Chapter XIII: Part 13

Do I buy stories because I like them myself or because I think our readers will like them? That’s another sticker. I generally buy stories because I like them myself, because if I disregarded my own taste and tried to pick out a story that our readers would like and which I didn’t like, I would be hopelessly at sea all the time.

I would really feel ashamed of myself were I to publish a story which I personally thought to be piffle just because I thought it would “sell the magazine.”

Moreover, I don’t think any editor knows just what his readers like or _might_ like except in a general way. We have no exact way of telling and my experience has been to follow my own judgment and, when the Circulation Manager comes along and tells me the circulation of the magazine is increasing by leaps and bounds, I am then licensed to feel that my judgment must have been good. Because I am just a plain, ordinary type of person and there must be hundreds of thousands and millions of people in the country like me; and what interests me will quite generally interest them, at least I have found it so. Don’t take from this that the Circulation Manager comes along every month and tells me the circulation of the magazine is increasing by leaps and bounds, but sometimes he does, and then I know a certain story or serial in the magazine got across in a big way; but what does that mean? It doesn’t mean that I can go out off-hand and get another story just like it and ring the bell again. We don’t buy stories that way--writers do not write them that way--I wish they did because the editor’s job would be easy.

Now here’s another peculiar thing, _Pictorial Review_ is a woman’s magazine, and yet I am a man and there is nothing particularly feminine about me in my tastes or activities. We do not pick out stories because we think they are good woman’s magazine stories; in fact, we have no earthly use for the typical woman’s magazine story, that sweet and pretty, mush and milk affair that used to grace the pages of our contemporaries. We found out years ago that women were interested in good, short stories that picture the vital, human things in life and that there was no real reason for their being obliged to go to the men’s magazines to read them. So we began to publish real stories in _Pictorial Review_.

I realize that all this is more or less indefinite and possibly of little help to the aspiring author, but if said aspiring author will bear in mind that the only way to sell short stories is to make them interesting and, if they are made sufficiently interesting, they will sell themselves--that’s all there is to it.

ARTHUR T. VANCE.

_Pictorial Review._
THE PICTORIAL REVIEW COMPANY,
214-226 West 39th Street,
New York City.

POPULAR MAGAZINE

In selecting stories I bear in mind the fact that the buying of fiction is a business and not a literary occupation. This means that I have always in mind the ultimate consumer--the fellow who knows nothing of literature as such but who likes good stories.

What are these?

First and foremost, a story about a new phase of life and industry. The American reader is by no means a prude or intolerant, but he likes sane, almost practical stuff. He likes romance, but it must be normal and wholesome. He does not like the erotic or morbid. Without being in the least “literary,” his taste is surprisingly good. As a rule, he does not want tragedies, but will accept them if exceedingly well done. A good mystery story is sure-fire.

Current American fiction is one of the livest things in the world to-day. Keen intelligence goes into the making of it. It plays a bigger part in the formation of public opinion than most people know. It is a genuinely civilizing influence. As a rule, a man’s taste in fiction improves and his standards in stories become higher the more he reads. The very cheapest of the magazines are turning the foreign populations of the second generation in our cities into Americans at a surprising rate. The author of the day is writing for a big public, not a small, select one.

Here are a few things for the author to bear in mind. If a writer can describe human beings so well that they seem real; if he sometimes laughs at, sometimes is irritated with, sometimes loves these people who come to life in the pages of the story, he has his first great point. If he can write conversation such as you actually hear he has his second. If he can write good, straightforward English, at once clear, forcible, and vivid, he has the third. But all of these are of no use unless the author has the sense of construction that makes him write real stories,--that is, plots that unfold and develop to a logical conclusion, instead of mere sketches or anecdotes. The one satisfies; the other does not.

Successful authors all work hard, and the bigger an author is the more you can criticise his work to his face. He appreciates that it is a technical calling and he wants and appreciates intelligent criticism.

