element thai will contribute to the total effect, ie frequent In general, therefore, we miv that plot incident may be (and should be) concentra- five incident; that intensifying incident may be plot incident ; and //"it < Ufa r may shade off into or merge with incidents of the other class, (The term " incident " may here be interpreted to mean any material necessary to the intended i ft ci of the story, | 36. Brief illustration will Bhow the nature of plol incident Tin germ idea of our plol is this: A boh, lacking a Bense of honor, commits an act which ruin- his father, the soul of honor. Considering how to develop a plot from this idea, we Bee that the ruin worked upon the father may he either material (financial) or psycho- logical; the son may bankrupt hi- father or he may break his heart, or he may do the latter by first doing the former. We decide upon financial ruin. To ruin Ids father financially, the son must d<> Borne act or acts in- volving hi- father's fortune. Formulating a work inn-pint, we will assume that he i- engaged in contracting, and that to secure an important <-.>nrra<-t he offers a bond signed by his father under a misapprehension. Unable to carry out his agreement (as he knew he might be), he forfeits the bond, the payment of which ruins the old man. 37. In this transaction we have a plot incident; that is, an incident indispensably a part of the series that brings Theory axd Practice of the Plot 111 about the predetermined outcome. After the working- plot has been decided on, a plot incident cannot be materially changed, since to change it would materially alter the action or the outcome. From the plot germ stated above, various working-plots might have been developed (as is true of any master-plot or plot germ). Billings (the son) might have forged his father's name to a crushing obligation; he might have compelled him to meet ruinous gambling debts; he might have cornered and taken advantage of him in some " deal " ; and in numerous other ways, he might have brought him to bankruptcy. In each of these working-plots, the inci- dent employed — the forgery, the gambling payment, etc. — would have then been a plot incident, and would have been indispensable to the development of that particular working-plot. We may, therefore, define a plot incident as any incident that is indispensable as a motivating step toward the production of the outcome required by the working-plot adopted. 38. Now let us change the character of the outcome, and state another working-plot to match. Billings is to break his father's heart, not merely his finances. To do this, his acts must strike at the old man's sense of honor, not at his fortune. What the son does must be of a sort so conclusively and crushingly dishonorable that the father shall feel himself and all he holds dear involved in the dishonor of the son. The son may, for instance, betray for a price the secrets trusted to him of a great cause to which his father and his father's friends have devoted life and fortune. This betrayal, like the bond transaction, is a plot incident — an incident that is an indispensable part- of the series intended to produce the outcome. True, 112 Short Stories in the Making any other incident of a sort permitting it to be similarly employed to bring about the same outcome — the breaking of the father's heart — could be used as a plot incident suitable to this plot, provided it were equally forceful, vivid, and natural, and in general offered equal dramatic, theatric, and narrative advantages. Thus, base behavior on tin- son'- part in the betrayal of an innocent woman mighl as completely crush the father. Bui the working- plot would nol then be the Bame; a new and different working-plot would have been created. 30. Such are plot Incidents — incidents indispensably a part of the particular Beries meanl to bring about the outcome But amplifying or intensifying materials may lected much more freely than may strictly plot materials. Amplifying incidents are not necessarily part of the causative series indispensable to the predeter- mined outcome; they may only concentrate attention upon some fact, or quality, or emotion, that will directly or indirectly, but Burely, contribute to the intended final effect So to contribute, they musl be adapted to awaken immediate response in the reader, and must be in keeping with the story as a whole; for incongruous material is always to be Bhunned absolutely. Any maU rial, therefore, that it Ing with the plot, tfa & tting, the tone of the narrative, and the character of th -. may be intro- duced into tl\> of heightening its effect: provided that this material /<< so managed thai it do not interfere with the progress of the plot. For, how- ever effective it may be toward intensifying desired effects, if it. nevertheless, occupy too prominent a place or require too extended treatment in proportion to other parts of the story; if it attract attention to itself, to the obscuring of Theory and Practice of the Plot 113 the main theme or plot; or if it otherwise cease to be frankly and solely subordinate and contributory, usurping on the contrary the attention due only to the main theme and plot; — then it must be subdued, or if this prove im- possible, must be resolutely rejected for some less stub- born material. 15 40. Concentrative or intensifying passages abound, for intensification is freely employed to emphasize the sig- nificant facts of character, environment, atmosphere — of everything, indeed, involved in the total impression aimed at in the story. A single paragraph from The Outcasts of Poker Flat (Harte), although taken at random, sufficiently illustrates the nature of the concentrative incident. It reads : ". . . Mr. Oakhurst . . . had met him some months before over a ' little game/ and had with perfect equanimity won the entire fortune — amounting to some forty dollars — of the guileless youth. After the game was finished, Mr. Oakhurst drew the youthful speculator behind the door and thus addressed him : i Tom, you're a good little man, but you can't gamble worth a cent. Don't try it over again.' He then handed him back his money, pushed him gently from the door, and so made a devoted slave of Tom Simson." 41. This incident, or episode, has nothing to do with the outcome in any way. Its sole purpose is, to concentrate attention on and emphasize the character qualities of the two persons whom chance or fate has thrown together once more, this time to be partners in the tragic outcome of a 16 We must concede, however, that some thoroughly successful short fiction owes its value to its contributory, not to its essential, elements. 114 Short Stories in the Making series of events 1C unconnected in every way with their former meeting. Yet as a concentrative episode, this incident is so in keeping with the rest of the story, is so simply and skillfully managed, so natural and well-chosen from the great numher of incidents that the author might have employed to the Bame end, bo thoroughly kepi bud- ordinate to the main facts, that the reader does not in the tVcl its complete disconnectedness from the plot. A- an example of Bkillful choice and skillful management <.f intensifying, or emphasizing, material, it will repay further study. 1l\ The Btudent will observe that the discussion just given t.> concentrative, intensifying, or emphasizing, in- cidents is Bomewhat a digression. It has, however, been Introduced here for several reasons. First, it i- desirable that the difference between plot incidents ami non-plot incidents be fixed permanently in mind. Second, it i- ssary that, here or elsewhere, attention be directed to the function of the plot as the carrier of non-plot material. Third, the Btage of rising action, or development, i- the in which plot incident most prominently occupies tin- writer at the time when he i- constructing his plot; for although plot incident will he found in every stage of the ph.r from the moment when the complication first appear-, it i- in the rising action Btage that the most skillful and careful man, of it is required, in order to create the decisive moment. Without forgetting the importance of intensifying incident in the story when finally completed; ami realizing that this sort of incident, like plot incident, may occur in any part of the story, hut is likely to he most prominent in the stage of exposition: ia Let the student pick out the plot incidents in this story. Theory and Practice of the Plot 115 and of the rising action ; — the beginner will, therefore, in constructing his plot, have to concern himself — prior to the scenario stages — with the creation and organization of plot incident only. XVI. The Falling Action Brings the Outcome and Close 1. Broadly speaking, when the ontcome has been made sure through the gaining, by one set of influences, of a permanent advantage over the other set, as determined by the decisive moment, the best thing thereafter is, for the action to bring on that outcome as rapidly and impressively as possible. For suspense continued and renewed, for ac- cumulating incident (either plot or concentrative), the place is rather before than after the decisive moment. The place for a regatta at Niagara is not in the falls, nor in the waters that have been caught in their rush. And the plot that has come to its decisive moment has been caught in the rush of the stream toward the falls. The end once determined, the outcome at last made sure, is to be reached and got over as quickly as may be; for if he wait too long, the reader loses interest. This considera- tion dictates the principle that is more and more showing itself in drama and dramatic narrative; namely, that falling action shall be reduced to the least possible amount. 17 2. For this advice, there are two justifications: When 17 Continuing the Niagara comparison, the decisive moment is that at which the waters are caught in the rush toward the falls, and the falling action is their sweep forward from that moment until they plunge over the precipice. 116 Short Stories in the Making the outcome is made to coincide with the decisive moment and the climactic height, it is likely to gain greatly in effectiveness — the impression it makes is quicker, deeper, and stronger — that is, more theatric, in the best sense of the term. When their pull begins, the falls themselves — and the end of the Btory — arc at hand. Such an ending materially strengthens the dramatic effect sought by the conte, and is nearly always characteristic of the closely- wrought plot In addition to this, the omission of amplify- ing materials wherever they arc unnecessary to the full development and effect, is in accordance with the general principle of compression, or economy of detail, thai we have already mentioned, which prescribes: the fewest and simplest means with which the desired effect ran be fully wrought, •".. [nclusibn of the outcome in the decisive momenl is particularly advisable in Btories which, in the course of the rising action, have made very plain what the results are that the conflict can produce. The reader, clearly per- ceiving the consequences of this or thai turn of events at the height of the conflict, and watching with eager interesl to see what this turn will be, knows as soon a- he sees it what the outcome i-. When the h.. ;t r i- just above the falls and the rope holding it breaks, the resl is BUre. When the decisive turn takes place, the problem is solved. If the decisive turn reveals it-elf, the end of things is already clear to him; he understands this end; he realizes in ad- vance its grief or happiness, it- comedy or tragedy. There- fore, he needs little or no falling action, untangling, or resolution, little or no separate presentation of an outcome already felt in its full force. We should have to qualify this assertion only as it affect- one kind of story. ]]lien the Theory and Practice of the Plot 117 effect sought is that which springs from contemplating the steady, sure approach of fate (usually tragic, although it may be comic), the proportions are reversed. The rising action is short, the decisive moment comes early, and the falling action is long drawn out. Naturally, in this kind of story, the climactic point is more or less widely separated from the decisive moment. 4. In most stories having closely-wrought plot, there- fore, the decisive moment, the climactic situation, is itself the final, the conclusive situation; and to hitch on other incident or situation is to couple on an empty trailer behind the observation car. The trailer merely interferes with . or spoils the view from the observation-platform, the decisive climax. In a story so plotted and managed that its decisive height embodies or unmistakably suggests the outcome, further scenes or situations after that of the decisive height are superfluous, and dilute and nullify the impressiveness of the plot culmination and climactic height. 5. Nevertheless, well-built plots may not always permit this complete telescoping of decisive height and outcome. The decisive turn of events does not always make plain to the reader what the outcome is to be, but only which set of conflicting influences is to prevail. Indeed, some stories would fail of their effect (cf. par. 4), and some plots would refuse to yield themselves to development, if this rule were universal. The surprise story especially is likely to require further action after the decisive point has been reached ; for its essential characteristic is, the springing of an unexpected outcome brought about by a set of influences which only at the very last are seen to have combined decisively some time before. 118 Short Stories ix the Making 6. In stories likewise that emphasize character, espe- cially those thai presenl character transformed as the result of the conflict depicted in the story, it may be necessary to carry on the action after the decisive moment; for what determines the outcome may merely draw this outcome in its train, not includ if. The character facts may depend upon the influences which, at the decisive height of the plot, combine to one Bure result, but the full working out of which may not yet have taken place. Therefore, to enable these influences fully to work oul their results on the character they affect, additional incident and action may be necessary. Even the bare fact that verisimilitude often requires the impression of passage of time between cause and effect may make such additional incident and action advisable. Very often these considerations bold also when applied to the plot story. 7. \\Y must acknowledge, therefore, thai although the telescoping of outcome with decisive moment is highly ive when it can be accomplished, Dot all pint- will yield t<> it. Wholly legitimate conte plots may require further action, further incident ami situation, t<» carry them forward from the point where the outcome i- made sure to the point where this outcome is actually reached. The decisive moment i- not always decisive except as we h.n.k back at it: and i T often i- not sufficient in it-elf to Bupport the outcome mile-- reinforced by incident, action, tuation following it. In Bhort, after th outcvm made sure, it must still be brought to pass; and to bring it to pass, compl< t- ly motivated, and at last to present it as conclusively the result of the whole plot, is the func- tion of that division of the plot termed the falling action. In other words, the falling action brings forward and con- Theoey axd Peactice of the Plot 119 summates what the rising action and decisive moment have made sure. 8. Illustration of these explanations will make them clearer. In The Pope's Mule (Daudet), the plot has a clearly distinguishable stage of falling action, or resolution. The height of the plot 18 — that is, the decisive moment — comes when Vedene so maliciously conducts the favored mule to the top of the great tower, thus frightening and humiliating her greatly. From that time, but one outcome is possible: the mule will have her revenge. But the opportunity for it must be created, and the stage prepared for its actual accomplishment. Hence comes the addi- tional stage of the plot, wherein this outcome is prepared for. Seven years she waits her opportunity . Then Vedene, returning from long service away from Avignon, receives the appointment he has asked, and is taken to see the beloved mule whom he pretends so to admire. Only then has the outcome been sufficiently motivated; only then is the famous kick — the kick that she had been saving up for seven years — ready to be delivered — " a kick so terrible, so terrible, that even at Pamperigouste one could see the smoke ; a cloud of yellowish smoke in which fluttered an ibis plume, all that was left of the ill-fated Tistet Vedene." 9. For the sake now of understanding what is meant by the uniting in one situation of decisive moment and outcome, let us tamper a little with Daudet's plot. The mischievous Vedene gets the poor mule to the top of the tower ; she brays forth her terror ; the humiliating process of rigging her into the cradle ready for lowering back to 18 Remember that the height of the plot is not necessarily the climactic moment of the narrative. 120 Short Stories in the Making earth has been completed. She stands waiting to be swung off. At this moment, not seven years later, Vedene comes within reach of her heels and receives her kick. In the very moment of her humiliation, Bhe avenges herself. The plot is now closed, the action is complete, the story ended. In every respect (perhaps) except one, this management of the outcome is more effective than is that actually used, in which a period of falling actios intervenes. Bui that one reaped is exceedingly important: it i- tin- long waiting that make- the kick really impressive. In the story as Daudel produced it, we gain, from the long years through which -h«- kepi it burning, an idea of the intensity of the mule's hatred ; in the plot of telescoped beight-and-outcome, do Buch impression could have been created. The mule's kick in the telescoped v. rsion is the result only of sudden anger and passionate impulse. In this instance, then, the form with falling aci as a longer ami more satisfy- ing period of suspense, a deeper realization of mule charac- ter ami motive, and a higher gratification at the ultimate success of the tremendous kick. 10. Bere falling action clearly ha- advantages; hut such is not always the <•;(-«•. In Markheim (Stevenson) we have an excellent example of the Btory in which the turning-point and the out telescoped. The turn- ing-point is that where Biarkheim's coi ncceeds in making him realize exactly what he ha- become and what — except for a single possibility — he will always be (but increasingly worse as the years go on). This point comes almost at the close of tin Btory, and the closing lin< the story itself are virtually the closing lines of the para- graphs in which this climactic situation is developed. Markheim in effect Bays, " Well, if I cannot change for Theory and Practice of the Plot 121 the better, I can at least prevent myself from growing worse in this terrible way " ; and thereupon, going to the door, he throws it open to the servant and says, " You had better go for the police. I have killed your master." Thus his last act closes not only the decisive situation, but also the plot and the story. De Maupassant's The Coward presents a similar example. The decisive situation is that in which the viscount, shaken by fear and torn be- tween impulse and reason, mechanically picking up the dueling pistol, finds it loaded. Five sentences later, " he suddenly thrust the pistol into the very bottom of his throat and pulled the trigger." Three more sentences end the story itself — and these three are not needed. 11. The question, w T hether to telescope or not to tele- scope, will therefore be answered automatically by the plot conception itself. According to the requirements of the plot as ultimately it dictates itself to the writer's construc- tive and artistic sense, falling action will or will not be called for. But when it is not called for, the plot and the story will be better without it. CHAPTER III THE COMPOSITIONAL CONSTRUCTION OF THE SHORT STORY XVI L The Opening Seizes [ntebest, [ntboduoes Action, Stbixes the Keynote, and (Perhaps) CONVETfl ExposmoH 1. Op to this point we have considered, first, the dis- tinguishing characteristics thai make, and second, the theory of plot as it affects, the Bhorl Btory ; and incidentally we have given attention to matters belonging rather to the story in the completed form than in it- plol outline. Hav- ing treat.. 1 these matters and emphasized the importance of dramatic plol to the true Bhorl Btory (conte), we can now devote our attention for a while not to questions of motivation — of can-- and eff a through even! and character toward a Bingle impressive outcome — but to the compositional construction of the Btory — that as- sembling and manipulating of all it- facts, materials, and parts which leave it (let us trust) a finished work. Our consideration will first be given to the opening of the story. The function of the opening is: A. To seize interest. This oftenest results from (B). B. To begin or bring on the action. C. To strike the keynote of the story. D. As far as may be expedient, to convey exposition. 2. In discussing plot, we noted that plot sequence is 132 Compositional Construction 123 not the same as narrative sequence, or dramatic sequence. The essential sequence of incident in the plot is, we saw, the time-sequence — cause before effect; the contributing facts before the situation and outcome they produce. But the natural sequential order may be altered and even quite reversed in the completed narrative, especially as the inci- dent not infrequently is more important for the facts that gather round and depend upon it than it is merely for it- self; so that it is managed with a view to emphasizing these accompanying facts, and not the pure incident. We may even find the outcome at the beginning of the story, which then works backward to those facts which constitute the beginning of the plot. 1 This sort of disarrangement and relocation of incident and of other facts is often neces- sary for dramatic emphasis, which is the effect sought by the conte. 3. For we are not to understand that such dislocation of facts from the natural time order is universal, nor that it is invariably necessary or expedient. The time order should in fact be varied no more than dramatic effective- ness requires. Yet this implies that the artist, in handling his materials, often must deal with them in ways that render the time order — so essential in the earlier processes of plotting — impossible in the story as it finally reaches the reader. For in that stage of composition in which the plot is transformed from a bare outline of incident into an artist's conception of the dramatic significance of 1 This is in general the method of the mystery story. Beginning with a puzzling outcome, the mystery story carries the reader, but backward, through an explanation of the facts that explain this outcome. The circle is completed when the explanation brings the reader back at the close to the same outcome with its mystery removed. 