The Responsibilities Of The Novelist, And Other Literary Essays by Frank Norris (1903)

1. The responsibiities of the novelist
2. The true reward of the novelist 
3. The novel with a "purpose" 
4. Story-tellers vs. novelists 
5. The need of a literary conscience 
6. A neglected epic 
7. The frontier gone at last 
8. The great American novelist 
9. New York as a literary centre 
10. The American public and "popular" fiction 
11. Child stories for adults 
12. Newspaper criticisms and American fiction 
13. Novelists to order-while you wait 
14. The "nature" revival in literature 
15. The mechanicis of fiction 
16. Fiction writing as a business 
17. The "volunteer manuscript" 
18. Retail bookseller: literary dictator 
19. An American school of fiction? 
20. Novelists of the future 
21. A plea for romantic fiction 
22. A problem in fiction 
23. Why women should write the best novels 
24. Simplicity in art 
25. Salt and sincerity 
26. Bibliography, essays, articles, letters 
27. Short stories 
28. Poems published 
29. Books published

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Writing Books Index

The Importance of the Single Effect in a Prose Tale by Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe: The Importance of the Single Effect in a Prose Tale by Edgar Allan Poe

[These paragraphs are from a review of Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales, which originally appeared in Graham's Magazine, published in Philadelphia, in May, 1842.]

Word Count: 3539

WE HAVE always regarded the Tale (using this word in its popular acceptation) as affording the best prose opportunity for display of the highest talent. It has peculiar advantages which the novel does not admit. It is, of course, a far finer field than the essay. It has even points of superiority over the poem. An accident has deprived us, this month, of our customary space for review, and thus nipped in the bud a design long cherished of treating this subject in detail; taking Mr. Hawthorne's volumes as a text. In May we shall endeavor to carry out our intention. At present we are forced to be brief.

With rare exception- in the case of Mr. Irving's "Tales of a Traveller" and a few other works of a like cast- we have had no American tales of high merit. We have had no skilful compositions- nothing which could bear examination as works of art. Of twaddle called tale- writing we have had, perhaps more than enough. We have had a superabundance of the Rosa-Matilda effusions- gilt-edged paper all couleur de rose: a full allowance of cut-and-thrust blue-blazing melodramaticisms; a nauseating surfeit of low miniature copying of low life, much in the manner, and with about half the merit, of the Dutch herrings and decayed cheeses of Van Tuyssel- of all this, eheu jam satis!

Mr. Hawthorne's volumes appear misnamed to us in two respects. In the first place they should not have been called "Twice-Told Tales"- for this is a title which will not bear repetition. If in the first collected edition they were twice-told, of course now they are thrice-told.- May we live to hear them told a hundred times. In the second place, these compositions are by no means all "Tales." The most of them are essays properly so called. It would have been wise in their author to have modified his title, so as to have had reference to all included. This point could have been easily arranged.

But under whatever titular blunders we receive this book, it is most cordially welcome. We have seen no prose composition by any American which can compare with some of these articles in the higher merits, or indeed in the lower; while there is not single piece which would do dishonor to the best of the British essayists.

"The Rill from the Town Pump" which, through the ad captandum nature of its title, has attracted more of the public notice than any other of Mr. Hawthorne's compositions, is perhaps, the least meritorious. Among his best we may briefly mention "The Hollow of the Three Hills" "The Minister's Black Veil"; "Wakefield"; "Mr. Higginbotham's Catastrophe"; "Fancy's Show-Box"; "Dr. Heidegger's Experiment"; "David Swan"; "The Wedding Knell"; and "The White Old Maid." It is remarkable that all of these, with one exception, are from the first volume.

The style of Mr. Hawthorne is purity itself. His tone is singularly effective- wild, plaintive, thoughtful, and in full accordance with his themes. We have only to object that there is insufficient diversity in these themes themselves, or rather in their character. His originality both of incident and reflection is very remarkable; and this trait alone would insure him at least our warmest regard and commendation. We speak here chiefly of the tales; the essays are not so markedly novel. Upon the whole we look upon him as one of the few men of indisputable genius to whom our country has as yet given birth. As such, it will be our delight to do him honor; and lest, in these undigested and cursory remarks, without proof and without explanation, we should appear to do him more honor than is his due, we postpone all farther comment until a more favorable opportunity.

We said a few hurried words about Mr. Hawthorne in our last number, with the design of speaking more fully in the present. We are still, however, pressed for room, and must necessarily discuss his volumes more briefly and more at random than their high merits deserve.

The book professes to be a collection of tales, yet is, in two respects, misnamed. These pieces are now in their third republication, and, of course, are thrice-told. Moreover, they are by no means all tales, either in the ordinary or in the legitimate understanding of the term. Many of them are pure essays; for example, "Sights from a Steeple," "Sunday at Home," "Little Annies Ramble," "A Rill from the Town Pump," "The Toll-Gatherer's Day," "The Haunted Mind," "The Sister Sister Years," "Snow-Flakes," "Night Sketches," and "Foot-Prints on the Sea-Shore." We mention these matters chiefly on account of their discrepancy with that marked precision and finish by which the body of the work is distinguished.

Of the Essays just named, we must be content to speak in brief. They are each and all beautiful, without being characterized by the polish and adaptation so visible in the tales proper. A painter would at once note their leading or predominant feature, and style it repose. There is no attempt at effect. All is quiet, thoughtful, subdued. Yet this respose may exist simultaneously with high originality of thought; and Mr. Hawthorne has demonstrated the fact. At every turn we meet with novel combinations; yet these combinations never surpass the limits of the quiet. We are soothed as we read; and withal is a calm astonishment that ideas so apparently obvious have never occurred or been presented to us before. Herein our author differs materially from Lamb or Hunt or Hazlitt- who, with vivid originality of manner and expression, have less of the true novelty of thought than is generally supposed, and whose originality, at best, has an uneasy and meretricious quaintness, replete with startling effects unfounded in nature, and inducing trains of reflection which lead to no satisfactory result. The Essays of Hawthorne have much of the character of Irving, with more of originality, and less of finish; while, compared with the Spectator, they have a vast superiority at all points. The Spectator, Mr. Irving, and Mr. Hawthorne have in common that tranquil and subdued manner which we have chosen to denominate repose; but in the case of the two former, this repose is attained rather by the absence of novel combination, or of originality, than otherwise, and consists chiefly in the calm, quiet, unostentatious expression of commonplace thoughts, in an unambitious unadulterated Saxon. In them, by strong effort, we are made to conceive the absence of all. In the essays before us the absence of effort is too obvious to be mistaken, and a strong under-current of suggestion runs continuously beneath the upper stream of the tranquil thesis. In short, these effusions of Mr. Hawthorne are the product of a truly imaginative intellect, restrained, and in some measure repressed, by fastidiousness of taste, by constitutional melancholy and by indolence.