Are there many good writers who can’t get a hearing? Practically none. Names count in a fashion. The author who has a public gets stronger with his readers the more he writes. If a man has a literary gift and the energy and persistency back of it he will find fiction a good business.

But just because story-writing has taken on some of the aspects of commercialism it has by no means lost the romance, the humor, the humanity, that it had in the old Grub Street days. After all, we are dealing with the stuff that dreams are made of, the inspiration of ambition, the literature of hope and effort and human aspiration, the running chronicle of our ways, our manners, our civilization. Most of it will fade and pass with the fading years; some of it will live.

CHARLES AGNEW MACLEAN.

_Popular Magazine._
STREET AND SMITH CORPORATION,
Seventh Avenue and Fifteenth Street,
New York City.

THE RED BOOK MAGAZINE

Karl Harriman, the editor, had promised a statement as he said that he welcomed this opportunity to point out to would-be contributors the differentiation in editorial policy between The Red Book Magazine, The Blue Book Magazine and The Green Book Magazine. However, a press of unexpected work made it impossible for him to do this before this book had to be sent to press. At that time he spoke in a general way of the fact that for The Red Book Magazine he was constantly looking for stories of the different sections of the United States; then again for stories of the different interests that were absorbing the attention of the people at the moment, such as stories of oil, psychic stories, etc. For The Blue Book Magazine he wanted more out-and-out adventure and tales that would primarily appeal to men; for The Green Book Magazine stories that would find their immediate audience among women.

_The Red Book Magazine._
_The Blue Book Magazine._
_The Green Book Magazine._
36 South State Street,
Chicago, Ill.

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

George Horace Lorimer, the editor-in-chief of _The Saturday Evening Post_, said quite frankly when asked to write briefly his attitude and point of view in the selecting of fiction for his magazine that neither he nor his staff were willing to regard the _Post_ as a training school for young writers.

He went on to say that he and his associates felt that the circulation of the magazine, the fact that it bought more fiction than any other American periodical, paid well and quickly, and published without great delay, made it inevitable that most writers who entered the profession would in the course of events submit material to the _Post_. Should a story by an unknown writer please one of the staff readers it would then be submitted to him and to his immediate associates for acceptance or rejection. Should this same writer succeed equally with subsequent stories, the _Post’s_ editors would then personally consult with this author as to the magazine’s immediate needs and help by suggestion and advice to make his or her material more available from the _Post_ viewpoint.

In this connection it is interesting to note that while their list of writers includes many of the best-known names among American short story writers, the magazine has also accepted and published the stories of many writers who had had no previous audience and whose names were until the time of their appearance in the _Post_ wholly unknown.

While it is perhaps impossible to state tersely what the _Post_ wants, and while Mr. Lorimer may hesitate to speak didactically as to what is and what is not a good short story, the earnest student can easily discern certain of the _Post_ requirements by a study of the magazine. That the stories are inclined to run to a certain more or less definite length; that the majority are American in both setting and characters; that they conform to a certain standard of writing and method of treatment is at once apparent, and certain errors of judgment in submission may easily be avoided.

_The Saturday Evening Post_,
CURTIS PUBLISHING CO.,
Independence Square,
Philadelphia, Pa.

SCRIBNER’S MAGAZINE

Robert Bridges, the editor of _Scribner’s Magazine_, felt that he would do injustice to his periodical were he to attempt to say in a few short paragraphs the type of stories they preferred. He went on to say that the magazine had been in existence for so long that its reputation for good art and good craftsmanship in everything that appeared in its pages was so well established that nothing he could say would either add to or make more definitely practical from the neophyte’s approach the type of fiction wanted.

_Scribner’s Magazine._
599 Fifth Avenue,
New York City.

SHORT STORIES

The best, indeed the only reply to the question as to the needs of a magazine that I can think of is--read it. That is the answer for _Short Stories_.