124 Short Stories in the Making these incidents together with all the facts of every sort involved in them in some significant hour of human life — in this stage of composition that order is the most logical which best shows forth this conception with a vividness and forcefulness likely to impress it deeply on the reader. We are to remember, therefore, that plot se- quence and narrative sequence are different tilings. Both ordi r the same body of facts, but each orders them as re~ quired by its peculiar function in the creating of the com- pl, I. d story, (lie one seeking to make ch ar the history of a certain outcome, the oth r a i king to mal-e clear the signifr of this outcome and impress it on the reader, •l. From what has been -aid, it follows that the begin- ning of the Btory itself may contain matter not found in the beginning of the plot, and thai it may omil matter nec- essarily included in the beginning of the plot' [n other words, the beginning of the Btory may be different from the beginning of the plot The opening of the Btory may — A. Begin the action. B. Begin the characterization. C. Begin the creation of atmosphere, presenting either tonal, environmental, or merely Betting elements. D. Begin the theme presentation. That is. the beginning of the Btory may concern itself with material especially .suited to the purpose of any one of the four fundamental types of short story. Moreover, any one of these four types of beginning is likely to be usable in any one of the four sorts of story, although not all the types of beginning are equally suited to all the types of story. 5. This means that in the whole range of the conte there are sixteen possible combinations of story emphasis 2 Before the stage of scenario, or action-plot. Compositional Construction 125 with beginning materials, although (of course) when the single story is in question the possible combinations are only four. In a character story, for example, the author can at the very opening begin his emphasis upon character, or he can open rather with materials that belong particu- larly to the action, or to the atmosphere, or to the theme. The natural and usually the best procedure will be, to make prominent in the beginning that element which will be most prominent in the completed story — a character story taking a beginning that emphasizes character, a theme story opening with emphasis on the theme, an action story with emphasis upon action, and an atmosphere story with emphasis upon atmosphere. This procedure, how- ever, although highly useful in many instances, and especially in " striking the keynote " of the story, is by no means always obligatory. 6. Accepting the rhetorical theory that the beginning of any piece of writing is a place of great importance in the ' giving of emphasis, we are thus led to lay down the rule, subject to qualification, that the beginning of a story should always emphasize that one of the story elements which the story itself is intended to emphasize. But this is sound theory and good practice only when it is not overdone. We must not lose sight of everything but solely our intended effect ; we must remember at the same time that this effect can be attained only through the skillful employment of various means, and that the organization of our story as a whole — the assembling of its materials, the ordering of its incidents, the working in and sub- ordinating of all the sub-effects essential to the production of the final effect — may call for numerous adjustments involving modification of general principles. The rules 126 Short Stories in the Making of art are plastic, not rigid, and its materials resemble modeling clay rather than cast iron. Any one of many considerations may, therefore, warrant the disregard of the rule as first stared. Accordingly, the more practical and general rule is this: In the opening, use thai material which will best contribute to the organization and effect of the story as a whole; remembering, however, that at the beginning if is desirable to emphasize, so far as practi- cable, the sarrn < lemi nts as are to be especially emphas in the story as a whole, 7. We will now in a single clause emphasize the self- evidenl truth, thai the opening must indispensably have interest, and turn to consider the Btory materials from this poinl of new. First of all, we observe thai all four of the types enumerated above are beginnings likely to of their inherent qualities, In- terest, we have already seen, is something quite different from excitemenl or avid pursuit of sensation, being the result of internal quality and of significance to the plot, ratlu-r than of external characteristic, It is roused when- ever anything is brought before the mind that by reason of its nature, it- intrinsic qualities, or it- relationship with other matt er to command attention; and the human mind is so constituted that it inclines to attention whenever anything closely related either to human life or to the individual experience through which human life is realized, is presented to it. provided that this thing is so presented as to make it- relationships and significance clear. 8. Accordingly, men instinctively attend to that where- in the acts of other men, their trait- of character, the con- ditions surrounding and influencing their lives, or a Compositional Construction 127 conclusion concerning human existence, is presented. This is equivalent to saying that they instinctively give attention (or tend to do so) whenever action, character, atmosphere, or tli erne is brought before them. For these are things that of their very nature appeal to man as affecting his daily life, or entering into his experience of it, or throwing light on the problem of his own nature and destiny. Recognizing, therefore, the wide range of subject-matter which thus possesses inherent interest quality, we see that as a consequence each of the four types of opening is intrinsically suitable for the beginning. A propos this topic, more will be said in pars. 12 and 15-21. 9. We next note that another function of the beginning is filled by these four types. This function is, to present, when essential to the narrative plan, and in other cases when reasonably practicable, all or part of the facts belong- ing to the plot exposition. Here we observe again that, as acts, character, environing conditions, and recognized truths of life are all we know of, seeming to bear upon human life, so they are all that can be made use of in any exposition. Accordingly, the matter of these begin- nings — acts, character, theme, and atmosphere — is the sole material out of which the exposition of any plot (or . indeed any plot itself) can be built up. Recalling then the general principle, that the expository facts are best presented earlier rather than later in the narrative, we can lay down another rule of practice for the story writer: When the plan of narration permits it and the unified effect sought will not suffer by it, the details introduced at the opening of the story should be selected with a view to presenting the necessary exposition. 10. This brings us to a third function of the opening; 128 Short Stories in the Making namely, striking the keynote of the story — a function of great importance. By "striking the keynote" wo mean, creating a sense of the essential quality and tone, of the attitude, manner, and point of view, of the story. By a well-managed beginning, the reader will he put in sympathy — en rapport — " in touch " — with what is to fol- low, lie will he led by it to [ >1VJ iciveive (11101*0 01* less UU- awaredly, it is true ) the attitude of mind of the author, the Bpiril in which the SUDJecl i- to he handled, the mood and tone of the story itself, and the nature (though, of course, scarcely the actual event itself) of the outcome. He will begin at once to receive somewhat of the subjective and emotional impression which the Btory a- a whole [g planned to produce. \\V will not insist that this amounts to Baying that the beginning must have atmosphere; vet that i- practically what it does amount to. And when we reflect that, after all, no fiction or drama is thoroughly g 1 that does n<>t encompass itself with an atmosphere (the product of truthfulness and naturalness in the fact- them- selves and the reporting of them) ; that no play or narra- tive can produce a perfect total effect tacking this quality; and that the opening of the Btory will inevitably go far toward creating in US the impression with which we .-hall read the rest of the narrative; — when we reflect on these -. we begin to realize tin i/nj><iitrr of striking, at the outset, the keynote of the t 11. The opening of every Btory should make the reader . to feel at once that here is a Btory which has, not merely u a name," bur also " a local habitation " — a story which " belongs " — which deal- with persons and things, with acts, motives, emotions, and surroundings such as, no matter how fanciful or impossible they may be in Compositional Consteuction 129 themselves, are, nevertheless, as here presented real 3 and self-consistent. The reader must be made to sense .this reality, to sympathize with, to enter into the spirit of, these things, to catch the point of view, the outlook, the purpose, the individuality, tang, and tone, of the narrative that presents them. Without being thus in responsive understanding of the nature of the story, he is unlikely to read further, or if he read, to do so blindly, unsympatheti- cally, and non-appreciatively. This function, therefore, of the opening — that of striking the keynote — is exceedingly important. The prudent writer will so select his opening, and so present its details, as either to create at once in the reader the mental attitude and imaginative mood that he desires, or at least to prepare him for it. 12. On the importance of the opening as a means of catching attention, so much has been said by many critics that the present writer has chosen not to dwell, in the preceding discussion, insistently on that topic. This does not mean, however, that he thinks the catching of interest by the beginning an unimportant matter, but that he is a little doubtful whether so much emphasis on particular aspects of the matter may not prove misleading. For from feeling strongly the necessity of attracting attention at the outset, to striving for it unduly, is but a step. Hence he here gives a few paragraphs of after discussion to this ticklish problem of the opening as an interest-catcher. We 8 " Real " and " actual," as already noted, are not synonymous. The sensitiveness of the mind to suggestion is such that even the impossible can be made to seem real to the imagination. Poe's tales " deal with an unreal world," and accordingly have an atmosphere of unreality. But while we are under the spell of Poe's narrative^ this " world of unreality " seems a real world of unreality, and its atmosphere an atmosphere of reaZ-seeming unreality. 130 Short Stories in the Making arc now, therefore, to take up expressly consideration of the opening as a means of getting into the narrative action and of mating the suspense essential to increasing interest. 13. We will first Btop long enough to note thai fiction materials should be chosen, not merely with regard to i»- trinsic inf. rest, but also with regard to their fitness for narrative-dramatic presi ntation. We have seen that inter- est seems inherent in anything of a sorl thai touches human life in general or associates itself with the experience of the individual; and as there is nothing in the known world that does not belong either in one or in both of tl„ se categories, bo there is nothing which may nol in Borne r tln r of circumstances have intrinsic interest Noth- ing is uninteresting in itself if presented bo thai its significance appear. 11. Subject to one importanl qualification, therefore, we mav Bay that there is nothing whicb cannol be used ae material in the opening (or in any other pari ) of a fiction narrative. The qualification is, that no mat rial issuitable for dramatic narrative which does not submit itself to the methods of dramatic narrative. 1 It musl only be teUahle, it must be tellable in a narrative thai principles. It is easy to agree that philosophy and science are unsuited for short u— that they do not yield readily to presentation in dramatic narrative. Yet the reason •Contemporary drama Bhowa how unsafe generalizations are concerning what is and what is not possible material. Brieux's Damaged Goods, for instance, stood the test of successful if not popular stage presentation, yet it- material is material that has been held quite unsuited to dramatic presentation— that is amenable to dramatic technique. un- Compositional Construction 131 for rejecting such material must be one of con- venience and expediency, not of absolute necessity; for the master writer finds it quite possible to reduce philosophies and sciences to subjection, and to make them furnish forth, in no funeral-baked fashion, warm meats for the dramatic narrative. Consequently, if the writer has skill to find concrete dramatic and narrative forms through which to tody forth the facts of philosophy, science, or any other subject, he need not hesitate to in- troduce this supposedly unfit material into his work. On the contrary, his work will gain in clearness of under- standing and breadth of view whenever it thus enriches and energizes itself from the general stores of human knowledge and experience. Crude as is the old morality play, Everyman, it exemplifies this truth; for it bodies forth morality and religion so well in concrete forms 5 that even in our day — wherein the form of allegory and the morality seems strange, and the religious thought per- haps remote or alien — this old dramatic allegory proves impressive. Our conclusion must be, that although the writer needs to be exceedingly cautious how he introduces difficult and impliant materials, there is no such thing as absolutely unfit material if the writer have skill and creativeness to find for it concrete forms and dramatic expression. 6 • This play affords an excellent illustration of what is meant by the expression " finding concrete forms." In it, vice is actually a person; so is good works; so is death. Similarly, other abstract ideas, such as dying, are given concrete form (Everyman, a person, descends into an actual grave, etc. ) . 8 " Dramatic " is here equivalent to " theatric " — suited to presenta- tion by the methods of the theater ( for instance, by dialogue ) . The term having sometimes been given a specialized or restricted 132 Short Stories in the Making 15. But these conclusions are perhaps less immediately important than is the one which we will now take up for brief discussion; namely, thai the principle of an-opening- to-catch-inl< rest may easily be overworked. We have al- ready Been how extensive is the available material having intrinsic interest : bnl in the Btruggle to create a beginning that will at once "grip" the reader, the writer may not only Blight Bome of the most valuable of the materials available, bul also be Led into adopting some form of opening that is flippant, overwrought, false in tone, sen- sational, or otherwise dishonest to fact, life, and art There are ways (and often better ways) of attracting one's attention other than dapping him in the face; and there are ways (and often better ways) of arousing interesl in iv other than that of "putting a punch" in it al the beginning and making that "punch" a punch in the reader's " wind," L6. In truth, the cult of the punch has been a little over- cultivated. There are, and there always will be, many readers, and readers well worth having, who appreciate the interest quality of other than the slap-in-the-face begin- ning, and read with pleasure openings of discursr philosophical comment, description, and what not The one reasonable requirement is, that the opening shall adequately present tin material with which it attempts to thai, shall closely relate itself to the story as a whole, meaning in this book, "theatric" ought to be used in its stead in such assertions as that in the text above, thus noting the difference between what is dramatic and what is theatric, or especially belonging to theater presentation. The author hopes that he has nowhere fallen into the unjust usage whereby "theatric" ami -theatrical" are used in a derogatory sense — implying what is insincere or false, or affected rather than natural and spontaneous. Compositional Construction 133 and shall with satisfying 'promptness bring us to the action of the plot itself. The writer, therefore, who has a sub- ject or a plan of treament that in its best-organized form calls for description, comment, reflection, or any other such manner of opening, even though it be an opening of which the grip-the-reader extremist would not approve, need as an artist not hesitate to employ that begin- ning. Eather, as an artist, he should hesitate not to employ it. 17. Yet the practicing author, depending on his type- writer for an income, and the author seeking invariably that form which is best adapted to the particular story then in hand, will not despise the counsel of the impressive opening. To the natural born artist, of course, advice and caution on this matter is scarcely warrantable; he will build his stories as they should be built, and their effect will take care of itself. Yet even he should be advised of the conditions which (often at the expense of truer literature) enforce the principle on the writer who goes to market with his wares. To see the reader in the editorial office, or the literary agent whose business it is to know how to pick what the editor will choose — to see these experts in public (or is it merely editorial?) taste snatching at the beginning of a manuscript, then perhaps giving the rest of the story only a glance here and there, or no further glance at all, is to realize how much depends, from the commercial point of view, on the beginning that will " grip." 18. It is no exaggeration to say that the story which can thus " jab " the reader with its first paragraph, or even its first sentence, stands a much larger number of chances, by and large, of meeting acceptances than does the story, 134 Short Stories in the Making even the better story, lacking such a " punch " at the first. Nor La the result of this by any means all bad. True, sensationalism and similar sins have been part of tin- result. Bui bo has been also a sharper inquiry con- cerning the nature of interest, the kinds of material con- taining interest, and the best methods of handling such materials in Btory openings. ( bnsequenl on thia baa come an improvement in the technique of openings, and a closer weaving into the narrative of all the fiction materials. Unquestionably, stories on the whole begin better than they used, even when they employ old-fashioned materials and types of opening. L9. Our criticism, therefore, of the principle which direct- the employment of a beginning that will immedi- ately "grip" the reader, i- partly a caution against mistakenly discarding good though "Id forma under the assumption that they are doI able t.» awaken interest, and a protest against forced and Bensational methoda in apply- ing a principle itself perfectly sound and thoroughly useful. Perhaps even the caution is superfluous. Art always rid- it-elf ultimately of false conceptions and bad practice, and writer- even of the day are freely employing all manner and Btyles of opening, many of them quite unhampered by slavish subjection t«> the theory of the initial " punch." 20. Through thia discussion of intrinsic interest, and cautioning against subserviency to a catch phrase — the cant '" slogan n of a literary school that over-emphas what, truly conceived, i- an important principle, — we come now to a direct consideration of the opening as a means of creating suspense. A moment's reflection will show that suspense is really the key to the effectiveness of Compositional, Construction 135 the opening when the opening is considered in relation to the story as a whole. The opening is the appetizer that comes before, yet is part of, the full dinner ; or if likening it to the hors d'ozuvre seem to make it too inessential a part of the meal, we may call it the first course, which begins to satisfy onr appetite and yet makes us more desirous of the courses yet to come ; and what we protested against in the preceding paragraphs is the tendency to make of the opening a cocktail instead of a true part of the meal. For the beginning is part of the meal, and the writer of stories must keep in mind the fact that it, like every other division of the story, exists not for its own sake, but for the sake of the story as a whole of which it is a part. 21. Hence the opening must be conceived, planned, mid managed with reference to the whole story; and as the conte has but one immediate governing aim — to show us persons and action — we cannot escape the conclusion that the opening must be so conceived, planned, and managed that it cannot fail to maize us desirous of going on in order to see these persons, and the events of which they are a part. This is what we mean when we say that the beginning should " grip " the reader. It should do more than merely interest him in its own subject-matter; it should make him desire to go on in order that he may see something more important that that of which, merely by itself, the opening treats — who the persons are; what their character is; what they do and how they come to do it ; why they are what they are ; what truth is illustrated by them in their behavior; and what sort of world it is wherein they thus move and act. This sort of interest, this desire, it is that is commonly meant when we are 136 Short Stories in the Making told that the opening event should have " interest " and " seize " the reader. From this point of civic, we need not, when we are selecting a beginning for any story, trouble ourselves primarily with questions about the in- trinsic interest of tin- materials used; our problem is rather so to select and manage that the material used shall create in the read< r the desire to pass on from the opening to the continuation of the story. XYIII. Tim: Purposes of the Opening tax be Si;i:vi D BY VaBIOUS Kinds OP BEGINNING 1. We turn now i" more immediately practical ques- tions of technique affecting the opening of the Btory. The opening ie . i\ rike the keynote, begin the action, and, when practicable, advance the exposition, What are the means by which the writer can accomplish these purposes 1 The four things which the opening can immediately 1 present arc: activity (action by or involving a person of the Btory, whether forming an integral part of the true plot-action or not); character; theme; setting. At this point we will put aside further Bpecial emphasis upon the opening as a mean- of advancing plot exposition, and deal only with its function in striking the keynote and creating interest; the Btudent will, however, bear ■ We now drop for the present consideration of atmosphere as a Btory dement, confining ourselves to the less extensive term "set- ting." Atmosphere cos be presented directly, but usually it is attained indirectly — mediately rather than immediately — through truth, naturalness, and adequacy in the presentation of other es- sentials, with due regard to their subjective as well as their objective quality. Howi - tbstitution leaves us still concerned in a large measure with what is essentially atmosphere. Compositional Construction 137 in mind the general desirability of early development of the exposition unless it seem best managed by introduc- ing it piecemeal as the action advances. We now consider, then, the topic, how to manage the opening with a view to securing interest (anticipatory suspense) and striking the keynote. We might perhaps omit mention of the keynote ; for the striking of the keynote at the beginning is after all merely another device for getting interest by indicating in advance that tonal quality and that attitude in treatment which will have so much to do in producing the total effect. On the other hand, as the means of commanding progressive interest lies mainly in the creation of suspense, we shall now use that term largely instead of " interest." 