But it is of his tales that we desire principally to speak. The tale proper, in our opinion, affords unquestionably the fairest field for the exercise of the loftiest talent, which can be afforded by the wide domains of mere prose. Were we bidden to say how the highest genius could be most advantageously employed for the best display of its own powers, we should answer, without hesitation- in the composition of a rhymed poem, not to exceed in length what might be perused in an hour. Within this limit alone can the highest order of true poetry exist. We need only here say, upon this topic, that, in almost all classes of composition, the unity of effect or impression is a point of the greatest importance. It is clear, moreover, that this unity cannot be thoroughly preserved in productions whose perusal cannot be completed at one sitting. We may continue the reading of a prose composition, from the very nature of prose itself, much longer than we can persevere, to any good purpose, in the perusal of a poem. This latter, if truly fulfilling the demands of the poetic sentiment, induces an exaltation of the soul which cannot be long sustained. All high excitements are necessarily transient. Thus a long poem is a paradox And, without unity of impression, the deepest effects cannot be brought about. Epics were the offspring of an imperfect sense of Art, and their reign is no more. A poem too brief may produce a vivid, but never an intense or enduring impression. Without a certain continuity of effort- without a certain duration or repetition of purpose- the soul is never deeply moved. There must be the dropping of the water upon the rock. De Beranger has wrought brilliant things- pungent and spirit-stirring- but, like all immassive bodies, they lack momentum, and thus fail to satisfy the Poetic Sentiment. They sparkle and excite, but, from want of continuity, fail deeply to impress. Extreme brevity will degenerate into epigrammatism; but the sin of extreme length is even more unpardonable. In medio tutissimus ibis.

Were we called upon, however, to designate that class of composition which, next to such a poem as we have suggested, should best fulfil the demands of high genius- should offer it the most advantageous field of exertion- we should unhesitatingly speak of the prose tale, as Mr. Hawthorne has here exemplified it. We allude to the short prose narrative, requiring from a half-hour to one or two hours in its perusal. The ordinary novel is objectionable, from its length, for reasons already stated in substance. As it cannot be read at one sitting, it deprives itself, of course, of the immense force derivable from totality. Worldly interests intervening during the pauses of perusal, modify, annul, or counteract, in a greater or less degree, the impressions of the book. But simple cessation in reading, would, of itself, be sufficient to destroy the true unity. In the brief tale, however, the author is enabled to carry out the fulness of his intention, be it what it may. During the hour of perusal the soul of the reader is at the writer's control. There are no external or extrinsic influences- resulting from weariness or interruption.

A skilful literary artist has constructed a tale. If wise, he has not fashioned his thoughts to accommodate his incidents; but having conceived, with deliberate care, a certain unique or single effect to be wrought out, he then invents such incidents- he then combines such events as may best aid him in establishing this preconceived effect. If his very initial sentence tend not to the out-bringing of this effect, then he has failed in his first step. In the whole composition there should be no word written, of which the tendency, direct or indirect, is not to the one pre-established design. And by such means, with such care and skill, a picture is at length painted which leaves in the mind of him who contemplates it with a kindred art, a sense of the fullest satisfaction. The idea of the tale has been presented unblemished, because undisturbed; and this is an end unattainable by the novel. Undue brevity is just as exceptionable here as in the poem; but undue length is yet more to be avoided.

We have said that the tale has a point of superiority even over the poem. In fact, while the rhythm of this latter is an essential aid in the development of the poem's highest idea- the idea of the Beautiful- the artificialities of this rhythm are an inseparable bar to the development of all points of thought or expression which have their basis in Truth. But Truth is often, and in very great degree, the aim of the tale. Some of the finest tales are tales of ratiocination. Thus the field of this species of composition, if not in so elevated a region on the mountain of Mind, is a table- land of far vaster extent than the domain of the mere poem. Its products are never so rich, but infinitely more numerous, and more appreciable by the mass of mankind. The writer of the prose tale, in short, may bring to his theme a vast variety of modes or inflections of thought and expression- (the ratiocinative, for example, the sarcastic or the humorous) which are not only antagonistical to the nature of the poem, but absolutely forbidden by one of its most peculiar and indispensable adjuncts; we allude, of course, to rhythm. It may be added, here, par parenthese, that the author who aims at the purely beautiful in a prose tale is laboring at great disadvantage. For Beauty can be better treated in the poem. Not so with terror, or passion, or horror, or a multitude of such other points. And here it will be seen how full of prejudice are the usual animadversions against those tales of effect, many fine examples of which were found in the earlier numbers of Blackwood. The impressions produced were wrought in a legitimate sphere of action, and constituted a legitimate although sometimes an exaggerated interest. They were relished by every man of genius: although there were found many men of genius who condemned them without just ground. The true critic will but demand that that the design intended be accomplished, to the fullest extent, by the means most advantageously applicable.

We have very few American tales of real merit- we may say, indeed, none, with the exception of "The Tales of a Traveller" of Washington Irving, and these "Twice-Told Tales" of Mr. Hawthorne. Some of the pieces of Mr. John Neal abound in vigor and originality; but in general his compositions of this class are excessively diffuse, extravagant, and indicative of an imperfect sentiment of Art. Articles at random are, now and then, met with in our periodicals which might be advantageously compared with the best effusions of the British Magazines; but, upon the whole, we are far behind our progenitors in this department of literature.