When a writer asks me what we want for _Short Stories_, I am apt to feel a bit hopeless for, as I see it, my first duty is to seek and develop talent, and my second is to select material. I cannot feel that it is good for a fiction magazine, nor good for a fiction writer, to have the editor suggest ideas, or plots. (General magazines using non-fiction articles are different. In the nature of things they must suggest articles and ideas to their writers.) An intelligent reading of a fiction magazine will give a better idea of its aims and field than any amount of talking by the editor. We can at best, in the time at our disposal, give an idea of our field. The more important thing is the spirit of the magazine, and that can only be taken in by reading it.

Once a writer gets the spirit of the magazines he wishes to write for and has determined their respective fields, it is up to him.

Within the scope of his publication, and in its general spirit, what an editor wants most of all is _ideas_--something new, fresh, different.

There is one more preliminary point--self-analysis. Many writers suffer from lack of understanding of their own material. The field is so large to-day that any writer can develop his own natural imaginative expression and find a market for it. If one is more interested in outdoor adventure--write it. If a writer’s mind runs to psychological problem stories--write those. There are magazines looking for adventure and others looking for psychological character analysis. But don’t, Mr. Writer, try to force yourself to write something you yourself do not like. You cannot write down to a field successfully, and you must develop into a higher literary class naturally, by hard work.

As for _Short Stories_: Being primarily a magazine of adventure and the outdoors, our interest naturally lies in that field first. Our public is a wide one embracing many kinds of people. Yet, when they buy a fiction magazine like _Short Stories_, we are convinced they do so in pretty much the same frame of mind. They want to be amused. They want a good story. They want to read it in a hurry, on a railroad train, in a spare hour, or to relieve a tedious wait. We believe they do not want too much complexity, nor too highly polished a style. Literary excellence is all to the good. We want it and our readers appreciate it, but it must be within our field and done in our spirit. For example, imagine the joy of our public if we could publish as brand new to-day some of Kipling’s early short stories--“The Man That Would Be King,” “William the Conqueror,” and the rest. They fall perfectly “within our scope,” and in spite of the fact that they were done by the greatest literary craftsman of the age, they are not, like some of his later work, too subtle for our public. They are mostly on the objective plane, full of action, stories straight from the shoulder.

Of course, our public like stories of the far places, of the West, both old and new, of the North and the Tropics. Yet, even to these there are some strange exceptions such as the question of remoteness from the reader’s understanding. Miles are nothing to the author or to the reader of the printed page, but unless the author succeeds in making the reader feel his locality, the sense of remoteness creeps in and the story fails. Naturally, with this small world and the fairly limited number of situations possible to a human being in adventure, variety becomes a very desirable thing with us--variety, remember, within our field.

The public that reads _Short Stories_ likes mystery stories. That in itself is a broad field and includes the tales of the tracking down of the perpetrators of crime--detective stories. We have mighty few hard and fast rules, but we never use a story in which we make crime and criminals heroic. If the hero of a story is a burglar, we want the story to show his redemption, the failure of crime with its ultimate punishment, or we want his actions within the story to be for a laudable purpose. Our attitude may best be summed up by the phrase, “the effect on the young.” We want no story which will have an evil effect on any reader.

Mystery stories tend to run along conventional lines. We would like some variety there. The playwrights have accomplished something new and thrilling in pieces such as: “The Unknown Purple,” “The 13th Chair,” “The Alibi” with excellent results. Why cannot some equally ingenious writers work out mystery tales as far from the ordinary murder or jewel mysteries as these?

And humor! Oh, give us humor! Not too subtle, nor too rough. But give us a laugh. Human interest stories too. Business stories and the sports interest our readers. They are fairly scarce, the good ones, so we are always on the lookout for them.

_Short Stories_, like its contemporaries, including _The Saturday Evening Post_, was created by a reading public’s _demand_. Therefore, with the exception of the purely love stories and speaking quite generally, any story that would hit _The Saturday Evening Post_ would hit us. Many and many a writer appearing regularly in that great weekly has found himself through the medium of _Short Stories_ and similar magazines.