2. For the sake of simplicity, therefore, we can say that all the practical problems of managing the opening can be solved by attending to the requirement of suspense. True, the opening must not be uninteresting in itself; but this it is not likely to be if it relate itself closely and organically with the rest of the story (especially perhaps with the plot and with the tone or atmosphere). Well-managed openings, then, may create suspense by : — ? (a) Giving setting. (b) Delineating character. ( c) Suggesting the tone or spirit of the story. (d) Plunging at once into incident. (e) Presenting some general proposition, or theme, which the story is to illustrate. (f) Providing necessary antecedent explanation (much skill is necessary to make mere expository matter produce suspense). 138 Short Stories in the Making (g) Flinging some merely stimulative expression or fact at us just to catch attention (an inartistic method at the best; at its worst, flippant, false, sensational, and offensive — the " flash " manner of a literary " con " game. Of course, when the Btory is legitimately told throughout in this manner — as it might be, for instance, in depict- ing character — the expression warrants itself as striking the keynote). In well-managed openings, several of these ends arc usually accomplished at one and the same time, 3. We aexl ask, what shall be our manner of approach to the opening? To determine this, we must first deter- mine, among other things, who Bhall tell the story. Of course, the writer is always, in one Bense, the narrator; he does the writing. Bui shall he write it as himself, or as Borne one else I 1 1 he tell it as himself, -hall he tell it (a) with complete impersonality, keeping himself absolutely and wholly out of ir, or (b) with some degree of personal- ity, letting himself as a recognized individual show forth in the narration, indicating by direct comment or other mean- his own point of view concerning the theme, persons, acts, and opinions appearing in the narrative, and thus in- jecting himself, traneous author-chorus 1 Or if, on the other hand, he tell it as if he were some one c) tell it in tl »f a person actually having part in the story, either as chief actor or a secondary actor or even an unimportant spectator, or shall he instead (d) tell it as one who was himself outside the story and yet is not identical with the author who chances to be the one to set down the narrative ( Compositional Construction 139 4. Each of these methods has disadvantages (we will not stop to discuss them here) ; but before he can make up his mind just how to approach the opening, the writer must have decided which of them he will use. With this decision out of the way, the ground is cleared for selection among the various forms of beginning. Experience will prove to him that every one of these forms can he employed more or less effectively in getting before the reader the facts implied in the catalogue given in paragraph 2 ; and any good opening, moreover, will nearly always accomplish more than one of the several aims there outlined. We ■ will consider some of them. 5. In making choice of an opening, the writer will first (let us say) choose between the dialogue and the non- dialogue form. Dialogue (by which is here meant direct speech in the mouth of any one directly appearing at the moment as a person in the story) would seem to offer a particularly effective form of beginning, the more so as it introduces without delay persons in action. We need not, therefore, attach especial importance to statistics which in- dicate that only some ten per cent, of short stories actually employ this form of beginning. True, the narrative plan decided on, and the spirit in which the story is conceived, have much to do with the rejection or employment of direct quotation. In some narratives, dialogue at the beginning would be quite unsuitable. 6. On the other hand, to some stories it would be thoroughly adapted. It is, for instance, an almost invari- able accompaniment of action. In stories opening with incident, therefore, the opening may take the form of speech — really part of the action, and helping it forward. Again, speech is a valuable means of character portrayal : 140 Short Stories in the Making " Thy speech bewraycth thee." To put significant expres- sions on the lips of a person when we are just meeting him in the story, is a quick and sure way to give us an impres- sion of his character. Again, Bpeech frequently becomes suggestive, not merely of character, mood, and act, but of the surroundings; a few words naming actual details, introduced into the dialogue, may effectually outline the setting. In short, the opening of direct speech, when the plan and nature of the Btory permit it, is thoroughly useful and effective. 8 7. Yet again, then, we return to the desirability of in- terest (suspense) in the opening, and the means of at- taining it. Frankly, the most important of theae means is action. There is interest in setting, character, atmosphere, and theme, but that opening will be m<>s( effective which, in giving us these things, give* them to us embodied in or \n if activity there be — something moving, something doing, whether that something he or he not indispensable to the plot — by that very fact attention will 8 Reread par. 4; observe how dialogue can at one and the same time explain situation, advance the action, indicate setting, portray character, make us feel the general tone of the situation or the mood of the speaker or the story, etc. This will impress the fact, that any good opening can accomplish several purposes at once. The more the beginning, by presenting well-related, carefully chosen detail, compresses into small compass and coherent form the various story elements at the outset, the greater its interest and effectiveness. The '• compression " so often insisted on as characteristic of the conte is merely such management of detail throughout the story, whereby several ends are accomplished by single means. Compositional Construction 141 be more immediately commanded, with the likelihood that it will continue and increase. 8. For when all is said and done, the conte exists to show us persons acting; hence the sooner any story gets action going, the sooner it will begin to show us that for which it most immediately exists. Even character delinea- tion, unless given through action, will be less interesting (in the more immediate sense of the word) than action. It will show us man, but it will not show us men in action ; and it is to see men in action that we buy our ticket to the short story show. Reasonably interpreted, therefore, the rule which prescribes action, or at least significant activity, as an important part of the opening of any short story, is a rule of great importance. The writer who, without sacrificing other qualities, and without making his method merely one of mannerism or sensation, shows us always something doing from the first, thus creating not only present attention, but also that forward-looking eagerness that we term suspense, has successfully met one of the most positive requirements of the art of short story dramatics. 9. Some further observations concerning the fiction elements likely to enter into the opening, and their skillful management, may be worth while. To the inexperienced writer, it may seem, for instance, that the importance of the setting to a just appreciation of the story warrants the placing of setting at the very opening. And he may be right, the more so as such placing helps to get this material out of the way at once. The setting is important, especially in atmosphere stories; yet that does not mean that it should all be bunched and huddled into one long initial passage, especially if this passage be direct descrip- 142 Short Stories in the Making tion. Such was the older method, but it is not the modern practice. Even in the novel, modern technique now usually shuns the descriptive panorama as an opening, preferring to place description (if anywhere it describes at length) in chapters which lie buried within the narrative. In the conte, the most probable exception will be found in the Btory thai emphasizes atmosphere. The atmosphere story is likely to draw much of its atmosphere effects from the Betting, and ii therefore Bhows some tendency to employ description more freely and to introduce it earlier than do other Btoric a. 10. Vet it' this tendency be indulged, it musl be kept und.r control Even in Buch a Btory as Thi Merry Men, written h\ S d as an atmosphere Btory — the fictional embodiment of the spirit of a grim, rock-barriered, Btorm- leaguered Eebridean coast the narrative does not begin immediately with atmosphere elements. It ..pens with d (indirect). Not until he wrote Borne 250 words narrating action and preliminary fact, and giving character forecast, did Stevenson begin description; and even then the description is given excuse for appearing through being made the Betting for further indirect action (the walk by which the young man who i- supposed to relate the facts and to have taken part in the incident-, makes his approach to the scene of the main action). Thus, even though all the first chapter i-. broadly -peaking, concerned with the description of Betting, its description is mingled throughout with element- of action and exposition and with character forehint-. Without further discussion, therefore, we may conclude that lengthy descriptive pas- sages at the beginning are likely to prove incompatible with the prom, n of suspense. Compositional Construction 143 11. The beginning of The Merry Men can give us other suggestions if we turn aside here to take note of them. The advantages and disadvantages found in use of the distributed exposition instead of the massed have been noted. Chapter I of The Merry Men may be taken as a double-header illustration of the principle. Various es- sential bits of information about the locality, the young man, the uncle who is the central character, his old servant (another secondary actor), and the long-past events of history that later enter into the plot, are scattered through it, offsetting and enlivening the more solid descriptive parts. On the other hand, regarded as merely the begin- ning of the complete story, the chapter represents in a considerable degree, not the distributed but the massed exposition. 12. Digressing somewhat more, we may observe the skill with which, towards the close, this chapter makes the description that it contains bring on the narrative passage informing us of the wreck — long before — of the Spanish treasure ship of the Armada, desire to salvage which motivates the events and complication of the plot. Yet while all this preliminary information is being got before us, more immediate, although indirect, action is going on — the advance of the young man toward his uncle's house and the scene of the main action. Hence, not only with regard to the presentation of setting, but also with reference to other functions of the opening, this chapter repays study. 13. Further thus: It illustrates one form of opening in stories wherein the author writes, not as himself, but as another person — one who has been an actor in the events he reports (par, 3, C). A severe stretching of the 14:4 Short Stories in the Making term dialogue might even bring this opening into the class of dialogue beginnings. But it would not belong there, for the Speech of the actor-narrator is addressed now to the reader; is not speech belonging to the time of the action or entering into the original action in any way, and besides, so far a- the plot is concerned, presents only indirect action. Thai is though it is words from the mouth of an actor, it is net words from his mouth at any time when he is engaged in the incidents of the story. Therefore, it is nol in any true sense dialogue ( plot, eharac- ter, or action speech forming part of the action itself). Before getting hack, therefore, closer t<> our presenl topic, we can only note here tin- fact that, when setting is given as pari <>f ///'■ diali nt } it "/// not often be given in detail; for little natural and spontaneous conversation is nt* a sort t-» permit long descriptions. When landscape or other Betting is touched on in ordinary converse, it is likely t<> have roused some emotion in tin- spectator which he expresses rather in exclamation than in any directly descriptive phrase; bo that its nature i- frequently indi- cated indirectly by the impression which it is seen to produce on the beholder. Moreover, even when pointing out the ''features'' of a scene, people nowaday- seldom talk long descriptions, whatever they used t<> talk in an earlier period of fiction." Both shorter speeches and 9 To one who trusts that contemporary literature a little more truly answers the universal purpose of literature — the accurate portrayal of existence — than did any writings of the past, the care with which it attempts to report conversation in such language as is individually typical and characteristic, seems significant. Literature that is striving for accuracy of report even in minor matters, and is succ?eding in its effort, is not retrogressive nor de- cadent — not even though judged by critics whose standards are Compositional Construction 145 shorter and more broken sentences are characteristic of most spontaneous, natural conversation. Although, there- fore, many settings cannot he detailed at length in dialogue, their effect and their most notable characteristics can he suggested or mentioned; hut for the full and detailed account we must (a) either resort to the massed passage of description or (h) depend on facts that can he introduced briefly and quickly, and distributed skillfully, among the speeches. An extended description can seldom be intro- duced into a single speech, and cannot always be so intro- duced even in a connected series of speeches, or passage of dialogue description. 14. Our conclusion is, that facts of setting so introduced in dialogue must be chosen for their suggestive power and high descriptive effect — for value rather than for amount. The same is true when they are given along with any other form of action. They must be impressively representative facts, sure to accumulate in the reader's mind as the definite and leading characteristics of a unified set of sur- roundings. The reader then creates for himself, through the co-operation of his own imagination, the more complete picture of this setting. To illustrate: " Get back there ! Get back ! Keep 'em from crowding in, Bill." conservative or reactionary — men whose taste has been formed on older models, and who lack the adaptability or the creative adjustment to orient themselves in the present and thus appreciate the work of the present. Unfortunately, our educational machine finds, in the material supplied it, many heads made of suitable wood to be polished off after the old patterns, but only now and then one that can be trained and developed in the growing state. 146 Short Stories in the Making " Is he hurt bad ? " " Got his, I guess. Smashed up pretty well anyhow. Notify the station and get in an ambulance call quick. I can't do anything. Did any of you fellows get the number of that machine ? " Here are fifty word-; of dialogue. Let us put the same facts in another form — narrative and outright description: The policeman bent over the twisted, unconscious form, lying without movement in th< Btreet where the automobile had flung it. His mate from the nexl corner ran up to join him, and the quickly gathered crowd of curious or morbid passers-by and Btreet-frequenters pressed around, pushing to gel over one another's Bhouldere a sight ne. Bui all Buch matters will come t.» lighl fully a- tin- narrative pro- ceeds and only then -hall we be able t«» say flatly that they should have been or need nol have been brought out at the beginning. For we recall that on the whole the opening performs it- chief function when it so puts us in BUflpense that we wish t.» read on. Indeed, this very failure to satisfy outright curiosity that lias been piqued, may be the author's means of creating the suspense. The effect to be thus gained by courting curiosity, or interest, and satisfying it only by degrees, shows the importance, as narrative devices, of suspense and distributed informa- tion. 17. Approximately the same comment applies to character as applies to setting in the opening. It may be presented outright in massed statement, or it may be suggested and indicated bit by bit through significant fact presented in the advancing dialogue and action. And in Compositional Construction 149 each instance, the massed and formal presentation usually proves the less successful. 12 Indeed, the formal, massed opening, presenting any sort of preliminary or accessory fact, is virtually nothing but an " introduction " — and m- troductions belong to an earlier and (so we judge) less expert literary method. 18. In truth, not only method but also taste has changed. To depend upon the " introduction " as a form of opening, even though the introduction be made the carrier of the exposition and other essentials to an under- standing of the story, is to court rejection by many editors and by a good many readers. The modern story needs a direct or immediate form of opening rather than an indirect or mediate form. We are at once to " get down to brass tacks." For on the whole, that interested loohing-forward which we term suspense is not to be created 13 by anything but action, or at least the promise of action fast approach- ing. Only in exceptional instances will the intrinsic inter- est of the materials be sufficient to arouse anticipating eagerness — the desire to run forward with the story, not to linger (pleasantly, perhaps, but aimlessly) with the mere accessories of situation and action. Persons acting: that is what the reader desires ; we cannot assert it too often. 19. This explains why action is so desirable even at the beginning. The reader will consent to be concerned with setting and atmosphere, background, character traits, theme and philosophizing as fiction materials, only when 12 The writer will gain by describing his characters fully in separate analyses or summaries, keeping these descriptions by him for reference as notes, but not incorporating them bodily in his story. 13 Once created, however, it can be continued by other means. Thus, in the falling action, it is sustained by our anticipation gf the outcome— our desire to see the fulfillment Qf the plot. 150 Short Stories in the Making these things have a significance outside themselves and in the action whereof they are the mere convoy. True, they may motivate this action, modify it, explain it, further it, hinder it— in brief, make it. Set it is the action that gives them their vitality, significance, and function. Even character, which in an earlier division of this book we named as being closest to life itself in interest for the human mind, depends on action for dramatic presentation. For not until the deed is done k the character back of it made manifest Hence the indirect opening of philosophi- cal comment — an opening which both the theme and the character story find of frequent u-< — is to be adopted only when all these considerations have been carefully weighed anew with reference to the particular story in hand; and unless it clearly recommend itself because of it- especial fitness and applicability in the particular case, it is to be rejected in favor of an opening Burer to rouse a forward- looking attention and directly advance the true action of the Btory. 20. Attempting dow a summabt of essential facts about the opening as a division of the conte, we say: The function of the opening is, to seize interest, strike the key- note, introduce action, and .convey exposition. Its material- must not merely have intrinsic interest, but must be bo managed thai they create suspense — anticipative desire. The surest mean- of creating suspense is the otation of action, and action should, therefore, be introduced early, if not at the very first; dialogue is a form of action. The fiction elements which the opening may present, or out of which it may be built up, are action, character, setting, and theme (atmosphere is sought more mediately; it comes from accurate reporting). In well- Compositional Construction 151 managed openings, several of the purposes of the opening are accomplished at once. Openings may be direct or in- direct ; immediate or mediate ; dynamic or static (active or passive) ; and may either distribute their information or mass it. The massed opening is generally of the indirect, mediate, static type, and of the nature of formal introduc- tion rather than of dramatic opening, and the immediate, direct, dynamic type is to be preferred unless the con- ception, aim, tone, or plan of the story as a whole makes such a beginning unsuitable. 