Of Mr. Hawthorne's Tales we would say, emphatically, that they belong to the highest region of Art- and Art subservient to genius of a very lofty order. We had supposed, with good reason for so supposing, that he had been thrust into his present position by one of the impudent cliques which beset our literature, and whose pretensions it is our full purpose to expose at the earliest opportunity, but we have been most agreeably mistaken. We know of few compositions which the critic can more honestly commend than these "Twice-Told Tales." As Americans, we feel proud of the book.

Mr. Hawthornes distinctive trait is invention, creation, imagination, originality- a trait which, in the literature of fiction, is positively worth all the rest. But the nature of originality, so far as regards its manifestation in letters, is but imperfectly understood. The inventive or original mind as frequently displays itself in novelty of tone as in novelty of matter. Mr. Hawthorne is original at all points.

It would be a matter of some difficulty to designate the best of these tales; we repeat that, without exception, they are beautiful. "Wakefield" is remarkable for the skill with which an old idea- a well-known incident- is worked up or discussed. A man of whims conceives the purpose of quitting his wife and residing incognito, for twenty years, in her immediate neighborhood. Something of this kind actually happened in London. The force of Mr. Hawthornes tale lies in the analysis of the motives which must or might have impelled the husband to such folly, in the first instance, with the possible causes of his perseverance. Upon this thesis a sketch of singular power has been constructed.

"The Wedding Knell" is full of the boldest imagination- an imagination fully controlled by taste. The most captious critic could find no flaw in this production.

"The Minister's Black Veil" is a masterly composition of which the sole defect is that to the rabble its exquisite skill will be caviare. The obvious meaning of this article will be found to smother its insinuated one. The moral put into the mouth of the dying minister will be supposed to convey the true import of the narrative, and that a crime of dark dye, (having reference to the "young lady") has been committed, is a point which only minds congenial with that of the author will perceive.

"Mr. Higginbotham's Catastrophe" is vividly original and managed most dexterously.

"Dr. Heidegger's Experiment" is exceedingly well imagined, and executed, with surpassing ability. The artist breathes in every line of it.

"The White Old Maid" is objectionable, even more than the "Minister's Black Veil," on the score of its mysticism. Even with the thoughtful and analytic, there will be much trouble in penetrating its entire import.

"The Hollow of the Three Hills" we would quote in full, had we space;- not as evincing higher talent than any of the other pieces, but as affording an excellent example of the author's peculiar ability. The subject is commonplace. A witch, subjects the Distant and the Past to the view of a mourner. It has been the fashion to describe, in such cases, a mirror in which the images of the absent appear, or a cloud of smoke is made to arise, and thence the figures are gradually unfolded. Mr. Hawthorne has wonderfully heightened his effect by making the ear, in place of the eye, the medium by which the fantasy is conveyed. The head of the mourner is enveloped in the cloak of the witch, and within its magic, folds there arise sounds which have an all-sufficient intelligence. Throughout this article also, the artist is conspicuous- not more in positive than in negative merits. Not only is all done that should be done, but (what perhaps is an end with more difficulty attained) there is nothing done which should not be. Every word tells, and there is not a word which does not tell.

In "Howes Masquerade" we observe something which resembles a plagiarism- but which may be a very flattering coincidence of thought. We quote the passage in question.

"With a dark flush of wrath upon his brow they saw the general draw his sword and advance to meet the figure in the cloak before the latter had stepped one pace upon the floor.

"'Villain, unmuffle yourself,' cried he, 'you pass no further!"

"The figure without blanching a hair's breadth from the sword which was pointed at his breast, made a solemn pause, and lowered the cape of the cloak from his face, yet not sufficiently for the spectators to catch a glimpse of it. But Sir William Howe had evidently seen enough. The sternness of his countenance gave place to a look of wild amazement, if not horror, while he recoiled several steps from the figure, and let fall his sword upon the floor."

The idea here is, that the figure in the cloak is the phantom or reduplication of Sir William Howe, but in an article called "William Wilson," one of the "Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque," we have not only the same idea, but the same idea similarly presented in several respects. We quote two paragraphs, which our readers may compare with what has been already given.

"The brief moment in which I averted my eyes had been sufficient to produce, apparently, a material change in the arrangement at the upper or farther end of the room. A large mirror, it appeared to me, now stood where none had been perceptible before: and as I stepped up to it in extremity of terror, mine own image, but with features all pale and dabbled in blood, advanced with a feeble and tottering gait to meet me.

"Thus it appeared I say, but was not. It was Wilson, who then stood before me in the agonies of dissolution. Not a line in all the marked and singular lineaments of that face which was not even identically mine own. His mask and cloak lay where he had thrown them, upon the floor."

Here it will be observed, not only are the two general conceptions identical but there are various points of similarity. In each case the figure seen is the wraith or duplication of the beholder. In each case the scene is a masquerade. In each case the figure is cloaked. In each, there is a quarrel- that is to say, angry words pass between the parties. In each the beholder is enraged. In each the cloak and sword fall upon the floor. The "villain, unmuffle yourself," of Mr. H. is precisely paralleled by a passage of "William Wilson."

In the way of objection we have scarcely a word to say of these tales. There is, perhaps, a somewhat too general or prevalent tone- a tone of melancholy and mysticism. The subjects are insufficiently varied. There is not so much of versatility evinced as we might well be warranted in expecting from the high powers of Mr. Hawthorne. But beyond these trivial exceptions we have really none to make. The style is purity itself. Force abounds. High imagination gleams from every page. Mr. Hawthorne is a man of the truest genius. We only regret that the limits of our Magazine will not permit us to pay him that full tribute of commendation, which, under other circumstances, we should be so eager to pay.

Writing Books Index

How to Become an Author: a Practical Guide (1903)

How to Become an Author A Practical Guide

By

Arnold Bennett

Author of " Journalism for Women

1903 

Contents

1. The literary career.
2. The formation of style.
3. Journalism.
4. Short stories.
5. Sensational and other serials.
6. The novel.
7. Nonfictional writing.
8. The business side of books.
9. The occasional author.
10. Playwriting.
11. Appendix: specimen page showing correcting for press.
12. Index

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Writing Books Index

Story Composition by Sherwin Cody (1897)

 

Story Composition 

BY  

SHERWIN CODY 

Author of "How to Write Fiction," "In the Heart of the Hills,-' etc.