The love theme is desirable in our field. Our public, we believe, likes it, but only as a normal motive in a plot. We do not use love stories, as such, but love naturally enters into and strengthens any story, adventure, mystery, business, humor, sports, or what not.

We are not squeamish, yet we never forget that phrase, “the influence on the young.” We do not want to print any story that leaves a bad taste in the mouth. Our public do not want nor expect that in _Short Stories_. Hence, the so-called sex story is not for us.

A word as to dialect. We try to print stories that read easily and smoothly. Too hard or too consistent a dialect repels readers. Likewise, the widely popular slang “roughneck” story. We use ’em of course, but we do not want ’em _too_ rough. Every reader likes the relief of straight English rather than to go through page after page of dialect or slangy misspelling.

But, read the magazine, and then _within our scope_ give us something different.

HARRY E. MAULE.

_Short Stories._
DOUBLEDAY PAGE & COMPANY, Publishers,
Garden City, N.Y.

THE SMART SET

As Editors of _The Smart Set_, Mencken and I buy any story that appeals to us personally. We employ no so-called “readers.” Every manuscript submitted to the magazine is read by the one or the other of us. We have no rules. But, we have prejudices. Style is a most important factor. The viewpoint of a cultured man or woman is a most important factor.

GEORGE JEAN NATHAN.

_The Smart Set._
25 West Forty-fifth Street,
New York City.

SNAPPY STORIES

I am setting forth, more or less briefly, what _Snappy Stories_ desires from its contributors. From its inception, this magazine has specialized in fiction and other material with a strong sex interest, and this policy is being adhered to--not because this is the only type of story that appeals to us, but because we feel that there are a vast number of readers who enjoy tales with themes based upon the relations between the sexes. This is by no means a depraved taste, but a healthy, natural one, characterizing most normal men and women. Many of the most famous stories ever written have had this so-called sex interest, and this applies also to plays and grand operas. Vulgar or salacious material is barred, but we have no objection to stories that are a trifle audacious or that have a dash of the risqué.

Each bi-monthly issue of _Snappy Stories_ contains a complete novelette of from 15,000 to 18,000 words. This is the length we prefer, although we sometimes publish longer novelettes or shorter ones. They should be strongly plotted, with plenty of action and a real climax. Happy endings preferred, but not absolutely insisted upon. Occasionally a good humorous novelette or an ingeniously plotted mystery story, without a pronounced sex interest, is used.

We publish one short serial of from 20,000 to 30,000 words, suitable for two or three parts. Longer stories are occasionally taken, and used in a greater number of installments. What we have said about the novelette applies also to the continued story: stories with sex interest stand the best chance of acceptance. Of course we desire good “breaks” where they are to be divided.

Short stories, of which we use about eight to a number, may be of almost any length, although those of 5,000 words or less are most in demand. We don’t want them either padded or unduly compressed. Sex interest here also, although we sometimes use other kinds--humorous, say, or a good occult or mystery tale. We do not object to unhappy endings. Action is a desideratum. Slow moving stories, depending principally on atmosphere and characterization, are not desired.

A short play is published in every issue. These may be funny or serious. We want especially good acting plays, clever and skilfully plotted.

We use a number of poems, mostly tense love verses or those of a humorous or whimsical sort. Occasionally blank verse is used. Poems may vary in length from the quatrain to forty lines. We seldom buy longer ones, although this is not a hard and fast rule.

There is a good market here for short bits of prose, of six hundred words or less. These may be grave or gay, cynical or satirical. Jokes and epigrams are also in demand.

Writers should make a little study of the magazine to which they desire to contribute, as in this way they will save their own time as well as the editor’s. We are only too glad to get in touch with new writers, and do all we can to encourage and develop them.

THE EDITOR.