21. Finally, we should note that, when once the writer has mastered the technique of his craft, he should there- after — whether in the opening or elsewhere — allow his im- agination and personality free play, subjecting the tech- nique to his purposes rather than subjecting himself to his technique. For after all, the technique is hut the means of securing adequate expression of that which the man and artist conceives. XIX. In the Body of the Stoey, the Chief Con- structional Problem is That of Sequence 1. After the opening comes the body of the story. In some stories, it will be very clearly marked off from the beginning. There may even be a break between the two parts — a stopping and a beginning over. The story with a philosophical opening is especially likely to be of this sort. But whether such a break is or is not desirable, is a matter for particular rather than for general considera- tion. The general rule would he that the less ohvious the hredk, the hetter. Yet sometimes the complete effectiveness of the opening is gained hy just such a hreaking off and 152 Short Stories in the Making starting over; it sets the substance of the opening apart clearly by itself, giving it emphasis and significance. In i r< ry case, the break must be one of form or of substance only, not of motif or theme. The true function of the opening — whatever form it take — is to prepare fur or add to the effectiveness of the drama. Hence if the opening is not in effect a presentation in some form or guise of the motif — of the vital central thought and purpose — if it does not in some essential way prepare us for <>r introduce as t<> the story so vitalized — it neither is nor can he a unified, homogeneous part of the narrative. In the larger number of Btories, however, the writer i- likely to find an easy transition rather than an obvious break. Often the open- ing i-. to ;dl effects and purposes, an Inseparable pari of the very body of the story. 2. These facts bring us t.. the question, how shall the materials, especially the material of incident, lie grouped and ordered in the storyl the problem of sequence <>r groupings. How can we determine the arrangement of incidents, even?-, descriptive passages, passages of inter- pretive comment, and the lik<-, go that their potency will best he realized toward the totality of effect at which our story aim- I We will answer the less important part of the question first This is the part thai concerns descriptive, interpretive, and all other merely contributory and an- cillary PABT8. This amplifying, realizing, and concen- trative material, as we have already seen, is indispensable, not so much to the plot, it is true, as to the totality of effect sought through both the plot and these its accessories. 3. Xevertheless, all material of this sort is adjunct material, introduced and employed as an auxiliary rather than as a principal factor — even though in fiction, as in Compositional Construction 153 war, the auxiliaries it sometimes is, and not the main force, that wins success. But whether in war or in litera- ture, the operation of the auxiliaries is, theoretically if not always actually, subordinate to the operations of the main force. We may, therefore, set down safely the principle, that whatever material is contributory, ancillary, concentrative , or amplifying merely, is to be made subor- dinate and secondary to that which is primarily essential to the plot and its outcome. 4. In practice, this will be found to mean either of two things: A, the actual minimizing of the contributing material by reducing it in amount or putting it in incon- spicuous positions in the narrative ; B, the emphasizing of the material, but only as an important element in some division or part of the larger narrative (this occurs, for illustration, when a description, characterization, or inci- dent is made the opening of a stage, or " movement," of the narrative, in such a way that the development of the stage or movement depends on this opening and largely draws its significance therefrom). Such employment of contributory material by making it important in the devel- opment of a division, scene, or stage of the story, actually has the effect of making it less prominent in the completed narrative; for the stage, or movement, as a whole, is that which is prominent in the completed story, and the indi- vidual parts and contributory elements are subordinated and merged in the division of which they are but a part. 5. Recognizing the necessity of subordinating to the main effect all merely ancillary materials, we then come to the problems of grouping and ordering the main facts and materials — the stages and movements, the incidents and events. The first fact on which we must insist is, 154 Short Stories in the Making that all narrative is fundamentally chronological, for it relates action, and action begins at one moment, continues through a succession of moments, and ends at another moment. As ;i succession of acts, incidents, or groups of incident-, the shorl story occupies time from its beginning through its continuance to its conclusion; hence the logical (i.e.. most easily comprehensible and most natural) order of presenting these incidents, is the time order. So far as incident is concerned, this is the governing principle of all fiction. G. Bui as drama and dramatic narrative have B more important purpose than merely to presenl the events in their original, or historical, sequence, each of these two forms of fiction is \<< rmitted to tamper with the time order so far as may . to accomplish the dramatic purpose. But do further; mere inversion and transposi- tion of incident for DO Other reason than thai event- can ! and relocated, is aeither good artistry aor g 1 Bense. Moreover, whatever the displacement of events that i< made in the COUTSe of the narrative, this displacement mast at the < nd have completely disap- itisi at the last leave us "ilk the f> , ling <>f a s, qui ,><■<■ unbroken and perfect from beginning through continuance to conclusion. Only upon acceptance of these conditions i- the writer warranted in tamperimr with the actual historical, or time, order of event-. On no other terms can he attain the effect of actual history; lacking which effect, he must fail of verisimilitude and therefore of belief. 7. The true time order, therefore, is not lightly to be discarded. Now, what is the true time order? We have already described it: from cause, through phenomena, to Compositional Constkuction 155 final effect. Let us state in more amplified terms what this means. Plot action begins as soon as any complicating influence makes itself felt. Then ensues a period in which one set of influences resist another set of influences, until comes a time when something gives one of these sets a lasting advantage over the other, and either then or later, a complete triumph. This is the natural plot sequence; the narrative sequence may and may not be the same. In all narratives in which the two sequences — plot and narrative — are the same (i.e., the order of time), we shall have first, the complicating influence and the re- sponse of some of the persons thereto (initial response) ; second, the period of resistant delay, in which the episodes or stages of the conflict march along, each duly following those that belong before it in point of time; third, the act, incident, or other decisive fact that predetermines the final outcome; and fourth, the outcome itself, either alone or telescoped into and practically one with number three. 14: 8. When now we seek definite schemes for thus dis- locating and relocating blocks or divisions of the action, we find various possible arrangements. Disregarding the separate existence of an " opening," we can indicate some of these in outlines, as follows : 14 Note that the period of resistant delay does not always end with the decisive fact. Sometimes, as in the story showing the tragic advance of fate, the critical period, being one of unsuccessful struggle to escape a foredoomed catastrophe, wholly follows the decisive fact. Indeed, the decisive fact may be a wholly antecedent fact and therefore belong, not to the action at all, but to the exposition. In stories which do not telescope the ending, con- tinuance of conflict beyond the decisive moment accounts in part for the continuance of interest past this point. 156 Short Stories in the Making NonrChronological Order-Schemes. A. 1. Incident or other material belonging to the period of resistant delay. 2. Complicating influence, and the initial response. 3. Further resistant-delay materials. 4. Decisive fact. 5. Consequent facts. 6. Outcome. B. 1. Facts belonging to the period thai follows the decisive fad i the grand climax, in whole or in part ). 2. Precedent facts belonging to the period of resistant delay. 3. Diseuvt-rv »»f the complicating fact, with initial re- use. 4. 1 decisive fact 5. Outcome. C. 1. Action or incident constituting the initial response. 2. Discovery of the nature of the complicating influence (may be postponed to follow Xo. 3 or come even later). 3. Incident and other fact belonging to the period of resistant delay. 4. Decisive fact 5. Consequent facts (including climactic situation). 6. Outcome. Compositional Constktjction 157 D. 1. Facts belonging to the period of resistant delay. 2. The complicating influence and the initial response. 3. The decisive fact. 4. Further fact belonging to the resistant delay. 5. Facts consequent upon the decisive fact (including climactic situation). 6. The outcome (grand climax may be included here instead of in No. 5) . E. 1. The outcome. 2. Facts belonging to the resistant delay. 3. The complicating fact and the initial response (No. 3 may change place with No. 2). 4. Decisive fact (may be either preceded or followed by No. 5). 5. Facts consequent on decisive fact. 6. The outcome. 9. The student is now warned explicitly that the schemes given above are (first) merely general and sug- gestive and (second) subject to further expansion and rearrangement. He will, therefore, please take them as they are meant to be taken — as hints, not as hard and fast sequences. In association with them, a few other significant matters may be mentioned. One is, that " out- come " is not necessarily the same as " ending " ; the closing part of the story will be discussed later. Another is, that the entire body of facts belonging to any phase of the narrative — initial response, resistant delay, etc. — may be distributed. Although useful generally, this principle 158 Short Stories in the Making is likely to be most observed in introducing facts that belong to the resistant delay or to the complicating in- fluence. For instance, it is not uncommon to give just enough of the complicating influence in connection with the initial response to make this response intelligible, the remaining facta about the complication being revealed else- where, as they are Deeded. 10. We may lure bum up the results of our consider- ation of sequence so far as we have advanced with it. The controlling order is always that of time (historical sequence); when the time Order is doI followed, the ar- rangement of the materials musl be such as nevertheless to give the reader the feeling of historical sequence; and the time order is to be abandoned only when abandonment i- aecessary in order to attain a more impressive dramatic not possible with the plain historical sequence. Ancillary material is always to be kept subordinate, this implying either (a) actual inconspicuousness or else (b) actual prominence, but only in the development of some important phase, part, or movement of the story — the effect of the ancillary material being then realized, not directly, but indirectly, through the successful management of the movement which it help- to develop. 11. But all this i- general and alt-tract, if not vague. What arc the rules, put in plain, straightforward state- ment, that will enable one t«» tell how best to order inci- dents and events, and group other materials of his si That question I cannot answer very fully, nor have I found it very fully answered by others. Perhaps but one sentence of instruction can safely be written concerning the compositional construction of all stories equally, and that is, Tell ih . you conceive it. Study the story Compositional Constkuction 159 in all its aspects; seek out its possibilities; consider the materials that are available; select those that are indis- pensable to your plot or the effect yon intend; consider these materials in various groupings and combinations, esti- mating their effectiveness in all reasonable groupings ; try out different ways of motivating, of characterizing, of indicating setting and atmosphere ; weigh the effectiveness of different openings and various endings. Then — write. 12. Clarify your conception and master your material. Then trust yourself. Write the story as you conceive it, and rewrite it until it stands as you conceived it. If you are an artist, your conception once matured is of higher authority than all the formal rules of composition ever worded, and ultimately will override and subject them to its purpose instinctively. This is no counsel to a slap-dash, inspiration-of-the-moment method ; for whether your con- ception spring full-grown and all equipped and panoplied from your Jovian brain, or whether (which is more prob- able) it be brought forth with long labor-pains and per- fected only through infinite care and thought, does not matter. Matured it must be ere it can be transformed into a worthy story. And it is only you who can thus mature and thus transform it into the artist's product that will satisfy you and serve the world. The conclusion of the whole matter, then, is but a general commandment: Con- ceive your story clearly as a whole, then clearly plan and write it as you conceive it, both (a) as a whole and (b) in its parts. This done, the result is on the knees of the gods, who made you what you are: a literary genius or — something else. 15 15 Study of photoplays of the better class is recommended. True, the photoplay is almost always strictly chronological. But the 160 Short Stories ix the Making 13. But there is one aim which the author will have in mind in all his efforts to find a satisfactory ordering of incident and situation: t<> make each scene, when this is possible, " cue " (he scene that is to follow. If one movement, drawing t«» an end, has already brought forward person- and laid a stage of fact, whereon these persons will begin t'» enact the next scene, much has been gained in the way of smoothness and closeness of connection. What goes before introduces what next Bucceeds; one scene inducts the ln-xt ; the close of one situation is the cue for til.- entrance of tin- next .1/ times, however, *urfi " cue- ing " may n<>( be desirable. Emphasis, distinction, organ- ization, may 'ill gain if th> /•< h, ,i curtain-fall between the lude cleanly within itself, and the next hi?, the mere fact that they are Bharply defined v.rv >kill with which tin- sequence is kept chronological will he illuminative Sec tin- play Beveral times, in order to become thoroughly familiar with it; it will pay to make a list of the scenes for study. Thin rewrite the play as a short story. The plot, action, and total effect being already provided, the first attempt can oonflne it- if t-> reproducing plot and action unchanged, merely (a) filling in Betting and providing atmosphere material, (b) developing dialogue and indicating character, and (c) supplying connection and transition between scenes. As step two, rewrite more freely, adhering in the main to the picture story, but modifying, amplifying, compressing, and adding to, as may be ry in order to produce a word narrative as fluent in its work- manship as was the photoplay in a different manner. Finally, re- build the story completely, retaining the original plot-embryo, but otherwise departing from the photoplay presentation as much as possible. This will help to develop facility in adapting materials to varied methods, Compositional Construction 161 one from the other in the body of the story will produce no incoherence. Rather, the emphasis and distinction gained by each through this independence will make their co-opera- tive effect the stronger. The cueing of one scene by another, therefore, may not always be best. 14. Now, while incident and event are being grouped to create the movements which together constitute the body of the story, the other fiction elements must also be given place. Let us consider them. Suspense, we saw, is interest hurrying forward to be satisfied ; and nothing draws inter- est on so much as action. Significant action, therefore, is as important in the body of the story as in the opening. It need not proceed at a racing gallop ; it may advance with the slow, steady finality of a great river, it may seethe and eddy like a strong tide in a cliff-bound cove, or it may ebb and flow with the regularity of the same tide on an open shore. But always it must be there, and even when it ebbs, he who in his reading barque has set out to sail in any of the waters of dramatic fiction must be able to per- ceive its current or feel its groundswell, and sense its returning flood. Whether the action be all compressed into one event, or whether it consist of episodes and stages, always the current of interest must be there, bearing on the anticipative reader. And to continue the metaphor, if it can carry him forward up to the very last, and then, with a final mighty sweep cast him upon the shore or point of outcome that he sought — why, so much the better. 15. Characterization affords an illustration of the impossibility of laying down universal principles for the exact placing of fiction materials. One might, for example, be tempted to advise that, in the case of important persons, the chief body of characterizing matter be given at once. 162 Short Stories ix the Making But often it would prove undesirable, if not impossible, thus to give at once either an epitome of the character traits or any considerable body of fact concerning single traits. Much of the interest, pleasure, and value of associ- ation with persons in fiction comes, not from receiving a Budden, 8un-burs1 revelation of their character, but from getting acquainted with their character by degrees, as one acquainted with the character of the persons whom he kii<>\v- in actual life, 16. Ihu indeed, complete and immediate characteris- ation is do! always advisable even were it possible. For one thing, characterization is best accomplished through dialogue and action; and at once to introduce enough dialogue or action fully to set forth a character, even if it be the character of the principal person, might force us to abandon the original Btory merely to provide charao- ition in another form for the leading person. True, characterization by means of description remains; bul the dramatic aarrator is always cautious about introducing description, and wisely bo. For a Bingle person, portrayal through description might be satisfactory; but if several important persons must be introduced, each with his ap- propriate portion of character-description, the earlier part of the narrative may be crowded bo full of this indirect matter as to resemble nothing as much as a fictional pouter- pigeon. 17. The best we can say, therefore, is this: Unless the temporary concealment or suppression of character is necessary to the plan of the story, the introduction of each important p n [>/ Wi 11 accompanied hy character' n. This shall be more or less complete } and accom- plished by one means or another, according to circum- Compositional Construction 163 stances. Ordinarily it is the dominant or decisive character trait that is shown ; but for purposes of contrast, surprise, etc., an opposite or different trait may be first adduced. The italicized direction given just above we may supplement with another : as persons without character are uninteresting, every important person must, on first pre- senting himself, give clear evidence that he possesses charac- ter. 1Q Otherwise we shall refuse to become interested in him and his doings, and that will be fatal to the story. We may, indeed, when we first meet an actor in the story, not realize what his character is ; we may even be led to think it something different from what it is ; but this one thing we must perceive quickly — that there is something significant in him, and that this significance will become manifest as the narrative proceeds. 18. The student will now perceive that characterizing material may be so ordered within the story that the initial characterization will tend to be either (a) inclusive, and hence conclusive, or (b) incomplete and hence not necessar- ily conclusive. If it be inclusive, it will summarize, or total up at once, the chief traits of .the person, and put in encyclopedic or in epitomic form the leading facts that otherwise one could accumulate only in the process and progress of his reading. (Incidentally, we will note here 19 Of course no one is without character; but character may be so weak or colorless as to seem uninteresting. Persons of such sort we are likely to describe as being without character. In doing so, we are wrong. They have character, and their character, if artfully reported or interpreted to us, will prove interesting. Here then, as always, we come back to the ability of the writer to see, report, and interpret, and our direction amounts only to a caution that the writer shall be especially careful in showing forth the significance of character in introducing his persons, especially if they be persons of the colorless, unimpressive sort. 16-4 Short Stories in the Making that this method of placing characterization is, broadly speaking, typical of romantic rather than of realistic stories — romance being the deductive and realism the inductive method of fiction.) 