 

 FOREWORD BY OLIVIA SALTER

In an era where creativity is celebrated and storytelling holds immense power, the art of crafting a compelling narrative has become more significant than ever. Each story we encounter has the ability to transport us to different worlds, stir our emotions, and leave a lasting impact on our lives. Whether it be through books, movies, or even the anecdotes we share with friends, storytelling is an integral part of human existence.

It is with great pleasure that I introduce you to Story Composition, an extraordinary guide to the art of storytelling written by the esteemed author Sherwin Cody. With his vast experience and deep understanding of the craft, Cody offers invaluable insights and practical advice to aspiring writers and storytellers. His profound knowledge and passion for storytelling shine through every page, making this book an essential resource for anyone seeking to harness the power of storytelling.

Cody begins by delving into the very essence of storytelling, exploring its origins and significance throughout history. He discusses various genres and forms of storytelling, illustrating the diverse ways in which narratives have influenced societies and cultures across the globe. By examining the elements that make stories captivating, Cody guides readers on an exploratory journey into the depths of imagination and emotion.

This book is not merely a theoretical examination of storytelling; it is a hands-on manual that equips aspiring writers with the tools needed to weave compelling narratives. Cody's step-by-step approach to story composition is methodical and comprehensive. He covers a wide range of topics, including character development, plot structure, dialogue, pacing, and much more. With each chapter, he unveils the secrets behind creating engaging stories that captivate readers and keep them spellbound.

What sets story composition apart is Cody's ability to strike a balance between practical instruction and artistic inspiration. While providing guidance on the technical aspects of storytelling, he also emphasizes the importance of originality, imagination, and authenticity. He encourages writers to tap into their unique voices, draw from their personal experiences, and let their creativity flow freely. Through his words, Cody inspires writers to embrace the power of storytelling as a medium for self-expression and connection with others.

It is my sincere belief that Story Composition has the potential to transform aspiring writers into accomplished storytellers. Cody's teachings, filled with wisdom and expertise, provide a roadmap to crafting narratives that resonate deeply with readers. Whether you aspire to be a novelist and screenwriter or simply wish to convey your thoughts and experiences through storytelling, this book will serve as an invaluable companion on your journey.

As you embark on this adventure into the realm of storytelling, be prepared to unleash your imagination to explore uncharted territories and to give life to characters that will live on in the hearts and minds of your readers. Story Composition is a gateway to a world where words have the power to transcend time and space and where stories have the ability to change lives.

I extend my heartfelt gratitude to Sherwin Cody for sharing his profound wisdom and expertise in this remarkable book. May it inspire and empower generations of storytellers to come, and may the stories they create continue to illuminate our world.

Now, dear reader, I invite you to dive into the pages of Story Composition. May it unlock your creative potential and guide you on a transformative journey into the art of storytelling.

Olivia Salter

01/12/2017

 

CONTENTS.

Introduction.

I. Story Writing as an Exercise in Composition.

II. The Practical Construction of a Snake Story.

III. The Art of Description.

IV. Plot-Construction. Imagination.

V. Dialogue.

VI. Characterization.

VII. Sentiment.

VIII. The Love Story.

IX. Fancy and Invention.

X. The Complete Story.

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Writing Books Index

Fundamentals Of Good Writing by Robert Perm Warren

Fundamentals
of
Good Writing 

A HANDBOOK OF MODERN RHETORIC 

Cleanth Brooks 

Robert Perm Warren 

Harcourt, Brace and Company New York 

COPYRIGHT, 1949, I95O, BY 

HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC. 

All rights reserved, including 

the right to reproduce this book 

or portions thereof in any form. 