_Snappy Stories._
THE NEW FICTION PUBLISHING COMPANY,
35-37 West Thirty-ninth Street,
New York City.

TELLING TALES

In the ten years or so that I have been editing magazines that question “Why I Buy the Stories I Do” has been asked of me dozens and dozens of times, and I am as far as ever from being able to answer it.

Authors and would-be authors are constantly coming and saying: “Mr. Clayton, what kind of stories do you want for your magazine?” and the only answer I can give them is, that I want any good story, providing it is not a sex story, and when they want to pin me down to what constitutes a good story I am utterly lost, and can only say that my idea of a good story is any story that I like.

I presume that every magazine to be successful must be an expression of its editor’s individual taste. In other words, it must have a personality of its own, and that personality can only come from the man who makes it.

Perhaps the point that appeals to me most strongly about a story is the _humanness_ of its characters. They must really _live_, so that the reader is impressed with their reality. Only thus may he come to feel toward them a friendly spirit which will lead him to take an actual interest in their adventures or misadventures, their love affairs, their successes or failures.

The _writing_ of a story is not, to me, the most important part of it. If the story is there, careful editorial work will smooth out many of the crudities of expression or careless short-comings of its author, but no editing can supply a plot where none exists, nor make human or interesting characters that are obviously mere wooden puppets to their creator.

Of course, the better written a story is, the larger is apt to be the check that is sent in return for it, because naturally, an editor, like the buyer of any commodity, cannot afford to pay as much for raw materials requiring a great deal of work to put them into usable shape, as he can for a finished and perfected article.

To sum up, I would say that before writing a story an author should first have a story to tell, and then be as careful as possible in the telling. The main quality needed after that, if one is to become a successful writer, is, I should say, inexhaustible perseverance.

WILLIAM M CLAYTON.

_Telling Tales._
114 Bible House,
New York City.

TODAY’S HOUSEWIFE

You ask me to give you some indication of the fiction requirements of _Today’s Housewife_. I can give you this very briefly: About all that we require is that the story shall be clean and interesting. It may deal with the home and child interest, it may be a married love story, a young love story, a humorous story or one of adventure and mystery. There must be no sex problem; no repulsive crime. It may be as much of a thriller as any one can desire, but it must lead to ultimate good; it must leave the reader in a satisfied frame of mind, although this does not necessarily mean that it needs have a “happy ending.” It must have a satisfactory ending and it must lead the reader along an upward path. We like our stories to be full of action, plenty of sparkling dialogue, and they must be well written. We use but few stories in _Today’s Housewife_, but we demand that these be of an excellent type.

DELLA T. LUTES.

_Today’s Housewife._
Cooperstown, N.Y.

TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE

It always seems to me so futile to talk to people who do not know how to write stories about the way they should be written. I feel that when I attempt it, I speak a language they do not understand. I never have a feeling that I am being understood when I talk on the subject to amateurs. And experience tells me that I am not understood. I must ask you, therefore, to excuse me from holding forth on this very illusive topic.

Thanking you for the compliment you pay me in asking me to write something, I am

Yours very truly,
HENRY W. THOMAS,
_Editor_.

_Top-Notch Magazine._
79-89 Seventh Avenue.
New York City.

THE TOUCHSTONE

The kind of story I am always longing to have for my magazine must have in it characters that affect me as human beings would, characters that are true to their inheritance and environment, who react honestly and sincerely to their training and surroundings. Write about any type of man, woman or child that you choose, but make them true to type, or rather true to character. For instance, the longshoreman must not only _talk_, but _think_ and _feel_ like a longshoreman. It seems important to me that the soubrette should not react to life as a bishop would, and that the philosophy of a returned soldier should vary somewhat from that of an elderly spinster of New England training.

In other words the fiction writer has got to know life, either by intuition, in which case he has genius; or by experience, in which case talent will serve.

And having achieved the power to see life profoundly and sincerely you must then find a way to tell your public what you see, to tell it in such a manner that you create the illusion of life in your characters, and make the characters create the illusion of reality in their environment.