10. Following Buch an introductory epitome, character- ization is likely to be less prominent in the remaining presentation; for the author is likely to feel that, having given his reader a complete portrayal at the first, he Deed imt develop il thereafter. Be thereafter does his duty as character-showman by acting rather as demonstrator than as describer or expositor — by bringing forward from time to time, that is, references t.. or instances of characteristic trait- already made known, thus merely illustrating them or recalling them t<> tin- reader's mind. In Buch instances, characterization may deteriorate into initial description and Bubsequenl memory-tickling. We would not be onderst 1 as holding this method, well used, t<> be illegitimate or non-effective; but manifestly it ha- serious dangers and, for some purposes, serious weakness s. i'»». Having mentioned these, we ought also to mention a {'articular use that can sometimes be effectively made of the nim-e inclusive initial portrayal — that of hringing for- ward ar once the dominant character. Whatever initial description may lack a- compared with action as a means of character presentation and as a suspense creator, it at least cannot fail to notify the reader That the person with which it is dealing BO exhaustively i- an important person in the action that is to follow; and the mind will quickly jump to the conclusion that the person so prominently brought forward at the first is the person on whom the story will center. Hence, a? a device for focusing thought on this person, the full initial description is frequently useful Compositional Construction 165 If, therefore, the initial characterization can, by the intro- duction also of action elements, or in other wise, be made to produce in the reader a desire to see more of this im- portant person, it justifies itself by success. 21. Of environmental facts, we must speak accord- ing as they constitute respectively setting or atmosphere material. The placing of facts that are primarily a part merely of the setting, is governed largely by one principle. As on the stage the rising of the curtain, followed soon if not immediately by action, reveals the stage already set, so in the conte the first of any action movement may well find the setting already indicated. The essential facts about place, time, physical background, etc., are best in- dicated just before the action begins that is to take place in their setting, or when, the action having already been motivated or introduced, the setting becomes necessary to an understanding of the activity that is about to follow — for example, when the two rivals have met and are about to fight; the nature of the fighting-place being important in the encounter, as when Bertram the Dauntless hurls the traitorous Count de Bun Quome from the beetling crag into a bevy of Hottentot maidens holding a sewing-circle character interment in the meadow far, far below. 22. The introduction into the narrative, however, of the setting just before the events are related that are to develop in it, is less effective than is the pre-provided stage set in the theater. For on the stage, the stage-set is actually before the eye throughout the action; when the hero's manly foot approaches the verge of the cliff, we then and there see the verge. We are not under the necessity of harking back and recalling that before him is an abyss that yawns. In narration, on the contrary, the setting must 166 Short Stories in the Making be carried in memory; we must either recollect the yawning abyss, or the action must.be stopped while the yawn is being explained to us — a thing mightily relaxing to sus- pense. To overcome the consequent difficulties arising from tills fact — the loss of vividness and of accurate realiza- tion of setting — narrative uses the method of distributed description. Either (a) the items arc mentioned only as they become immediately important in the action, or else (1») an inclusive outline of setting having been provided at some convenient place, its items are again referred to at the appropriate points in order to renew the suggestion of actuality and bring back the picture to us, These sug- gestions -imply may recall facts already introduced, or they may go further, rementioning the principal facts of the Betting already outlined, but adding further detail, thus not only vivifying the description, but also filling in and rounding out the original Bketch. 23, The results thai follow a successful introduction of the massed setting-statement (without or with the aid of distributed reinforcing statement ) illustrate what can be done toward integration by subordinating and emphasizing material- at the same time (cf. XIX. 4). Integration means the working together into a homogeneous whole of all the varied materials that the author selects with which to tell his Btory and produce hi- effect. To introduce the setting-description just before the events for which it con- stitutes th to emphasize it by giving it prominence of place and Bpace; if the narrative passage dealing with that group of facts with which this setting associates itself be reviewed, the setting parts will probably be found to stand forth prominently. The result of this prominence is important. First, it impresses the reader with an under- Compositional Construction 167 standing of the locale of the action. But beyond this, it- incorporates itself into the total effect of the story, because the feeling of this locale incorporates itself into the action. When, therefore, the action itself integrates with the larger story, this feeling — largely one of atmosphere — is carried with it and integrated also with the larger effect of the story. By emphasizing indirect material in a subordinate relationship, we have both kept it subordinate to the nar- rative as a whole, and accomplished also the opposite thing and made it (but inobviously ) prominent in due proportion in the effect of the story as a whole. Thus all things do work together for good to them that love the artistically well-subdued and well-proportioned. 24. Dropping now the problem of mere setting, and taking up rather the problem of the placing of all atmos- phere material, we find ourselves able to state no such absolute rules. But this will not surprise us when we recall that atmosphere is after all a flavor and impression, produced jointly and indifferently by the nature and qual- ity of all the materials in the story together with the manner of treatment they receive from the author — a manner which itself is largely determined by the author's personality. Since there is no such thing, strictly speaking, as atmosphere material — or rather, since strictly speaking everything is atmosphere material — we cannot hope to analyze this material out and give separate rules for its separate management. As atmosphere is a quality found throughout the story, so the materials producing the im- pression of atmosphere are found in every part of the story. We must, therefore, confine ourselves to this one generaliza- tion. Although whatever enters into the narrative should in some degree at least contribute to the impression of 168 Short Stories in the Making atmosphere, this impression should be especially em- phasized in the opening and be well established and thor- oughly confirmed by the time the narrative reaches its climactic height. Beyond the point of climax, any attempt to create an atmosphere not already felt will be unsuccess- ful in Itself, ami will in all probability break the other effects already produced. The atmosphere should be felt curly in the narrativi . and fully realized in lime to enter into and become a part of the climactic situation. 25. We have now considered various particular devices, methods, and principles Involved in the effective ordering of the Incidents and events, and of the two other elements of dramatic narrative fiction — character and setting. Yet we find thai the problem of the ordering and distribution of material remains specifically unsolved— thai no arbi- trary, universal set of directions exists by which these materials can always be assembled with the desired result Even when we have been mosl dogmatic in wording state- ments, we have found ourselves compelled to refer these statements for final sanction to an objeel and purpose out- Bide of the mere narrative sequence. \\'< have always to consider our narrative m< thods with a view to their final effect, the production through dramatic process of a dom- inant, singh' in 26. Now ou1 of this fact — the fact that the success of the conte centers in a -ingle definite impression — comes another hint, and an important one, for the ordering of story materials. This one dominant impression is the total effect of a body of lesser impressions, each pretty definitely made by itself, and all integrated into a larger, homogeneous whole. But at some point in the narrative one such contributing impression will be made that is Compositional Construction 169 deeper, that stirs and affects the reader more strongly, than any of the others, because it represents the culmination in a climactic situation — the height of suspense, interest, and emotion — of all the impressions that have preceded it. 27. This climactic height, or emotional acme, is that one situation toward which all the story moves (except possibly near the end — and then the movement is merely a quick, conclusive falling away from it, in so much of an ending as, and no more than, is necessary to bring the final stop). The importance of this climactic situation — already strongly emphasized — is the reason for stating the following important rule: In any story, use that method of ordering and distribution which best prepares for, brings on, and strengthens the grand climax. For without an impressive climactic situation, there will be no strong impression from the story as a whole; the unifying appliance will be missing from the machine — the parts will be assembled, but they will not be connected up. The further fact that usually those stories are most effective in which the grand climax is also the close, points clearly to the need of an arrangement by which the climactic situation shall if possible be also the closing situation of the story as a whole. XX. The Ending, if Separate from the Climactic Moment, Exists Merely to Supplement and Close the Narrative 1. We have already indicated the most effective, and on the whole most desirable, form of ending — that which is involved in or closely follows upon the climactic mo- ment. A few sentences more should, therefore, be enough 170 Short Stories in the Making to dispose of this form of ending. But to prepare for them, we must firsl explain the function of the close. Stated in popular rather than in scientific terms, it is this: To leave (If reader with the feeling tlmt the story has not only stopped, hat actually is finished — to produce the sense of a rounded-out completeness of events and conse- quences. It existfl to prevent a restless after-feeling of "something left undone" when the Btory has been laid aside. ■J. To leave tin- reader thus satisfied, i- not necessarily t<> Leave him satisfied with the outcome <>f the event-; with this lie iikiv or may no1 be content, lie may, for Instance, be a believer in tin- "happy" ending, and, therefore, be disappointed with the Btory that has chosen to pursue tin- tragic workings of cause and effect to a logical unhappy ending, rather than t.» compose a Less significanl Btory of the " lived happy ever after" (so far as we choose t" tell) Bort Hut if the Btory, whatever its individual nature, spirit, and outcome, have the reader in full possession of tin- facts, with nothing reasonably to be asked further about the persons, action, or situation, it satisfies him in our -ense of the term. lie ha- seen the wheels go round that make np on.- tiny movement of the great timepiece of . and he has seen why these particular win i bey do; the purpose of the ending was to finish up this exhibition and explanation. Or, re- membering that the : conte, is but a fragmen- tary glimpse, a tiny cameo, representing in relief some single bit of life, we may say that the ending repro the last few gravings that bring up the relief into perfect clearness, which otherwise would have remained flat and obscure, making the gem appear poor and unfinished. Compositional Construction 171 3. If now the climactic situation, together with what goes before and prepares for it, does not thus completely satisfy the curiosity of the reader to know thoroughly what (so long as it be material) actually befell in this isolated bit of life — if it does not constitute a complete close to its particular series of events, and leave him, moreover, in clear possession of the central thought of the story — then something must be added to provide this additional information or enforcement, in order that the reader shall lay aside the story with the full sense of interest satisfied. The function of the separate ending is, to discharge what- ever smaller parts remain unpaid of the debt of suspense when the climactic situation has been fully drawn upon. 4. To make the grand climax likewise the satisfying close, two things will be necessary: First, an adequate revelation of the inevitable results of the conflict ; second, a climactic situation which is in itself final and conclusive. The attainment of the first object — the revelation of the results inevitable upon the outcome — calls for what we may term consequential exposition; that is, exposition of after- results as well as of initial situation, a disclosure of what the after-situation will be as well as what the beginning situation was. The revelation of the inevitable conse- quences of the outcome is indispensable, for without it the narrative will be either ambiguous or else wholly obscure ; the reader will be uncertain of the consequences involved in the conflict, and the conflict itself will, therefore, be deprived of definiteness and critical intensity. Watching a man struggling in the river, we shall feel great suspense if we know he is trying to save himself from drowning; and we shall feel some curious interest (suspense) if we know that he is merely an actor whose " stunt " is being 172 Short Stories in the Making " filmed " for the " movies " ; but we shall be troubled and irritated if we are left quite iu doubt whether anything is wrong or not, and if anything is wrong, what it is. We say, therefore, that although the con/lief in dramatic narra- tive slum!,! keep us in doubt of the outcome; and although the outcome itself dors not have to he inevitable, hut only plausible and probable under the conditions supposed; yet the consequences that trill follow the outcome must on the contrary he evident, definite, and sure, presentiny them- i to us as inevitable. 5. Sometimes this revelation of inevitable consequences dependent upon the outcome will In* given by the dis- closure of tin' complication and the development of the l»l<-t conflict Hut ii"t always; stories in which complica- tion, conflict, and thoroughly interesting action exist are quite possible without an indication of the exact nature, the details, of the results that will follow the outcome. // w only when the story is made fully to renal these after' quences, and t<> reveal (h< m before the grand climax is reached, or at h asi It is passed, that the climactic situation can conch nd tJie story. Coppee's The Substitute i- a g 1 example of the Btory in which this revelation i- completed before and in the climactic situa- tion. True, Coppee does add one sentence after the close of this situation: "Today he is at Cayenne, condemned for life as an incorrigible." But this sentence is not necessary. Xo reader but would understand from what has gone before that a further conviction of the ex-convict who is assuming another's guilt, will mean the terrific cumulation upon him of his earlier offenses and criminal record, unlightened by his later reformation. Possibly the words " for life " in the sentence quoted, add something Compositional Construction 173 to our information — but not much ; we knew before that it was colossal tragedy. And unless the reader is familiar with the horrible prison reputation of Cayenne already, the mention of Cayenne tells him nothing more; whereas if he knows it, he knows too that there men of the sort Jean Francois is supposed to be, are sent. We may, there- fore, regard this sentence as superfluous; in which case Coppee's story ends absolutely with the closing words of the climactic situation : " Forward, bad lot ! " and we know that Leturc's past has " got " him, tragically and ruinously. 6. When, however, the climactic situation does not in truth constitute a sufficient rounding out of the story, we have the distinct ending. This ending will be either of two things: interpretive or philosophical comment, or a passage in which is contained the revelation of the final results of the outcome. The interpretive, or philosophical- comment ending, can be justified only when there is need of clinching the theme, express or implied, or of directing attention extraneously and pointedly to the effect intended. This may be necessary when the story is written as a theme story, or when the nature of the material handled, or the point of view chosen, produces a somewhat more loosely- wrought narrative than is theoretically admirable. The ending of comment or interpretation is especially likely to occur in stories that open with philosophical or interpretive prelude. A particular form of this ending goes usually with narrative told from the viewpoint of spectator or participant ; it is that in which the effect of the events or other elements in the narrative upon some person is re- ported. This person may be either a participant, a specta- tor, the narrator, or one of his supposed auditors. Example : 174 Short Stories in the Making " Good God ! " exclaimed Vansburgh, rising and looking about the cafe in horror. " That thing happened here? " " At this very table." Vansburgh gazed at the Lieutenant in a terrified fascina- tion; he was white and trembling. u Right there," continued the officer, pointing a slow steady finger at a place just beside the other. Vansburgh'a eyes dilated a- Ik- gazed — one would have said In- -aw tli«- thing re-enact itself beside him. Then, with a gurgling cry, he reeled hastily to the door. A minute later we heard his big motor-car leap away from the curb in frantic haste. The Btudenl will observe, however, that Buch an ending calls for an almost complete transfer of attention from the persona and action of t 1 1 « - plot, t«> persona and action cpiite outside it — Decessarily breaking the unity of narra- tive if not the unity of attention. It i-, therefore, less artistic than an ending which closes at once the plot narrative and the Btory a- a whole; but it may nevertheless be made necessary by the plan of narration chosen by the author. The lesson i- this: do not without full considera- tion choose a plan of narration that requirea such a break; respect the unity of action and of attention. 7. The eiidi: [ mon which -how- >ome person or person- belonging to the events, experiencing the after- results of the outcome. It may take the form of further narration — the persona appearing in action under the new ■f conditions — or of dialogue, the persons by their nation revealing what these results are. It may also take the form of direct statement by the narrator the sentence quoted in par. 5, which is an unusually short Compositional Construction 175 ending of this class). Again, it may merge into that form of interpretive ending in which the story is interpreted by indicating the effect produced by it on particular individ- uals (see par. 6). We have already said that brevity is essential in the endings. But in one sort of story (e.g., Xingu, by Edith Wharton) the effect is got, not from the conflict, but from seeing the persons undergoing the results of the outcome. In such a story, the ending will be longer ; or we might perhaps say that the plot outcome brings us merely to the exciting moment, so far as the total effect is concerned, and that the ending is in the nature of develop- ing detail. In Xingu, which is satirical, the effect of the satire against pretentious ignorance in club-women is got by means of a long ending showing what occurred after the women discovered the hoax of which they had been the victims; this hoax is revealed comparatively early in the narrative. Some students may prefer to call this ending the falling action of the story — which indeed, from the viewpoint of plot theory, it is. The distinction is not, however, fundamentally important here, except as showing the possibility of constructing plots wherein (contrary to the customary fact) the effect is secured in and through the falling action. XXI. A Preliminary Scheme of Important Com- positional Facts Will Help the Author 1. The short story, or conte, is a dramatic report of some coherent bit of life. Therefore, as a report, it must cover the ground. To do so artistically and not merely as a chronicle, it must attend to a certain set of essential facts, assembling and managing all its materials with reference 176 Short Stories in the Making to these facts ; in looser but more familiar phrase, it must look out for certain points — attend to particular matters that will make or unmake the story. All of these " points " have been touched upon more or less specifically in the progress of our discussion; and here, therefore, we can set down a list of matters which the writer should hare clearly in mind when lie enter- upon the actual com- position of his Story. 11 Most writers will gain time, definiteness, and effectiveness by using such a catalogue, filling it Min completely in advance, consulting it during composition, and checking up tin- completed story by means of it. l\ Tlii- catalogue ox scheme may take some form like that which foil In My Story A. The til. nir i~ B. The w<»rkiiiL r -pl<»t i- ( !. T:.' effect aimed at is D. The main complicating fact b E. The dominant mood of the story Is F. The dominant person Lfi G. The dominant character trait i- II. The motivate are I. The decisive situation is J. The climactic situation is K. The outcome is 3. This scheme may be supplemented with another, 17 The catalogue is revised from that given in Professor Pitkin's valuable book, The Art and Business of Xtory Writing. Compositional Construction 177 listing further matters that, in any story, are likely to call for especial attention; namely — ■ L. The main setting is M. The atmosphere quality to be emphasized is "N. The foiling, balancing, or contrast elements are : (1) Persons and character (2) Setting (3) Situation (4) The anti-theme (theme denied, or in re- verse) 0. The concentrative episodes are P. The " identifying tags " are : (1) For the individual persons (2) For atmosphere (3) For dialect: a. Ordinary speech b. Dialect (4) Occupation (5) Character trait Q. The surprise lies in 4. The supplementary list just given is not represented to be complete. It does give some of the commonest con- siderations that enter into the making of particular stories, or that belong to the more advanced stages of composition in any story. But every story involves peculiar elements which can be known only to the author as he works out its plot and plan; hence a scheme such as ours can be suggestive merely. Some such list should, however, be used ; for in writing, as elsewhere, prevision and provi- sion are worth any amount of patching up by hindsight. CHAPTER IV OTHER PROBLEMS OF FICTIOX-WRITHSTG XXII. Observance of Certain " Unities " Prevents Dispersal of Effect 1. Approaching tin- Bhorl story from other points of view, we find various other problems — such for instance a- choice "t" theme or of motif, choice and management of particular materials and content, t all of them Btrictly problems <>( technique or <>f the conte alone, but all of them important in it- final making. Some of these we Bhall n<»w consider, beginning with the problem of unity. 