TO DAVID M. CLAY




CONTENTS



Introduction

THE MAIN CONSIDERATIONS 1

THE MOTIVATION OF THE WRITER 3

THE NATURE OF THE READER 5

THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN READER AND WRITER 5

THE FUSION OF MEDIUM, SUBJECT AND OCCASION 6

YOUR BACKGROUND FOR SUCCESSFUL WRITING 7

1. SOME GENERAL PROBLEMS 

FINDING A TRUE SUBJECT 11

UNITY 13

COHERENCE 15

EMPHASIS 19

THE MAIN DIVISIONS OF A DISCOURSE 23

PROPORTIONING THE MAIN DIVISIONS 25

THE OUTLINE 26

2. THE KINDS OF DISCOURSE 

THE MAIN INTENTION 29

THE FOUR KINDS OF DISCOURSE 30

MIXTURE OF THE KINDS OF DISCOURSE 30

OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE DISCOURSE 31

3. EXPOSITION

INTEREST 38

THE METHODS OF EXPOSITION 41

IDENTIFICATION 41

EXPOSITORY DESCRIPTION: TECHNICAL DESCRIPTION 42
THE RELATION BETWEEN THE TECHNICAL-SUGGESTIVE DISTINCTION

AND THE OBJECTIVE-SUBJECTIVE DISTINCTION 53

THE USES OF TECHNICAL AND SUGGESTIVE DESCRIPTION 55

EXPOSITORY NARRATION 57

ILLUSTRATION 57

COMPARISON AND CONTRAST 61

CLASSIFICATION AND DIVISION 67

DEFINITION 83

EXTENDED DEFINITION 91

ANALYSIS: THE TWO KINDS 98

ANALYSIS AND STRUCTURE 99

ANALYSIS: RELATION AMONG PARTS 100

ANALYSIS AND EXPOSITORY DESCRIPTION 101

EXPOSITORY METHODS AND THEIR USES 119

SUMMARY 120

4. ARGUMENT 

THE APPEAL OF ARGUMENT 125

ARGUMENT AND CONFLICT 125

ARGUMENT AND THE UNDERSTANDING 127

WHAT ARGUMENT IS ABOUT 128

THE PROPOSITION: TWO KINDS 131

THE STATEMENT OF THE PROPOSITION 131

HISTORY OF THE QUESTION 134

ISSUES 135

PROPOSITIONS OF FACT 146

EVIDENCE 148

KINDS OF EVIDENCE: FACT AND OPINION 148

REASONING 154

INDUCTION: GENERALIZATION 155

DEDUCTION 159

FALLACIES 167

FALLACIES AND REFUTATION 170

THE IMPLIED SYLLOGISM 170

EXTENDED ARGUMENT: THE BRIEF 172

ORDER OF THE BRIEF AND ORDER OF THE ARGUMENT 183

PERSUASION 183

SUMMARY 189

5. DESCRIPTION 

RELATION OF SUGGESTIVE DESCRIPTION TO OTHER KINDS

OF DISCOURSE 195

THE DOMINANT IMPRESSION 200

PATTERN AND TEXTURE IN DESCRIPTION 200

TEXTURE: SELECTION IN DESCRIPTION 211

DESCRIPTION OF FEELINGS AND STATES OF MIND 220
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE IN THE DESCRIPTION OF FEELINGS

AND STATES OF MIND 223

CHOICE OF WORDS IN THE TEXTURE OF DESCRIPTION 226

SUMMARY 229

6. NARRATION 

MOVEMENT 237

TIME 238

MEANING 239

NARRATIVE AND NARRATION 240

NARRATION AND THE OTHER KINDS OF DISCOURSE 242

PATTERN IN NARRATION 250

EXAMPLES OF NARRATIVE PATTERN 255

PROPORTION 262

TEXTURE AND SELECTION 264

POINT OF VIEW 267

SCALE 273

DIALOGUE 275

CHARACTERIZATION 281

SUMMARY 285

7. THE PARAGRAPH 

THE PARAGRAPH AS A CONVENIENCE TO THE READER 290

THE PARAGRAPH AS A UNIT OF THOUGHT 291

THE STRUCTURE OF THE PARAGRAPH 292

SOME TYPICAL STRUCTURAL PRINCIPLES 294

LINKING PARAGRAPHS TOGETHER 299

USE OF THE PARAGRAPH TO INDICATE DIALOGUE 302

SUMMARY 302

8. THE SENTENCE

RHETORIC AND GRAMMAR 304

THE FIXED WORD ORDER OF THE NORMAL SENTENCE 307

POSITION OF THE MODIFIERS 311

GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF SENTENCE STRUCTURE 318

SENTENCE LENGTH AND SENTENCE VARIATION 323

SUMMARY 327

9. STYLE 

GENERAL DEFINITION OF STYLE 329

THREE ASPECTS OF LITERARY STYLE 330

STYLE AS AN INTERPLAY OF ELEMENTS 331

THE PLAN OF THE FOLLOWING CHAPTERS ON STYLE 332

10. DICTION 

DENOTATION AND CONNOTATION 335

LANGUAGE GROWTH BY EXTENSION OF MEANING 342

THE COMPANY A WORD KEEPS: COLLOQUIAL, INFORMAL,

AND FORMAL 348

HOW CONNOTATIONS CONTROL MEANINGS 349

WORN-OUT WORDS AND CLICHES 353

SUMMARY 359

11. METAPHOR 

METAPHOR DEFINED 361

IMPORTANCE OF METAPHOR IN EVERYDAY LANGUAGE 362

THE FUNCTION OF METAPHOR 371

METAPHOR AS ESSENTIAL STATEMENT 374

WHAT MAKES A "GOOD" METAPHOR? 378

METAPHOR AND SYMBOL 385

METAPHOR AND THE CREATIVE IMAGINATION 386

SUMMARY 388

12. SITUATION AND TONE

TONE AS THE EXPRESSION OF ATTITUDE 390

THE IMPORTANCE OF TONE 391

WHAT DETERMINES TONE? 392

TONE AS A QUALIFICATION OF MEANING 397

SOME PRACTICAL DON'TS 401

SOME PRACTICAL APPLICATIONS 402

TONE: FAMILIAR AND FORMAL 411

COMPLEXITY OF TONE: WHEN, AND WHY, IT IS NECESSARY 416

SUMMARY 422

13. THE FINAL INTEGRATION 

RHYTHM 425

RHYTHM AS A DEVICE OF EXPRESSION 428

STYLE AS HARMONIOUS INTEGRATION 432

THE INSEPARABILITY OF FORM AND CONTENT 435

STYLE AS AN EXPRESSION OF PERSONALITY 438

STYLE CULTIVATED BY READING 455

SUMMARY 457

A MORE CONCRETE SUMMARY 459

14. READING: WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO A WRITER? 461

APPENDIXES 473

Appendix 1. CAUSAL ANALYSIS 475

Appendix 2. THE SYLLOGISM 481
Appendix 3. THE OUTLINE, SUMMARY, AND PRECIS; NOTES;

RESEARCH PAPER; AND BOOK REPORT 486

INDEX 519

Fundamentals of Good Writing 

INTRODUCTION 


THERE is no easy way to learn to write. There is no certain formula, no short cut, no bag of tricks. It is not a matter of memorizing rules or of acquiring a few skills. To write well is not easy for the simple reason that to write well you must think straight. And thinking straight is never easy.

Straight thinking is the basis of all good writing. It does not matter whether you are planning to write fiction, poetry, news reports, magazine articles, essays, or sermons. What is common to all kinds of good writing is more important than what distinguishes one kind from another. This is a fundamental point, and this book is an attempt to deal with the fundamentals of writing.

THE MAIN CONSIDERATIONS 

What is it that we must think straight about if we are to write well? Unfortunately there is no simple answer to this. A writer, as Robert Louis Stevenson says in his "Essay on Style," is like a juggler who must keep several balls in the air at once.

What are the several balls? What are the considerations that a writer must simultaneously think straight about? This book is an attempt to answer that question; but even when this book is finished the answer will not be a complete one. For the present, however, we may try to reduce the considerations to three general types. We may define them in reference to various aspects of the act of writing:

1. The medium 
2. The subject 
3. The occasion 

These terms, as we are using them, require some explanation.