An author may write cleverly, smartly, brightly, with quite a little sense of drama, sell his stories easily, and have a name that you remember, and not possess one atom of real insight into human nature, and not one moment’s grasp of power to portray humanity through words that convince and thrill.

I am not at all satisfied with the idea that if you amuse the public you are a good short story writer, or even if you manage to thrill the public that your short stories are worthwhile. Very young and very poor writers can do both these things. And I do not think it at all necessary to have happy endings to stories. This absurd catering to the more feeble public mind is not thought essential in writing an opera or a great tragedy or in painting a picture. Wagner did not think that it was necessary at the end of “Götterdämmerung” to have his orchestra play some tinkling little melody to send his people home happy. He wrote his music so that you go home after the great sacrifice of _Brunnhilde’s_ filled with mighty splendid thoughts of life, love, death and immortality. When Rodin pictured “A Thinker,” a man facing universal problems, he did not carve at his side a merry little clown to cheer up the beholder, who is afraid of thought. And a poet does not jest at the end of a beautiful rhythm that has poured out through his heart and soul.

So why should we ask of the writer, and always of the dramatist, that these particular works of art should invariably leave humanity smiling, light-hearted and forgetful. I do not think it is necessary to consider the ending at all, let it develop from the psychology of the people in the story, and make the episode as it would be in life to the best of your ability.

I think, perhaps, at the start, the best way to learn how to write is, _not to write_. And, of course, I mean here, not to write thoughtlessly and without relating life to words. Above all, I am opposed to studying models in writing. I would like to say, forget all about the styles that have been set before you as models. Disregard those famous old English essayists. Turn your face away firmly, however reluctantly, from Lamb, Macaulay and Carlyle. I even advise you to bid a sad farewell to Edith Wharton and Henry James. And while Bernard Shaw will amuse and delight you, he will only inspire you to imitate him. And what could be less important to you, and more torturing to the editors than to join the ever-swelling army of Shaw’s imitators? Because the important thing about Shaw is--his fantastic brain, his whimsical soul, his lack of philosophy, his ability to contort all life into witty jeers, and these attributes for good or evil you must be born with.

It sounds very drastic, but I think it very important to empty your minds of all literary ideals. And above all to abandon forever the burning desire “to express yourself.” Because it is immensely more important to gather through experience and vision and fine sympathy, universal truths to express, than to imagine that within oneself is hidden a great unwritten truth. Once your mind is delightfully empty and free and at your command, begin to think, to observe, to appreciate; but do not make the mistake of branding the people you meet as interesting models for fiction writing. It is far more important to think of _your characters_ as _real people_. After you have learned to observe life honestly and very simply, all the phases of life with which you come into contact, then write exactly what you think about them, just as you would tell typical episodes to some one interested in your observation--except of course that you must tell your story conscientiously, you must bear in mind the pattern that you are weaving. And you are not writing good fiction, until you have learned to design a pattern of writing with beauty, and put it down with power.

As I think I have said before, one of the first points I look for in a story is character that is a product of its own environment. Dialogue that has an accent is not enough to separate one nation from another; it is the kind of person that is expressed through an accent that is significant. The dialogue must be born in the soul; otherwise the impression given is irritatingly superficial and sometimes absurd.

So you see, observation is not enough for fiction writing, however searching; nor experience, however varied; nor style, however distinguished. There must be power to discern truth, and imagination to fashion for it a garment of shining loveliness. I have grown to believe that the very words used in writing should carry a weight of emotionalism. It is not enough to feel drama or to talk about drama when you are writing. Drama must pass through the actual words and drench them with fervor.

MARY FANTON ROBERTS.

_The Touchstone._
1 West 47th Street,
New York City.