2. Th<- true Bhorl story (conte) is characterized, as we have Been, by a single dominant effect Some would Bay, worthy effect ; hut the worthiness of the effect is not essential -«» much to the artistic as to the ethical require- ments of literature. It is possible so to construct a story, and so to manipulate the materials and employ in the narrative the devices of fiction, as to elevate an absolutely trivial idea or emotion into the dignity of an effect. But such an exalting of the trivial is a triumph of mere technique ; it is not informed with the high spirit of crea- tive art; and the result is a toy, a curiosity, an interesting yet useless by-product of the worker's skill, inspired by vanity or idleness. It is like the models of ships, complete sometimes in every detail, made by seafaring gentlemen with a knack for tools and a fondness for the 178 Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 179 sunny side of a water-butt, and landfaring ditto with too much time on their hands, owing to a similar fondness for the leeward side of a sun-touched wall. 3. Actual moral unworthiness we cannot, of course, afford. Nor are many artists found who indulge it, or show a tendency to do so. All art, even of mediocre rank, seems in its serious efforts to have behind it a moral pur- pose, if not indeed to spring immediately from moral im- pulse. Earnest writers are animated by a desire for truth (even for the truth, if it can be found by man) — and this very fact often accounts for their writing of things shocking to the great, laissez-faire public, which any Lancelot Gk)bbo can see is sometimes, morally, stone-gravel blind. We need not insist on the matter here, but we shall be war- ranted in noting that time usually vindicates such writers, at last bringing a more plodding and dull-eyed world clumping flat-soled along the way which lighter-footed, keener-visioned men saw and traveled long before . . . grunting with satisfaction at having discovered it them- selves; whereas they have merely chanced upon the trail broken by unappreciated pioneers whom they used to scorn. Another reason why we should not insist upon " moral aim," or whatever cant phrase may be in fashion at any time for the thing itself, is this : the artistic conscience is not to be tampered with or constrained by outsiders; the deep-seeing, far-scanning artist (usually justified, as we have just remarked, by " the long results of time ") cannot do his work in the world with loyalty to either art or general welfare if he is to be bent to the constraints of anything but his own conscience, emotions, and judgment. 1 1 " Emotions," because so great a part of human progress, law, and government, are founded upon feeling. The war between the 180 Short Stories in the Making Nothing is more cruel, nothing more bigoted, nothing more blind to and destructive of the usefulness of art, than this imposition of stolid, stodgy, often stupid, standards by a generation educated just enough to believe in the value of morality, but nol educated enough to comprehend the foundations of morality. 4. So much in digression about the worthiness, artistic and moral, of the impression at which the short story aims; now for consideration of thai impression as the source of unity in the narrative. For the unity of the narrative drama is to be judged solely by the unity, strength, and Btatei WSJ a war ol • 1 1 1 < > t i . > 1 1 - — and the a ft. T-iv-ult - haw BhoWfl that, bo far a^ tin- merely reasoned arguments <>f the two Bid concerned, both were largely erroneous. <»ur war with Spain was emotionaL At least tu<» of the Important political partiet now existing arc. oi were at their founding the outcome of deeply-felt emotion. The many BO-termed reform measures now being enacted into law, and the Innumerable humanitarian and philanthropic ondertakinga that characterise our times, are at bottom emotional. The analytical historian can thus trace some of the greatest move* ments of human development to the emotions as s source. The fad that emotions play bo great s part in <>ur affairs, makes any sort of censorship unwholesome that attempts to interfere with the development or cultivation of the emotions, or with the direction of our feelings to particular ends. Such attempts cannot be prejudged, even by so great seers, prophets, and sages as police inspectors and commissioners. Their sole test is their successful or ansncoessful working out according to their own nature. Few of us would not prefer to live in a twentieth rather than in an eighteenth Century — which fact may be taken as indicating in an empirical sort of way that on the whole the results of having things work out their own way are making a better world from generation to generation. Censorship of any sort is to be looked upon with suspicion; but censorship of art — attempts to interfere with the cultivation or direction of the emotions by the men whose whole business in life it is to see deep into and far over existence — is probably never warranted. Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 181 singleness of this effect. A story may violate all the canons of rhetorical unity, and yet (provided it he suc- cessfully motivated) triumphantly take its place among true short stories, if only it leave with the reader this strong single impression, 5. How shall this unity of impression be brought about ? 2 We must still bear in mind the perpetual warn- ing, that with the true artist all things are possible — that even the most absolute dogma of story-writing theory may at any time be upset by skilled achievement taking a differ- ent way. No principle can safely be declared universal. Therefore, although we now state the usual, we are not stating the universal when we say that next to unity of action (par. lJf), the surest way of providing for the single effect is to make one leading person the dominant person in the three phases of plot, action, and characterization. 3 If the plot depends on and turns about a single person; if the main part of the action either is carried on by this person, or else, though carried on by others, yet keeps him rather than them in the front of attention; and if 2 The all-inclusive answer to the question is this : By attending carefully to all those matters which produce fa) verisimilitude, (b) convergence to a dramatic climax with a conclusive outcome, and (c) subjective coloring. The paragraphs in the text aim merely to suggest particular means and devices by which this thorough integration may be achieved. 3 He may be the dominant person in the plot-action without being the center of interest. Thus, in The Hahnheimer Story (by Arthur James Pegler, Adventure, March, 1914), the reporter, Singleton, is the dominant person, but the interest is in the group of men, all yellow journalists, with whom he stands in contrast. What he does is important only in providing a means of characterizing these others collectively. 182 Short Stories in the Making this person, as the leading object of onr interest, is more fully and individually characterized than the others; — then at the end we are almost sure to find thai the total impression, being fit us gathered up in the fate of this person, is thoroughly unified. 6. A few hints will be useful concerning the manage- ment of portrayal in order thus effectively to develop the full Btrength of the person in the drama. Firsl of all, the character (and sometimes th appearance) of fli<' person must be fully conceived. The writer must know this person's traits, habits, mannerisms of thought and action; otherwise he cannot depict him, hut will at best turn out one who is unly a type ..r a Btock personage, not both a type and an individual. Second, only (lc peculiarly usable characteristics must be portrayed. For Bingleness of im- pression, these have to 1><- kept few in number; abundance uml varii fy of fruit and manm rism may be suggested, but the number actually pr< s< nti d must be few, un>■<>(<■*{ as to s, , and know, in order that it may report and inter- pret; and therefore, it v< not cultivate it- the expression of great eon- ions Bprnng from great understandings of the world it ha- studied and experienced. Therefore again, it i- always aware, not of merely the bare fact-, but r of understanding life "/• men more fvtty, or i of sympathy either with our feUou s r with the individuals portrayed in the story; or which in some <>th< r inn/ leaves us with the feeling that we ha either <>nr mental, our spiritual weUrbeing or experience, Bui for its fullness this assertion is identical with the briefer one 'hat declare- the purpose w many departures from the view of life — life as it is, or as it ought to be — embodied in his writ- ings. This is Inevitable. He lives his own life as he must and can ; but upon life in general he Looks with detachment, as a thing to be regarded removedly if nol impersonally, and with scientific coldness. True, notable fiction has been written expressly to body forth personal experience, the emotional and spiritual history and views of the author as well as the external event- of his life. But in much fiction of this Bort, research Bhows, there has been extensive manipulation, modification, and idealization; the "auto- biographical element " has been Largely and freely altered, sometimes even transformed, in the treatment. Moreover, when tin- has doI occurred, the world has usually found Bomewhal of weakness and inconclusiveness in the work. The artist, W( an compelled I" acknowledge, is larger and more important than the man he inhabits, and the artist's view of life is consequently larger, saner, more human, and more conclusive than the outlook merely of the man. And it is this broader outlook, this generalized opinion and conclusion about life, not to be expounded and exploited as theory, but to be bodied forth in the concrete form of imagined incident and character, at which the writer had better aim; for it is this view, rather than any more personal, emotional, and impulsive body of opinion, that can most helpfully enter into, inspire, stimulate, and give lasting interpretive value, to his work. Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 199 14. Here we may stop to answer a question that divides itself between the ethics of art and the demands of com- mercial success in writing; namely, whether the writer must always believe or approve the idea, or theme which can be found at the root of the story he writes? Must he so direct his story that the outcome presented, the thought exemplified, shall be one that he himself accepts, or is he at liberty — perhaps sometimes under obligation — to report life in such forms, under such combinations, and with such outcomes, as he would not have it, or feels that it does not, possess ? Let us phrase this question in various ways. May he, with honesty to himself and his art, report life from any and all points of view ? May he report it as the newspaper reporter presents his story of a murder, a seduction, a terrible accident, interpreting, making hu- manly comprehensible, without advocating the thing? As a literary creator and experimenter in human motives and behavior, must he confine himself to creation only of such characters and deeds and situations as he could approve of in actual life under the tests of his personal theory of morals, justice, social order, and the like ? May he report what he knows to exist, even though it be in its nature contrary to his own moral standards ? Is it allowable for him to study men and women, motive and act, character and life, by means of imagined facts, persons, and situa- tions of a sort " beyond the law " of his own approval ? 15. Stated in terms like these, the question loses a good deal of its seeming difficulty. Not only is the artist a reporter, who therefore must cover his run; he is also a scientific observer and experimenter, studying and trying out life theoretically in many forms and under many con- ditions, and communicating the notes of hi$ research to 200 Short Stories in the Making the world. As we have said repeatedly, he is under no obligation to assume the part of advocate. It needs no assertion, that the writer who could not conceive charac- ters, incidents, and situations of a sort opposed to those of which he would himself approve, could not enter deeply Into character or motive of any sort; his treatment of life would be superficial, because hia understanding of it would be superficial — and superficial is an exceedingly weak w<»rd with which to designate the fact. The great duty of the fiction writer is t<> interpret life by reporting it accurately; half his possible usefulness would be made impossible it' he were forbidden to report anything but that in which h»- him-. It' beli< I''-. Th.- moral difficulty of the question being thus re- moved, the commercial aspects demand consideration. The first of these Is that involving the financial and worldly Buocess of the author. Shall the artist brave inevitable misunderstanding, with consequent hostility, censorship, and persecution, because he ha- conceived a set of facts that do not Bquare with the always-has-been or the what- I-think of a too-much-r< ading and too-little-thinking world ? Mr. Arnold Bennett advocates the prudent horn of the •True, ■ large pari of the public cannot conceive how this is true. Lacking (as we have Baid) the dramatic instinct, analytical acumen, and consequently the ability to estimate values for them- -. unable to distinguish between exposition and advocacy; untrained to see effect in eanse and cause in effect; accustomed and i u> have th.ir opinions supplied by others, since they cannot safely tru-t their own mental processes; and (one thing highly to their credit) possessed — though it be sometimes at second hand — of a strong conviction that right is right and wrong is wrong; — the contemporary public in any time is likely to protest with all the intensity of ignorant righteousness against examples of interpretation which are too much for its comprehension — provided that such ex- Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 201 dilemma ; go as far as you safely can, is the substance of his advice — with the broad intimation that sometimes this will not be very far. Mr. Bernard Shaw exemplifies the go-as-far-as-you-like theory, but he exemplifies it only in the going. He has not escaped hostility and venomosity, although his brilliancy, independence, fearlessness, and various conditions that. have aided him, have given him a success in facing down a censorious public that most of us could not expect. From the point of view of commercial success, Mr. Bennett gives good advice. Still more a matter of business is the second aspect of the commercial problem. If the writer is to supply a market, he must provide an adequate supply of goods. To do this, he will sometimes find himself obliged to make stories out of whatever materials are at hand. The mill must be kept grinding, and the miller cannot always wait until he gets a grist of good wheat. In all these questionings, the writer must decide his course of action for himself. But one may ask seriously whether the frequent construction of stories wherein his own conviction or point of view is set aside may not in the long run be likely to lessen amples happen to be brought to its attention sensationally enough to stir interest. Then we have the amusing situation of a well- meaning public raging against book, play, picture, or statue as " immoral," at the same time accepting without qualm or thought the "morality" of the melodramatic photoplay, of the slushy love-story found in women's magazines, of the inexpressibly stupid and vulgar " daily short story " of the newspaper, of the burlesque " show " of the theater, and other forms of rain-barrel or thunder-bird literature and drama poor enough or violent enough to gratify their primitive- era taste. Time, however, rectifies all these aberrations of that " amoosin' cuss," the public, and the interpretation that is accurate and true ultimately establishes itself in literature and performs its part in educating the world better to understand itself. 202 Short Stories in the Making the strength and vigor of his earnestness. The good writer must obey the injunction of "put yourself in his place " when he portrays persons acting. To enter into the thought-. feelings, and point of view of another for the purposes of artistic and spiritual comprehension is, how- ever, one thing; to enter into them for the purpose of literary manufacture i- another; and in art as in life, it is Bometimes hard t<> t « -1 1 where honorable association ends and virtual prostitution begins. IT. Here Let as summarize. More ia necessary to the writing of good short story (conte) or Btage drama than the mere impulse to express personal ferment (or for that matter, enthusiasm). There must be in the author, sup- ported and r« inforced bv an all-round literary sense, a true, well-developed - use of the dramatic — of Bignificancefl distinguished from trivialities and non-significances, and of tin- relations of cause and effect i i.e., a sense for the motivation of situations trulv illustrative or interpretive of life). This dramatic-literary instinct will find the most spression through accurate reporting based upon insight and tin- possession of the essential facts, such pres- entation being what ffect even t<> Btories that are frankly purpose But for such reporting, a set of standards is necessary, and tin- set of standards is found in the writer's view of life, which guides him in seeing and presenting facts, and animates or gives spirit to his work. But his view of life need not stand in the way of his portraying themes, characters, or situations that are in opposition to it (especially when the presentation is objective). As a student of and experimenter with the facts and influences of human life, he is at liberty to make fictional report of thing- as he sees them, be they Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 203 what they are; and he may, therefore, portray that with which he lacks personal (but not artistic) sympathy, or that which is inconsistent with his personal (or with the usual worldly) view of life, provided that the spirit in which he makes the portrayal is that of the artist, and that he stop short if at any time he find himself making the portrayal in a way that violates his fundamental sense of propriety and truth. The adjustment between personal and artistic conscience on the one hand and the presenta- tion of uncongenial or uncommended or unaccepted motifs, themes, situations, and outcomes on the other, must be left to the individual writer. Conscience, especially the true artistic conscience, will be his safest guide, and will, if he have it in sufficient degree, protect him from over- yielding to the temptations and constraints of the literary manufacturing industry. 18. Giving all these considerations due weight, we come to that assertion which is of most practical importance to the student seeking knowledge that he can turn to use in the writing of stories. This is, that his decision upon a plot, and his selection of materials wherewith to develop his story, should be determined by his familiarity and lack of familiarity with the facts that will be involved in presenting the story so conceived and planned. The noblest conception, the most dramatic plot, the finest literary art in the construction and setting forth of the story, will be but as a mirage in the desert unless given substance and reality by adequate information. The author must know what he is writing about — and the emphasis is here on K1STOW and not on what. ~No one can write effectively in any but a superficial and general way about that with which he is not familiar. This sounds like a truism — and 204 Short Stories in the Making it is. But people are often blind to the importance of truisms, #nd the tendency of inexperienced writers to at- tempt incidents, plots, situations, settings, and characters that are remote from their experience — about which they in truth have only vague impressions and smattering in- formation — is so Btrong thai the danger lying in it calls for emphatic presentation. 19. The reason why familiarity with the particular sort of scene, persons, and acts to be depicted, is necessary to th« author — why lie cannot depend merely on his general knowledge of men and affairs — is plain. Because in his Btory he must Bhow forth life in appropriate concrete forms, and because thia cannot be done from merely genera] knowledge, the writer must know his people and places with an all-round knowledge that includes details as well ueral fact-. Were story-writing hut the finding of neral human motive for action that is more or less abstractly conceived, the story-dramatist could get along with a general stock of information about human nature ami Btock character trait-. But story-writing is no such thing. If nly when it bodies forth its conceptions concretely and with variety of true detail. Therefore, it must know with i nd fullness the facts with which it deals. To base a st<»ry on the general fact that men who are in love are likely to behave foolishly, it must go beyond the general idea of " men in love " ; it must pass on to the concrete of " this man " — a particular, individual man. millionaire, mechanic, or costermonger, handsome or ugly, manly or effeminate, honorable or treacherous, graceful or awkward, and so on. The million- aire in love will doubtless do just as foolish things a> the costermonger similarly deranged — but not always the Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 205 same kinds of thing. Nor will he do them in the same sort of surroundings, nor before the same class of people ; neither will he and the people about him dress or speak as will the costermonger and his associates. A writer, therefore, whose knowledge of costermongers enabled him to do an excruciatingly humorous story of costermongers in love, might fail utterly in the same sort of story about millionaires in love, unless he knew millionaires as thor- oughly as he knew costermongers. 