THE MEDIUM 

A writer writes in a language, the substance, as it were, through which he exerts his force, the medium through which he communicates his ideas and feelings. This language operates in terms of certain principles and usages which a writer must observe if he is to exercise his full force or even, in some instances, to be understood at all. For example, grammar is an aspect of the medium itself. Rhythm is another aspect, and it may exercise a very powerful effect on the reader, even if he is not aware of it. Another aspect is diction the qualities of the individual words even beyond their bare dictionary definitions.

These topics, and others related to them, will be discussed in the course of this book, but for the present it is important only that we understand them as representing aspects of the medium, of language itself.

THE SUBJECT

A writer writes about something. The something may be his own feelings, his love or his hate, or again it may be the theory of aerodynamics. But in either instance he has a subject and one that can be distinguished from all other possible subjects.

The nature of the subject will, in some respects, dictate the nature of the treatment. For instance, if a writer is interested in explaining a process of some kind, the running of an experiment in physics or the building of a log cabin, he will have to organize his material with some reference to the chronological order of the process. If he is trying to explain why he loves or hates someone, he will probably be concerned with the analysis of traits of character which have no necessary reference to chronology; therefore, his ordering of the material may well be in terms of degrees of importance and not in terms of time sequence.

Furthermore, the subject may dictate differences in diction. For instance, if the writer is trying to explain the process of an experiment in physics, his diction will be dry and technical, clear and factual; but if he is trying to define the grief experienced at the Heath of a friend, his diction may well be chosen to convey emotional effects.

Or the type of rhythm may vary according to the subject. The explanation of the experiment in physics will probably involve a rather flat rhythm, or at least an unobtrusive rhythm, but the attempt to define the grief at the death of the friend will probably depend to a considerable degree for its success on the rhythm employed, for the rhythm of language, even in prose, is of enormous importance in the communication of feelings.

THE OCCASION 

Third, a writer writes out of a special situation, the occasion. We may say that this situation involves three basic elements: the motivation of the writer; the nature of the reader; and the relationship between writer and reader.

THE MOTIVATION OF THE WRITER 

As for motivation, two general types may be distinguished: expression and communication. The writer may be primarily concerned to affirm his own feelings, to clarify his own mind, to define for himself his own sense of the world. When he writes from some such motivation, the urge to expression may be said to be dominant, and he has, on such an occasion, more in common with a man singing in the bath, with the child uttering the spontaneous cry of pain, or with the cat purring on the rug than he has with the judge handing down a decision from the bench, a teacher explaining a point of grammar from the platform, or a woman giving her daughter a recipe for pie. For the judge, the teacher, and the cook are not primarily concerned to express but to communicate something.

It may be said, however, that, in the ultimate sense, we never have a case of pure expression or pure communication. Even the cry of pain, which seems to be pure expression, may be said to presuppose a hearer; the hurt child redoubles its screams when it sees the mother approaching. And the poet who has written his poem' without a conscious thought of the reader, who has been concerned with the effort of getting his own feelings and ideas into form, hurries to the post office to mail his finished poem to a magazine through which it can reach a number of readers.

Conversely, even the most objective presentation of an idea or analysis of a situation may involve an expressive element. To take an extreme instance, we may say that a man may take pleasure in the accuracy and tidiness of his working out of a mathematical demonstration and feel that those qualities "express" him.

If it is true that we can never find an example of pure expression or of pure communication, if we have to regard expression and communication as, shall we say, the poles of the process of writing or speaking, we can still see that a great deal of variation in the relative proportions of communication and expression may exist.

ACCENT ON EXPRESSION 

When the writer is primarily concerned with expression, he does not pay attention to his audience; if, under such circumstances, he thinks of the audience, it is only to assume that there will be people enough like himself to have an interest in his work. Yet even then, even when the writer is primarily concerned with expression, his private and individual intentions will have to be represented in a medium that has public and general standards. When the writer accepts language as his medium of expression, he also accepts the standards of communication.

ACCENT ON COMMUNICATION 

When the writer is primarily concerned with communication rather than expression, he must, however, give special attention to the audience which he wishes to reach. He must consider the reader's interests and attitudes. Even if the writer wishes to give the reader a new interest, he must work in terms of the interests that already exist. When the writer does not, in some way, appeal to the already existing interests, the reader will not even bother to finish the book or article. Or if the writer wishes to make the reader change his attitude on some issue, he must work in terms of already existing attitudes. Unless the writer can discover that he and the reader have some attitudes in common, he can have no hope of convincing the reader about the matter on which they disagree.

THE NATURE OF THE READER 

Just as the writer must concern himself with the reader's interests and attitudes, so he must concern himself with the reader's training and capacities. Every piece of writing is addressed to a more or less limited audience. It is perfectly logical that a piece of writing addressed to the specialist will not be understood by the layman. Articles in professional medical journals or law journals employ a language and a treatment largely incomprehensible to the ordinary reader. But the same thing holds true, though less obviously, in regard to all differences of education or capacity. Because of differences in education, the housewife is not likely to understand the article on international finance that may be perfectly clear to the banker or businessman who is her husband. Or one housewife, because of innate intelligence and sensitivity, can understand and enjoy a certain novel, while another woman in the same block, who has been educated at the same school, is merely confused and annoyed by the book.

It is true that there are types of writing which have a relatively broad appeal the novels of Dickens or the plays of Shakespeare but we must remember that even their appeal is only relatively broad, and that there are a great number of people who infinitely prefer the sports page of the daily paper or the financial section or the comic strip to Dickens or Shakespeare. And remembering this, the writer must concern himself with the level of education and intelligence of the special group which he wishes to address.

THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN READER AND WRITER

Just as the writer must consider his own motivation and the nature of his intended reader as components of the "occasion," so must he consider the relationship between himself and that reader. For instance, does he feel that he must speak down to his reader? If he does speak down, shall he take the tone of a man laying down the law from some position of authority like a judge on a bench or shall he take a tone of good-natured condescension? Or if he does not wish to speak down to his reader but regards the reader as on the same level with himself, shall he take a tone of friendly discussion or of serious, life-and-death argument?