WESTERN STORY MAGAZINE

_Western Story Magazine_ is a weekly publication. It is therefore a large fiction market, constantly in need of short stories of 2,500 to 6,000 or 7,000 words, novelettes of 12,000 or 15,000, and novels of 25,000 words. Serials should run from 36,000 to 100,000 words in length, and break up approximately in about 12,000-word installments.

All stories for _Western Story Magazine_ must deal with incidents in the West, Canada, Alaska. If possible, they must be written in such a way as to urge readers to want to lead a life in the open. While many readers realize that conditions have changed in the West, the stories should be written so that the reader who knows that these conditions have changed will understand that what the author means is that such and such was the case in the good old days, and that on the other hand the reader who does not know that conditions have changed will assume that they are to-day as the author states.

No story is acceptable for _Western Story Magazine_ which contains an unpleasant sex element.

F. E. BLACKWELL.

_Western Story Magazine._
79 Seventh Avenue,
New York City.

THE WOMAN’S HOME COMPANION

Fiction is a very large element in our program. We publish not less than five short stories in each issue and not less than six serials a year.

These are the requirements which make a fiction manuscript available:

It must tell a story.

It must tell it well--that is, according to accepted standards of good writing.

The story must be worth telling.

The theme must be interesting to the average normal human being.

It may be a story of love, mystery, humor, pathos, childhood, youth, old age, men, women, home life, business life; its scene may be laid anywhere on earth, in the past, present or future. It may have plot and action, or merely atmosphere. It may be by an unknown writer or by the most famous. We merely want to be convinced that a great number of our readers will enjoy reading it.

Of all the stories the _Woman’s Home Companion_ published in 1920, I put at the head of the list, “According to Ruskin,” by Harriet Welles.

It answers the requirements I have outlined. It tells a story, a poignant and appealing story. It tells it well, with skill, directness and restraint, and with power. The theme is that of sacrifice, one that has held its appeal for hundreds of years, a theme around which many of the greatest stories of all times have been written. It has both plot and atmosphere.

It was not altogether easy to choose the best story of the year’s issues, and it would not be easy to choose the second or third in rank. But there are several that I wish to mention as illustrative of what we consider good stories and the kind of fiction we like to publish.

“The Neighbor” by Katharine Holland Brown is a difficult thing well done. Written with less skill and feeling it would lack the beauty that distinguishes it. It is a type of story that is seldom successful, but in Miss Brown’s skilful hands it is a masterly piece of work.

“Shooting Stars” is one of Alice Brown’s New England tales, well told and absorbing in its carefully-presented setting and its analysis of character.

“The Boy in the Corner” by M. C. L. Pickthall is a story of the West, of a mining town, in its setting and atmosphere. In plot it is a study in spiritual values simply and dramatically related.

Two stories, dealing in widely different ways with love and poverty in the relation of a mother to a young daughter, are “The Genius” by Sophie Kerr, and “A Sweater for Mabel” by Elsie Singmaster. They are both admirable examples of narrative, woven around plots of universal interest.

“The Master Passion” by Mary Heaton Vorse is a piece of work that is distinguished by its keen realization of situations and values and by the mingling of emotion and reason which the story discloses.

Of lighter tone and somewhat slighter structure is “Thursday and the King and Queen” by Theodora DuBois. This is an excellent example of a pleasing humorous story, with a real plot and real people, plenty of incident and amusing situations, the kind of story we delight in.

“The Torch” by Anna Branson Hillyard is an example of a serious and sincere story dealing with one of the problems of present day young people. It is earnest without being preachy, and it has a purpose without being propaganda.

“But I Knew You’d Understand” by Ruth Comfort Mitchell is a graphic and sympathetic picture of young married life. It has a variety of well-drawn characters and an atmosphere that bears the sure touch of reality.

These are the stories that I feel I cannot pass over without mention. These stories come up to our requirements for a good piece of fiction and in every case they offer to the story-reader value that is pressed down and running over.

I am glad to have had the opportunity to publish these stories and I am happy to recommend them as examples of good contemporary fiction.