20. Evidently, every part of the narrative must be worked out down to details, with a fullness proportioned to its importance ; and in all important parts of the narrative these details are always concrete particulars of such specific sort as makes them thoroughly representative of the persons, the kinds of character, the locale, the occupation and social rank, the habits, customs, mannerisms, speech, and thought, with which the story seeks to deal. /^Unless the story be thus worked out in the concrete, it can scarcely be said to belong to fiction at all ; and unless the concrete particulars are true to the life, persons, places, occupations, and atmosphere that they seek to present, they fail the writer as a means of giving plausible outward form to his conception. Intimate familiarity with his materials, even down to minute detail, is indispensable in the produc- tion of consistent, convincing, and truly interpretive dramatic narrative. 21. If from this the student does not realize the wisdom of getting out among men and mingling (though it be but as an observer) in their activities, we will not urge it on him; we will leave him to go on wondering why less studious, less scholarly, and less " educated " men, who do nothing but run about amongst folk, are " getting their 206 Short Stories in the Making stuff over " so often ! But we know the reason. The ob- jectionable fellow who succeeds is rubbing elbows with life; he is getting " next " (Anglo-Saxon, " that which is closest to ") to life in the best way — by mingling with and becoming part of it. He is learning, not merely to look in from the outside, but to go inside and look out, and still more, to look about him while inside. Of course he can report life, for he knows it. When he wishes to give concrete form to any conception, he has an ever increasing store of observation and information from which to draw. The man of Literary instincts who keeps himself "un- spotted from the world " in his own Btudy, can perhaps Bucceed as poet, philosopher, historian or essayist, but seldom indeed can he Bucceed as dramatist or fiction- writer, For to Bucceed, hi must have not only view-of-life, dramatic sense, and artistic impulse; he must have also such intimati and d\ tail d hnowh dge of men and the world U provicL him forms wherein to body life forth. The story-writer who does not make himself inti- ly familiar with the life he would present, is un- prepared either to conceive or to present it. Because he keeps himself unspotted from the world, he is more than likely to be unspotted by the world; for he cannot gain ttention by holding up before it what it wants to — the concrete embodiment of itself in truly characteristic detail, imaginatively created by an artistic master. XXIV. Characterization Involves the Presenting of Human Traits. Class Attributes, and Per- sonal Traits and Mannerisms 1. In turning again to the problems created by the presence of the character element in narrative, we will first Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 207 repeat certain assertions amplified in section X. These are: A. Character is basic human nature shaped and modi- fied into particular traits and tendencies that are mani- fested in the behavior and conduct of the person. B. The second element in human character (human nature being the first) is temperament — the quality or dis- position peculiar to the individual. C. In the acts of men, which are that through which character becomes manifest, the element of reflective fore- sight is important — that quality wherein human action frequently differs from animal action. The existence of reflective foresight, releasing the person from purely automatic reactions, is what makes drama and fiction possible, for it is that which makes human motive possible and thus creates conflict and struggle. Fiction is interest- ing largely because it shows us man employing, or failing to employ, his reflective foresight in critical situations. 10 D. Character in the individual is the sum of his moral, intellectual, and physical instincts, feelings, tendencies, qualities, and habits, resulting from the union in him of human nature and temperament. To these we may now add: E. Single acts and speeches are not sure revealers of character; neither is psychological analysis (or narration) of thought and motive (recounting events of the " stream of consciousness"). Single acts and speeches are seldom conclusive, although they may be very significant; they throw light on, but do not fully discover, character. Char- 10 We must not understand that the employment of reflection is always necessary on the part of the person. His very failure to reflect may be the backbone of his comedy or tragedy. 208 Short Stories in the Making actcr is completely and conclusively revealed only by con- duct — the sum and outcome, under thoroughly testing conditions, of the person's reflection, emotion, impulse, and acts. Action not clearly the result of predominating traits and motives that wiU always produce like conduct under similar conditions, is inconclusive. F. Single acts (or series of single acts) are produced by cither (a) reason, (b) feeling, or (c) impulse. In (a) and (b), will is present ; the person chooses his act through reason or through emotional influences. But in (c), the act is instinctive rather than determined. 11 As, however, conduct Lb the result and sum of single acts, the three sources of our acts arc likewise the three sources of con- duct Therefore, conduct is either (a) reasoned or (b) not reasoned. G. We can now proceed to another classification. Acts that ar< — (a) indicativi rm n \y of ha man nature will always tend to be pun ly instinctive or emotional, (b) indicative of class characteristics will usually be instinctive or emotional, growing out of settled class motive-, customs, and feelings; but these may at times be reasoned upon more deliberately than those of basic human nature arc likely to be. (c) indicative of the individual temperament may be either instinctive, or emotional, or reflective. 2. This last classification (G) brings us to the asser- 11 Feeling is often the source of impulse. But as our classification is otherwise helpful, and as it works effectively for our purposes, we will be pragmatically satisfied with it, noting merely that feeling sometimes is subjected to reason and sometimes is impulsively obeyed. Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 209 tion that the individual traits, qualities, and mannerisms are those which most prominently appear in characteriza- tion, and therefore call for the largest amount of direct attention from the writer. These traits and habits must appear most prominently because, were it otherwise, the persons would be no more than stock persons, not individ- uals ; and hence the main value of characterization — show- ing life in its multitude of variations — would be lost. Did a writer present a person in whose character only the basic elements of human nature showed, he would present an abstraction, and his fiction would therefore become an allegory, a mere piece of narrative exposition such as Pilgrim s Progress is. The same would be the case to almost as great an extent did he present us merely a type, or unindividualized representative, of the lawyer, the doctor, the cook, the priest, of the explorer, the home- stayer, the lover, the achiever, and so on through all the class categories. But the universal characteristics, or even the characteristics common to any particular class, are not those that primarily give life its endless daily interest through its variety and consequent uncertainty. The pos- session of individual traits and character qualities, of in- dividual habits and mannerisms — this it is that makes men keep on interesting other men from day to day and generation to generation. To present a stock personage, a mere typeman, is not supremely difficult. But to present a thoroughly individualized person under whose individ- uality is yet to he perceived the class and the race traits, is no easy task. And this is the task of the fiction writer. 3. A further word of explanation may here be useful. The basic traits of human nature do not offer in themselves matters of sufficient interest for repeated presentation; 210 Short Stories in the Making they are too few. The primary instincts and emotions make no extensive list. Hunger, sexual passion, fear, anger — a few categories such as these will cover all that is primarily an clement in human nature. Even affection for offspring seems to be largely a developed instinct; so that, although we now regard it as fundamental among civilized peoples, it in faci represents a considerable stage of advancement; many tribes show it but sporadically, and possibly we shall not exaggerate greatly if we assert that among beasts the dam sometimes shows it more con- clusively than do twentieth-century mothers (individual instances are of course what is meant). Such facts as these, by the way, illustrate our thought, thai it is the individual variations rather than the fundamental nature that prolines- th uncertainty and immediate interest of life. The same generalizations arc true aboul class char- acteristics: ll the distinctive class traits are few, and wen- it not that many men of many temperaments possess them in common, would afford little more than a formula for the writer— an unchanging pattern on which all his char- acters would of necessity be shaped. What life actually affords, however, is countless characters founded upon human nature and more or less also upon class traits, but showing forth innumerable variations of this human nature and class attribute brought about by the innumerable varia- tions in the conditions of environment and in the many other natural causes that are productive of individual "The student will observe that class traits i individualis- ing influences operating upon entire groups alike. The group thus becomes individualised from the rest of mankind, and therefore, after this has occurred, the individual traits of its individual mem- bers stand in the same relation to the collective traits of the class as to basic human nature. Other Problems of Fiction- Writing 211 temper. Hence, it is only when the character 'portrayed is true, first to human nature, then to class form™ and finally, to a clearly conceived individual temperament such as is logically produced by the determining causes of varia- tion, that we get individuality, or personality , the quality so indispensable to complete characterization. And again, therefore, we must point out the necessity of knowing not only man, but men ; for nothing else will supply that store of understanding out of which the author can conceive characters that not only are true to race and class, but also show infinite human variety. 4. We come then to this counsel. In characterizing, think rather negatively than positively of race and group traits, but very positively of individual traits; make cer- tain that the materials selected do not violate the funda- mental truth of human nature and class attribute, but make equally certain that the materials selected do present a clearly conceived and clearly individualized person having a personality, a character, all his own. This, of 18 In actual writing, the author not infrequently finds that class attribute may be safely disregarded; only at times does class characteristic become important. There are, for instance, many situations that can as well be worked out with a preacher or a gambler as the central person, as with a lawyer or an engineer. The conte is less likely than the longer forms of narrative fiction to give extended attention to class trait, because its space precludes much portrayal of character purely for the sake of portrayal. Even in the most concentrated short-story treatment, however, the preacher and the gambler must be true to type except in those cases in which the story arises wholly or in part from their being untrue to type — and then class trait is presented in contrast merely. The point of this comment is, then, that class attribute cannot be under- taken solely for its own sake in the short story, except in cases of special character aim and purpose, when the story itself depends on the class character. 212 Short Stories in the Making course, advises no actual disregard of the more general and basic characteristics, but BUggests rather the proportionate emphasis that each should receive; for it is unlikely that any conception of individual character, if true to life in the < l> merds that give it individuality, will be untrue to life in fundamentals. The Bingle character imagined from intimate and accurate observation of the motives, acts, and action of men, can scarcely fail to be true to the more basic facts of human nature. Accurate reporting will take care of this. Yet lest these assertions result even yet in misapprehension, let as set down again that the merely individual character— that failing in its individuality also to represent mankind and el;; iiv.lv worth depict- ing; at best, it can be but one of the curiosities of literary portraiture, a member of the gallery of freaks, and it is still more likely to be merely a nullity and " oixnutz." M 5. B< fore considi ifically some of the means of pn senting character, we may -peak briefly of the attitude taken by the author toward the person he is depicting. Two attitude.- are possible: the author may assume an attitude of personal judgment and interpretation toward his creation, or he may merely put it forth, then leave it to get understanding and win favor or dislike from the reader for itself. In letting appear his own feeling toward or judgment of the character, he will find disad- vantage along with advantage. Perhaps the advantage lies chiefly in two things. By letting his opinion of the 11 When the author's purpose is, to portray the class, not the individual — to make the person a personification of a type, or the embodiment of some general trait — the procedure is reversed. The individuality of the character is then minimized, and the person transformed into a symbolical or allegorical figure by emphasis of the general traits. Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 213 character be seen, the author can readily indicate his view of life ; yet just for this reason, authors — young authors especially — laboring under the belief that their " message " must be conveyed directly and obviously, are likely to over- do their approval or disapproval — as are older writers also who are more fired with zealotry than possessed by an artistic appreciation of life, or who permit themselves to become enamored of or displeased by the persons of their story. Second, by distinctly notifying the reader how the author regards the person, the author gives incompetent understandings a push in the direction he wishes them to take. 6. But probably most readers prefer to appreciate the character for themselves ; certainly this is true of the more cultured reader, unless the author's exposition of the character be redeemed by some extrinsic quality, such for instance as Thackeray's genial sarcasm. The reader gets interest out of reaching an understanding of the person by employing his own faculties and judgment, and there is loss of zest when he finds himself served with a meal of predigested character breakfast-food. Moreover, when the attitude of the author becomes sentimentally admiring or antagonistically bitter, readers are likely to feel down- right dissatisfaction — the more so because often in such instances the author's ability in character portrayal proves less than his facility in maudlin approval or intolerant condemnation. 7. Finally, we must reflect that in the conte the space allowable for direct or explicit expression of the author's point of mew, is small indeed. Unless he can indicate his attitude by means of quick epithet, of adjectives, ad- verbs, and phrases of characterization that imply rather 214 Short Stories in the Making than assert opinion, giving it by subjective coloring rather than by any obvious means — in brief, unless by suggestion he can convey without obtrusiveness the view he holds, lie can seldom with safety attempt such an expression in the short story. In the novel he couM do it and, it' his atti- tude and philosophy proved worth while, command atten- tion thereby. But the limitations of the short story in this respect are far stricter than arc- those of the novel. Yet the Bhort-story writer is not without means even for direct presentation of character estimates. He can make the persons in his story express, by both word and deed', their judgrm ni of their f> llow-pi rsons. By this means and by Bkillful suggestion otherwise, the skillful author will be fully able to embody in bis narrative his personal estimate of any character without at all thrusting himself into the Btory to do it. Bui even when all is said, the facts, ac- curately reported, remain th< best means of revealing the beauty or ugliness, tin worthim ss or unworthiness, of any character, and no adequately portrayed person in fiction trill : dy misjudged by competent read* rs, though the author's attitude toward him be left wholly aled. XXV. " Character " Implies an Original Concep- tion of a Person Having Definite Individuality; Its Traits being Portrayed by Description, Analysis, Psychological Xarration, and Espe- cially Act and Speech 1. How is an individual character created in fiction ? Is it copied from the character of some person — a repro- duction of an original \ Many persons ; even critics who Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 215 might know better, seem to think so; for we find endless attempts going on to identify the " original " of this or that noted person of fiction. Yet even when there in fact is an original, the copying is always so free — the suppres- sion of traits that are present in the original, the addition of traits not present in the original, and the placing of emphasis upon certain traits in preference to others — all this is so common, as to make most copies nothing but highly idealized derivatives of the original character. When scientific biography gets to work upon these " copies," it nearly always proves that the most which the fictional presentation accomplishes is, to give a suggestive, but not an accurate, portrayal — to show what the person copied might have been, but not what he was. Art, in fiction or out of it, cannot produce copies of actual things; it must adapt, modify, and indeed build entirely anew. 2. Yet the conte is better adapted to the copying of actual character than is the novel. The short story must confine itself to some dominant trait, or at most to a few prominent traits; all beyond this it must either exclude or merely hint at and suggest. True, in the best artistry, this hinting will be so managed as to give the reader the impression of character completeness; it will make him see the character in perspective, with the least possible amount of that distortion which must follow the emphasiz- ing of but a single trait or small group of traits. Even so, however, it cannot attain to complete character presen- tation. But because one of its legitimate and necessary methods is, thus to select out and deal with some dominant element of character, relegating the many modifying and accompanying elements to relative obscurity, the short story can upon occasion more successfully base itself thus upon 216 Short Stories in the Making some prominent trait in an actual person, than can the ampler novel ; and by selecting also the environment and incident appertaining to this person in actual life, it can thus produce a " copy " of the " original " that will be effective. Yet even the short story, in making this repro- duction of mi actual character, must omit, tone down, tone up, and otherwise manipulate, modify, and idealize the facts in accordance with the requirements of dramatic plot and artistic impression. Moreover, because the presenta- tion of the actual person so made will emphasize but a single element of hia character, ir will, even when more suggestive than thai given by 1 1 1 « - novel, be if anything even Less complete and broadly adequate as a true presentation <»f the actual man. We are forced t.» concede, therefore, that in fiction the creation of a character can not be ae* plished through the copying of characters actually known in individual men "ti'f women, 3. This, however, is fortunate, not only for the author, but for the world that depends — more perhaps than it Buspecta — upon the interpretations of literature for an understanding of men and character. For although every character in literature is, in some degree at least, a con- crete, individual character belonging to a distinct, individ- ual person; yet in that character every element and trait is an element and trait that belongs to human nature and human temperament, and is to be found somewhere in the characters of actual men and women. But these ele- ments will not be found always in the same groupings, or in the same degree-, ot in the same circumstances; and it is the opportunity and tosh of fiction to know these manifold ehai*aeteristies of men and man, to bring them to light, and to exhibit them in their inherent quality. Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 217 Further, to effect new combinations of them in imagined characters, to try their effect upon men and the affairs of men in different degrees and different combinations and different circumstances, falls also to the fiction-writer. Whereas copying would restrict him to the mere setting forth of character elements in only that degree, those com- binations and circumstances, in which he might have a chance to observe them actually existent in actual persons, character creation on the other hand calls upon him to do a far more pleasant and far more profitable thing. In character creation, he is to handle the elements and traits of character with the freedom of an experimenter charged with the duty of finding new proportions, new combina- tions, new conditions, and new results, by means of his expert knowledge and expert skill. He works as the chemist works in seeking new and useful compounds and products, or as the botanist works in seeking to produce new varieties and determine the behavior of plants in widely variant conditions, or as the practical philanthropist works who seeks to bring about in individual men a new combination and proportion of qualities, and an adjust- ment of surroundings, in order that he may create a new character in the individual man. 4. Character creation, therefore, consists (1) in the selection and combination in due proportion of certain traits, elements, or qualities of human character; (2) in malcing these consistent with basic human nature and class character; (3) in malcing them also significant of some particular phase or phases of human nature (and perhaps of class character) ; and (J/.) in addition to this, in embodying them in concrete acts, mannerisms, speech, and conduct that will impress the reader as belonging to a 218 Short Stories ix the Making distinct and individual personality. The actual process of this selection and combination may go on in different ways. One may (A) begin by determining the particular phase or quality of human nature that he wishes to interpret. He then seeks acts, conduct, situations, and speech, to- gether with appropriate setting and other environment, such as besl agree with and express this phase and quality. Or he may (B) begin with certain mannerisms, acts, or behavior, and from these determine the aspect of human natnn-, and conceive the character, that his story must present ; his principal task thereafter being, to pro- vide a sufficient body of such acts, conduct, and Bpeech ade- quately to display this aspect Or again, he may (C) begin with the conception of B particular Betting, environ- ment, atmosphere, or situation, deciding from this upon that asped of human nature and those qualities of per- sonality which lie must present, and upon the concrete conduct, and speech necessary to this presentation." There may be other ways of determining character, and the mean- of expressing it; but the three here mentioned are the common 5. The conception, therefore, of the character to be portrayed, may oftm determine the choice of persons to appear in and carry on the action. For we need know the world but moderately well to know that types of character frequently associate then ith types of in- dividual. Brutality is characteristic of ignorance; gross luxury and barbaric display are associated with the self- sculptured person who is an artist only in the rough and lf Setting and environment, but especially setting, are more likely to influence the selection of cla-s than they are to enter into the determination of character in other respects. Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 219 has devoted more attention to the multiplication of riches than to the polishing off of his self-hewn character ; bigotry accompanies membership in any class educated through dogmatic precept and not through development of the reason — which fact accounts for the frequency with which literature has coupled intolerance with certain scholastic, legal, and clerical types of person. On the other hand, there are qualities of human nature and temperament that cannot be associated with any particular type of person, but are widely distributed among all types, and perhaps are universal. Pity is found in the rich and the poor, the coarse and the refined; hatred and affection characterize every class; honor and treachery may be found in the soldier, the priest, the merchant, the prostitute ; there are stupid professors and lightning-witted ditchers. The more deeply the quality is rooted in basic nature, the more universal it will be. We conclude, therefore, that although our choice of actors in the story may sometimes be guided or even determined by the character type to be portrayed, yet nevertheless the more the character quality belongs to fundamental nature and the less it is adventitious — the result of special modifying and conditioning circumstances — the less surely will it associate itself exclusively with any particular type of person. The basic traits of man are to be found in every type and every individual. 6. We have already emphasized the necessity of the fiction-writer's dealing with materials that are within his experience, avoiding scene, situation, person, character, and action, with which he is not familiar. But this neces- sity should be urged again here. Nowhere is ignorance — lack of intimate information — more fatal than in the at- tempt to present persons in character, and nowhere is 220 Short Stories in the Making such ignorance so impossible of concealment. Without knowing man and men, the writer can never create persons who will move and live. Yet the frequency with which we find inadequate equipment in this indispensable quali- fication for dramatic narrative, is surprising. It is sur- prising because a writer Deeds not to know all the world and its " cities of men" — needs not to have traveled widely, to have Lived a life af thrill, change, adventure, or far-extending activity himself, lie will without this have sufficient opportunity for Studying and learning men. We arc forced to conclude, therefore, that many of the wish-I- were writer- have not exercised their powers of observa- tion and sympathetic understanding, or indeed lack such powers; bo wofully d<> they fail in comprehension and rep- tation of human trait and mannerism. 7. One of the most common manifestations of this hope- less lack of equipmenl is found in those Btories that go far away from home — far outside the writer's range of experi- ence — for person, plot, or incident The ambitious college girl, whose broad experience perhaps includes life in her home town in Maine, [owa, or Colorado, and in the little " city n where the Btate university or woman's college i% with (perhaps) a flying visit to Boston or ( 'hicago and one supreme occasion when Bhe was guest at a " junior prom " in some man's college — this little lady must attempt a story of the Riviera, of St. Petersburg (Russia, not Florida!), of Hongkong or Mandalay; must undertake to show us Siberian exiles, Japanese naval officers, the in- habitants of some (largely imaginary) Chinatown; must try to build a plot of vast financial or political intrigue, of domestic infelicity in " high life," or adventure on the " high " seas. All of which is pitifully an exhibition of Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 22i poor judgment. For though it is true that the basic traits of human nature are the same always and everywhere, it is not true that the customs, manners, and mannerisms, the social conventions, the setting — all the endless range of those externals through which characterization must be achieved — it is not true that these things can be intuitively realized. The externals must be known, and known familiarly, if they are to be reported convincingly, and even a genius must be intimately acquainted with that multiplicity of accompanying detail through which alone the characteristic individuality of character, of setting, and of incident, can be established. 8. Perhaps the college girl who has lived her twenty years with open eyes and interpreting heart can — if blessed of the gods — write a passable story of the things that might happen in her home town, or in the college. But she knows nothing of the habitues of the Riviera, of Russian grand dukes and princesses, of Siberian exiles, of Japanese naval officers, of the " four hundred " — nothing except that they are men and women. And lacking knowledge of them, she lacks the first essential to adequate reporting. It is inadequacy of information that gives us the stock Englishman who is an Englishman only because he litters up the floor with H's that he ought to be more careful of, and can't keep his monocle in his eye; the stock cowboy who is a cowboy because he yells whoopee ! swills whisky, and shoots up the town whenever he steps outdoors; the " darky " who is a darky because he says " Gorrymighty, massa " at every opportunity ; and other wooden-man crea- tions that have no individuality and about the same amount of human nature. The writer with an understanding of the nature of true characterization, will shun these stock 222 Short Stories in the Making persons as he would the plague; and the writer with a just sense of the possihle and impossible in characterization will undertake to present no character that calls for such setting, environment, incident, or other accompanying material as he is not sufficiently familiar with to report with convincing accuracy of detail. !». We haw- in the preceding paragraphs spoken of character and of the person possessing the character, as if they were identical. And this, for most practical pur- poses, they arc Hence in tin- succeeding paragraphs, wherein we now consider the means by which character trait- are presented to tin- reader, we shall continue to speak <>t* the character and the person as one. We pa—, then. !•» this consideration. Our first observation is, that physical description of the person may be utilized to sug~ This function, Indeed, is the main func- tion that description of persons '-an lav claim t<> in fiction. There i-. to !'<■ Bure, a Limited interest merely in knowing that the hero Lb tall and dark and ha- curly hair, that th<- heroine is petite and " walk- with a grace all her own." and even that the old farmer i- lean and angular. But BUch information is too often of the unimportant-if- trtie sort, and with discriminating readers is scarcely of interest at all — certainly not when it represents only the callow writer's conception of her own appearance or the app« arance of her wished-for sweetheart, as they might be if things were different There must be a more command- ing reason for describing the person; and this justifying reason is found in some relation that always exists between personal appearance and essential character. This relation may be that of resemblance, or that of contrast; the out- ward aspect may be an index of the spirit within, or it Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 223 may be one of those always startling physical incongruities reminding us that noble spirits may house in ignoble bodies, and fair bodies incase foul souls. . 10. Of the two relations, that based upon incongruity of the outer and the inner man is the less common and on the whole the less frequently available. Indeed, it is usable at all only because the other relationship, that of cor- respondence between the inner and the outer, is the rule. The fact that, even aside from conventional conceptions, the outer man so often bewrays the inner, gives an added effectiveness to characterizations in which the exception is presented. Incongruity thus becomes the method of delineations where sharply engraved outlines are desired — the effect of keen contrasts, with the resulting effect of pathos and tragedy or of humor, satire, or burlesque. The fat man full of sentimental love, the deformed woman full of deep and passionate affection for the man who loves the physically perfect in woman — figures like these, pre- sented adequately, must always move us deeply. But from the nature of the method, we find it best reserved for stories in which the effect of strong contrast is especially sought. 11. But similarity between the inner and the outer is common enough in actual life, and has established itself so thoroughly in the technical conventions of art as to become the rule. When, therefore, contrast is not sought, the depicting of the outer man as corresponding with the inner is the natural method. The shrewd man has sharp features and small, sharp eyes; the prying person has a thin, pointed nose; the good-humored person has many little wrinkles at the corners of mouth and eyes; the big and leering mouth is the sign of foolishness ; shifting eyes 224 Short Stories in the Making betray the shifty spirit; fingers that are never quiet speak of nerves that are never at rest; a swinging gait means independence — perhaps the independence of resolution and courage, perhaps the independence of carelessness and irre- sponsibility. There is truth in the popular song, " Every little movement has a meaning of its own." So has every line and attitude. He is indeed fortunate who has ob- Berved men and women to such purpose that their char- acter is revealed t<> him l>y trivial, yet all-significant, externals — to whom the significant external signs present themselves surely and naturally when he conceives a trait ami portrays a character. For these things are not matters of downright invention, cannot he thought up or manu- factured. They lie in the natural relations existing be- tween man's body and hi- character. The outer bodies forth the inner. L2. Description of the person of an actor, therefore — of his appearance, hi- mannerisms of physical expression and ; be outward man that bo suggestively cor- responds to the man within — can frequently he used ef- fectively toward characterizing the individual. Such description may be massed (hut not without the disadvan- a that attend massed description), or it may he dis- tributed; it may be given by the author directly, or be placed by him on the lip- of some person in the story — even those of the person himself who is being character- ized ; it may include only details, or it may include also a summarizing description that gathers up the details in a general estimate. Illustrations of direct description can be found everywhere; the books on rhetoric, narration, description, and fiction-writing abound with them. A single example must serve here ; Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 225 Tall, he was, and queerly suggestive of a spinning- top turned upside down and fitted with legs ; for his head was small and pointed, and hinted, moreover, of being as hard as the iron peg of the top ; and the loose and modish topcoat in which he had encased himself, hung on narrow shoulders, but below flared out with the brazen independ- ence of fad-bold styles. Had Ranger been less colossal in height and diameter, he would have resembled an overgrown gnome, tubby and rotund in the middle, making his uncer- tain way on teetering legs. Yet there was physical strength in the man notwithstanding his ill proportions. The long arms looked as if they had been practiced in reaching out and seizing, or in giving tremendous blows. The bulbous body looked as if it were able to remain inert against great pressure, giving stability to the uncertain legs, and the head looked as if by sheer repeated pecking it might pierce a way through stone-wall obstacles. Only when you looked into the eye — which was hard to catch — did you see that the dwindling legs and the pindling cranium might be truer indexes of the man's character than were his fusi- form globularity, his mass, his height, his prehensible arms and hammer fists, and his head with its shape of the steel- nosed bullet. 13. Another direct means of characterizing is that of franh analysis. Analysis, however, is closely akin to ex- pository writing; and to say this is enough to warn the tempted writer that forbearance is better than indulgence when he entertains any doubt about the advisability of employing this method. Further, since exposition grows disproportionately obvious as it grows longer, passages of analysis must needs be short — particularly so in the 226 Short Stories in the Making conte. It is better to break the passage up into smaller portions of analysis or explanation, and distribute these at opportune places in the story, than to permit the analysis to grow unwieldy in a Bingle Longer passage. What is here Baid, however, does do! imply that one shall fail to givi a lcey to (h< character <t he, all things considered, the best method — as when a person must he shown in action without sufficient precedent opportunity to develop by other means that trait of character which must be undent 1 in order t.« understand the motive with which he i- now t<. act. or \\ b< n subordinate persons must 1"- chi importance is too Blight to justify the more dramatic methods of presenting their character. We Bcarcely need add that, when either description tm . the t" Si /'filers for it are the points of lowered '•■ thi narrative — the tween the wav< t action. To break into the action-movement, Btopping it in order to describe or analyze, is crude and often fatal malpractice. A brief passagi of analysis is here given, to illustrate concretely this method of direct characterization: His was a Boul that thrived upon black tempers fol- lowed by hysterica] melancholy. Between these black storm periods, with their sequence of penitential rains, he was blithe, indifferent, chirpy, moody, active, quiescent, as chance decreed. But these intervening moods were merely the fortuitous variations of his spiritual year, and had no fixed relations with his full seasons; sullen rage and equi- Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 227 noctial remorse were his spring, summer, autumn, and winter of emotion, and swayed all lesser periods, as spring, summer, autumn, and winter dominate all the minor epochs of the solar year. 14. Yet neither description nor analysis is the writer s best dependence. On act and deed only — on the action of the individual — can be founded dramatic characterization. Description and analysis are but accessories and aids to this higher method. We best perceive that a man is quick- tempered when we see him " fly off the handle " and do something in hasty anger. We need no explanation to make us know that a woman is treacherous if we see her wantonly betraying a friend. The clerk seen appropriat- ing a package from the shelves is classified by his act ; the boy who takes a thrashing to save a weaker lad from too severe punishment, wears a Carnegie medal to our eyes without its being pinned on him by an analysis of his courage and sympathy. The man whom we find sitting in his club, telling unclean stories — we know the fullness of his heart from the speech of his mouth, as we do that of his brother the other loafer who tells the same stories in the country store. The patient response of a husband to the nagging of his wife, characterizes him as much as her nagging speeches characterize her. All this but says that act and speech dramatically reveal character as nothing else can do. Therefore, the writer has endless opportunity to achieve varied dramatic characterization; for as the variations of character and temper, and the number of convincing combinations of them, is infinite, so the number and hinds of act and speech through which character can be portrayed, are infinite. The act and the manner of the act, 228 Short Stories in the Making whether one drive a dagger to his enemy's heart or flick a fly from his own bald head, are the best revelation of char- acter — and I do not know that any degree-pursuing research enthusiast has yet had the brilliantly barren impulse to look up just how many ways there are of doing either. 15. We cannot close this section without speaking of one other means of indicating, more or less directly, the character of the actor — psychological narration. Psycho- logical narration is found most extensively in the so-called psychological story, bui ir is likely to be useful anywhere, the danger of employing 11 lying in the ease with which in- ternal action can displace external action in the narrative. Psychological narration sometimes is hard to discriminate from psychological analysis, bui it is, in its clearest forms, distinctly separate, // consists in narrating, or recounting, menial and spiritual operations, and its justification lies in the fact thai no external act can intelligibly express of flw st ' operations of intellect, impulse, mood, anil spirit through which acts and conduct are de- termined. Unless, therefore, the psychological event- be narrated that constitute these operations, they cannot be presented in any dramatic or even pseudo-dramatic way. To narrate thus the incidents that make up the stream of consciousness, is to reveal motive by revealing the hidden springs whose release sets going outward events. Hence it reveals character, a r least indirectly, Bince motive results from character. The beginning writer, however, should use no more psychological narration than he finds himself compelled to use, and should admit it only in short and well-distributed passages. 16 16 Naturally, the longer the story, the longer the passages of description, analysis, psychological narration, and the like, that can be introduced. Other Problems of Fiction-Writing 229 XXVI. Dialogue Lightens the Narrative, Con- tributes to Exposition and Intensification, Furthers Action, and Characterizes 1. In contemporary short fiction, dialogue is prominent ; sometimes it displaces all the other means of presentation, and the story becomes still more nearly a play — conver- sation constituting all the story and suggesting even the " business " of the actors. The increasing prominence of dialogue has been an accompaniment of the general im- provement of narrative method; for dialogue has been found not only to have a function particularly its own in fictional narrative, but also an ancillary function, relieving the heaviness and monotony sometimes attending narration even when concerned immediately with action. Experi- ence has demonstrated the usefulness of dialogue in lightening the narrative, contributing expository or inten- sifying detail, advancing the action, and indicating the character of the persons. 2. The usefulness of conversation in lightening the narrative is evident. A steady flow of purely historical assertion must sooner or later grow monotonous, and readers of fiction find this especially true. Probably there is, consciously or unconsciously, the reasoning that in life itself men speak freely about themselves and their affairs, and that fiction ought to represent them as they are in life — the more so as the ebb and flow of converse in actual life goes so far toward making it interesting and explaining the motives and character of men to one an- other. The occurrence, therefore, of passages of dialogue in a fiction narrative makes the presentation seem more 230 Short Stories in the Making dramatic (in both senses of the word), breaks up long historical statement into livelier and briefer form, makes reading easier to the eye, makes the humanity of the fictional persons more apparent, enables the reader to get illuminating glimpses of character without the need of wallowing through explanatory mud- puddles, and — in a word — brings the story closer in form, method, and matter to the realities of life. 3. Yet numerous good stories are told without the em- ployment of dialogue; for to some narratives it is not essential, and some successful anthers have no gift in dialogue We are to remember thai there is no hard-and- fast rule of fiction-writing— that the author's conception and the material which it calls on him to present may at any time produce a new Bet of conditions, to meet which he may have to do even the exad opposite of the rule, and that his Bucoess will be determined by the significance n{ the conception and the skill with which he meet- the conditions created by it Good stories are written in which dialogue is not required at all, or in which it i- avided. But this