The possible variations on this score are almost numberless, too, and the writer, if he is to be most effective, must take them into consideration. Is he, for instance, addressing a reader who is hostile and suspicious? If so, he must try to discover the approach which will mollify the hostility and allaythe suspicions. Or if his reader is assumed to be friendly but unserious, how shall he adapt himself to that situation? Is he writing to a student who is anxious to learn or to a casual reader who must be lured into the subject under discussion? Obviously the writer must, if he wishes to succeed with his reader, study the relationship existing between himself and his intended reader and adapt his tone to that aspect of the occasion.

TONE 

The writer's relationship to his reader and to his subject may be summed up in the word tone (see Chapter 12). Just as the tone of voice indicates what the speaker's attitude is to his subject and his listener, so certain qualities of a piece of writing may indicate the attitude of the writer. Rhythms may be harsh and abrupt or lingering and subtle. Diction may be homely and direct or elaborate and suggestive. Sentence structure may be simple and downright or complicated by modifying and qualifying elements. Appeal maybe made through logic or through persuasion. These and many other factors are related to the writer's conception of the relation between himself and the reader.

THE FUSION OF MEDIUM, SUBJECT AND OCCASION 

Under the headings of (1) medium, (2) subject, and (3) occasion, we have briefly discussed some of the basic considerations which the writer must keep in mind the balls which the juggler of Stevenson's essay must keep simultaneously in the air. The word simultaneously is important here, for though we have necessarily had to discuss our topics in order, we are not to assume that the order is one of either importance or of time sequence. Can one say that a knowledge of the subject under discussion is more or less important than a knowledge of the principles and usages of the language in which the subject is to be discussed? Or that a knowledge of the principles and usages of the language is more or less important than the sense of the nature of the occasion?

In the process of writing there is no one consideration to which the writer must give his attention first. His mind, in so far as he is a conscious craftsman, will play among the various considerations in the attempt to produce a piece of writing which will fulfill at the same time the demands of the medium, the subject, and the occasion. In this book we shall take up various topics individually, and you may find it helpful when you are revising a piece of writing to consider one question at a time, But the final piece of writing is always a fusion.

YOUR BACKGROUND FOR SUCCESSFUL WRITING 

The foregoing remarks, with their emphasis on the complicated demands that a good piece of writing must fulfill, have perhaps made the business of writing seem enormously difficult. And it is true that the simplest piece of writing, when well done, is the fruit of a great deal of effort. But you are not, with this book, starting your career as a writer from scratch. You already have behind you many years of effort which can be made to apply on the writing you now do. You are already the beneficiary of a long training.

LANGUAGE AND EXPERIENCE 

In the first place, you command a working knowledge of the English language. You began the process of learning that language when you were an infant, and the process has been a continuous one ever since. Books have helped you and they can be made to help you even more. They can broaden your vocabulary, and can give you a sense of the subtleties and shadings of words. But already books aside you are the master of very considerable resources in your native tongue.

A CAPACITY FOR STRAIGHT THINKING

In the second place, your experience has given you a great range of subjects, and a capacity for thinking logically about them. As for the subjects, almost any event of your day, any sport or craft which you understand, any skill or technique which you possess, any scene which you have witnessed, any book or article which you have read, any person whom you know all these are potential subjects. And any one of them can become interesting in so far as it is actually important to you and in so far as you can think straight about it. As for logical thinking, demands for the exercise of this faculty are made on you every day. You are constantly under the necessity of adjusting means to ends, of correcting errors in your calculations, of planning in terms of cause and effect, of estimating possibilities. To manage your simplest affairs you must have some capacity for straight thinking. When you come to the business of writing, you need merely to apply this capacity to the subject in hand to see what is important about it for your interests and purposes, to stick to your point, to make one sentence follow from the previous sentence and lead to the next, to make one paragraph follow from the previous paragraph and lead to the next, to make one idea follow from another, to state the relations between things in terms of time, space, or causality, to emphasize the important item and subordinate the unimportant, to proportion your discourse so that it will have an introduction, a development, and a conclusion. All of these problems of analysis and organization are problems which you may have to confront when you start any piece of writing, but you confront them with the aid of all the straight thinking that you have ever done.

A BROAD SOCIAL EXPERIENCE 

In the third place, all of your experiences with other people in the past have provided a training that will help you adjust yourself to your intended reader. Your social experience, from your early childhood, has given you a training in tact, in grasping the truth about a human relationship, in adjusting your manner to the mood or prejudice of another person in order to convince, persuade, entertain, or instruct him. Every child is aware that, when he wants something from his mother or father, there is a right way to go about asking for it and a wrong way. And he knows that what is the right way for asking the mother may very well be the wrong way for asking the father. No doubt, the child never puts it to himself in these terms, but he acts on the truth behind these terms when he actually deals with mother or father. He develops early a sense of the occasion and a sensitivity to what we shall call problems of tone.

The discussion in this section comes to this : All of your experience in the past can be said, without too much wrenching of fact, to be a training for the writing which you wish to do. Your problem is, in part, to learn to use the resources which you already possess. For unless you learn to use those resources, you will not be able to acquire new resources.


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Writing Books Index

Caroline Gordon Advice on Fiction Writing to Flannery O’Connor

CAROLINE GORDON, A TEACHER and fiction writer, advised Flannery O’Connor through the mail. O’Connor, in her letters, collected by Sally Fitzgerald in The Habit of Being (1979) advised other young writers. Some of that advice, paraphrased here, may help young creative writers as they think about the creative process.

• Ignore criticism that doesn't make sense. 
• Make the reader see the characters at every minute, but do this unobtrusively. 
• An omniscient narrator using the same language as the characters lowers the tone of the work. 

Never do writing exercises. Forget plot; start with a character or anything else you can make come alive. Discover, rather than impose meaning. You may discover a good deal more by not being too clear when you start. You sometimes find a story by messing around with this or that. Once you have finished a first draft, see how you can better bring out what it says.  Read The Craft of Fiction by Percy Lubbock and Understanding Fiction by Robert Penn Warren and Cleanth Brooks.