GERTRUDE B. LANE.

_Woman’s Home Companion._
381 Fourth Avenue,
New York City.

YOUNG’S MAGAZINE

For about thirty years _Young’s Magazine_ has been purveying fiction for the entertainment of the public. It has many readers and some contributors of twenty years’ standing. Of its fellows--all-fiction magazines that started with or shortly after it--what remnant is left!

It is good philosophy, as well as common sense, that such survival testifies to an inhering excellence or usefulness. In the case of _Young’s Magazine_ the quality making for survival is that not only has it given to the public what was wanted--good stories, but it has helped to create them; it has been the arena where many, now famous, perfected the use of their medium--where some have learned first principles, too--and it has helped all by criticism and advice.

Allowing full weight to _manner_--graces of style, diction and what not--_Young’s_ has steadfastly worked from the standpoint that _matter_ comes first. The story’s the thing; what the reader wants. This insistence on “meat” in the story--something cogent, logical, properly articulated--has won for the magazine a standing and a place with writers that is emphasized by its popular success.

Looking back over the index, familiar names are everywhere; selecting haphazard: Jeffery Farnol, Mary Roberts Rinehart, “Ouida,” Charles Hanson Towne, Marcel Prevost, Margaret Pedler, Mrs. Justin H. McCarthy, Tom Gallon, Richard Le Gallienne, Dale Drummond, Berton Braley, Hildegarde Hawthorne, Rita Weiman, Harry Kemp, Doctor Frank Crane, Octavus Roy Cohen, Nalbo Bartley, Reginald Wright Kauffman, Homer Croy, Mabel Wagnalls, Henry Payson Dowst, Martha M. Stanley, William Le Queux, Oliver Sandys, Nina Wilcox Putnam, Elizabeth Jordan, Grace MacGowan Cooke, Julian Hawthorne, Achmed Abdullah, Hapsburg Liebe, Jules Eckert Goodman, Roi Cooper Megrue, Clarence L. Cullen, Jeanne Judson, Channing Pollock, Percival Weil, Louise Winter, Martha Morton, Temple Bailey, Gertrude Brooke Hamilton, Maude Fulton.

Take it how you will--whether the fact be welcome or not--“sex,” as it is called (with the quotation marks), shares with one or two other big things the distinction of being a primal force in the life of the world. It is real; it is vital. And as _Young’s Magazine_ and _Breezy Stories_ want vital fiction, they seek stories of love and its attendant emotions as they affect and as they are expressed in life as it is lived; not the tenuous sentimentalism of the “mushy” love-story--moonshine and bubbles, beautiful airy nothings that touch _life_ at not a single point.

CASHEL POMEROY.

_Young’s Magazine._
_Breezy Stories._
THE C. H. YOUNG PUBLISHING CO., INC.,
377 Fourth Avenue,
New York City.

Footnotes

[1] Copyright by _Ainslee’s Magazine_.

[2] Copyright by _The American Magazine_.

[3] Copyright, 1917, by _The Century Co._

[4] Copyright, 1920, by _Collier’s, The National Weekly_.

[5] Copyright, 1919, by _The Cosmopolitan Magazine_.

[6] Copyright by _Everybody’s Magazine_.

[7] Copyright by _McClure’s Magazine_

[8] Copyright by _Metropolitan Magazine_

[9] Copyright _The People’s Home Journal_.

[10] Copyright _Pictorial Review_.

[11] Copyright by _Short Stories_

[12] Copyright _The Woman’s Home Companion_.

[13] Copyright, by Courtland H. Young

Transcriber’s Notes

• Italic text denoted by _underscores_. • Small capitals converted to ALL CAPS. • Footnotes renumbered consecutively and moved to the end of the text. • Obvious typographic errors corrected silently. • Variations in hypenation and spelling (especially between authors) kept as in the original. • References to the Footnotes and Transcriber’s Notes added to the Table of Contents for user convenience.