• If there is no possibility for change in a character (i.e., a character is hopelessly insane) then there is little reader interest in that character. If heroes were stable, there wouldn't be any story--all good stories are about a character's changing. Sin is interesting; evil is not. Sin grows out of free choice; evil is something else. Characters need to behave as themselves as people, not as abstract representations of some idea or principle which is dear to the writer. Be careful about a tendency to be too omniscient and not let things come through the characters. 
• Add a character to make another character "come out." 
• You can write convincingly about a homesick New Yorker if you have never been to New York but have been homesick. A character must behave out of his or her motivations, not the author's. Don't try to be subtle . . . or write for a subtle reader. 
• Write two hours a day, same time, sitting at the same place, without a view-- either write or just sit. Follow your nose. To get a story you might have to approach a vague notion from one direction and then another, until you get an entrance. Sit at your machine. 
• In a short story, write for a single effect and end on what is most important. At the end of a story gain some altitude and get a larger view. You shouldn't appear to be making a point. The meaning of a story must be in its muscle. 
• Use dialect lightly--suggest. Get the person right."
• A word stands for something else and is used for a purpose and if you play around with them irrespective of what they are supposed to do, your writing will become literary in the worse sense." 
• A novel or short story says something that can be said in no other way. A summary or an abstraction will not give you the same thing."
• The less self-conscious you are about what you are about, the better in a way, that is to say technically. You have to get it in the blood, not in the head." 
• "My business is to write and not talk about it." 
• Writers seeking the secrets to good writing, might keep in mind O'Connor's statement from Mystery and Manners (1969): "My own approach to literary problems is very like the one Dr. Johnson's blind housekeeper used when she poured tea--she put her finger inside the cup." 

One final--delicate-yet-crucial--requirement for writing fiction: "Perhaps you [a correspondent] are able to see things in these stories that I can't see because if I did see I would be too frightened to write them. I have always insisted that there is a fine grain of stupidity required in the fiction writer." 

See also Sally Fitzgerald, ed., Georgia Review, vol. XXXIII, no. 4, letter from Caroline Gordon to Flannery O’Connor (1979); E. M. Forster, Aspects of the Novel (1927); Rust Hills, Writing in General and the Short Story in Particular (1987); Andre Marquois, The Art of Writing (1962); Louis Rubin, The Teller in the Tale, (1967); Eudora Welty, The Eye of the Story (1978)

Exercises

1. WRITE A PARAGRAPH DESCRIBING SOMEONE you dislike. Now write a paragraph from that person’s point of view about anything. Next write a short fictional scene (omniscient point of view) about a fictional character based on the real person you dislike. Now write the same scene from the character’s point of view. Discuss what you have learned about writing from the point of view of an unlikable character.

2. Observe couples eating in a restaurant. Decide which couples are married and which are not. Describe the nonverbal communication, movements, etc. of a married couple and of a not-married couple. Read your description to another person and see if they can guess whether or not the couple being described is married. Discuss how non-verbal communication constitutes action in a story--how it furthers plot, defines relationships between people, etc.

3. Instead of writing 1 - 10 down the left side of a piece of paper, start with the year you were born and under it write the next year--up until the present. Circle the ten or twelve most memorable years. Beside the circled years write down the most memorable event or two in that year. Now decide if you have uncovered material for fiction (or for a character in a story) that you previously had not thought about.

4. Think of any event that happened to you before you were ten years old. Write a sentence describing that event. Now write the following, "What if:" Under "What if:" write fifteen possible plot lines that would follow the event. See if you have new material for a new or old story.

5. Think of your last argument with a loved one. Find and describe the fear which lay beneath your anger. Write from the point of view of the other person (s) in the argument. Switch from real life to fiction and have the "other character" (originally you) say out loud the fear which you wrote down above. See if you can get a story or a scene in a story out of what you are doing.

About the Author

Flannery O'Connor was born in Savannah, Georgia, in 1925. When she died at the age of thirty-nine, America lost one of its most gifted writers at the height of her powers. O’Connor wrote two novels, Wise Blood (1952) and The Violent Bear It Away (1960), and two story collections, A Good Man Is Hard to Find (1955) and Everything That Rises Must Converge (1964). Her Complete Stories, published posthumously in 1972, won the National Book Award that year, and in a 2009 online poll it was voted as the best book to have won the award in the contest’s 60-year history. Her essays were published in Mystery and Manners (1969) and her letters in The Habit of Being (1979). In 1988 the Library of America published her Collected Works; she was the first postwar writer to be so honored. O’Connor was educated at the Georgia State College for Women, studied writing at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, and wrote much of Wise Blood at the Yaddo artists’ colony in upstate New York. She lived most of her adult life on her family’s ancestral farm, Andalusia, outside Milledgeville, Georgia.

Fiction Writing Tips Article Index Page

Analyzing a story's plot: Freytag's Pyramid

Gustav Freytag was a Nineteenth Century German novelist who saw common patterns in the plots of stories and novels and developed a diagram to analyze them. He diagrammed a story's plot using a pyramid like the one shown here:

Freytag's Pyramid

1. Exposition: setting the scene. The writer introduces the characters and setting, providing description and background.
2. Inciting Incident: something happens to begin the action. A single event usually signals the beginning of the main conflict. The inciting incident is sometimes called 'the complication'.
3. Rising Action: the story builds and gets more exciting.
4. Climax: the moment of greatest tension in a story. This is often the most exciting event. It is the event that the rising action builds up to and that the falling action follows.
5. Falling Action: events happen as a result of the climax and we know that the story will soon end.
6. Resolution: the character solves the main problem/conflict or someone solves it for him or her.
7. Dénouement: (a French term, pronounced: day-noo-moh) the ending. At this point, any remaining secrets, questions or mysteries which remain after the resolution are solved by the characters or explained by the author. Sometimes the author leaves us to think about the THEME or future possibilities for the characters.

You can think of the dénouement as the opposite of the exposition : instead of getting ready to tell us the story by introducing the setting and characters, the author is getting ready to end it with a final explanation of what actually happened and how the characters think or feel about it. This can be the most difficult part of the plot to identify, as it is often very closely tied to the resolution.

Fiction Writing Tips Article Index Page