TALENT AND TRAINING

Genius can never despise labor. —ABEL STEVENs, Life of Madame de Stail.

I think that most writers, when they have got some particularly good idea into some particularly lucid and effective form of words, often feel that the job is only partly of their doing, and that a good deal of it, and probably the very best of it, came to them by processes more or less independent of their volition. Nobody writes without putting his will into the work and making the indispensable effort; but what comes is partly what is in him, and partly what is given him to say, and which is which he may not know, nor whence came what was given. What we call literary talent, or, in its rarer and more remarkable form, genius, seems to be the gift of having extra-good ideas come into the mind and clothe themselves with extra-good language. Very young writers have sometimes powers of expression which persons less lucky never get. There is an ear for language like the ear for music, and akin to it. Girls of the most limited experience and youths of inadequate education seem now and then to possess by instinct the faculty of expression; of putting their words where they ought to go, and doing the trick that makes literature. — EDWARD S. MARTIN, Writing, Harper's, Jan., 19138.

Are short-story writers born or made?

Both. If they are not born, they cannot be made, but those who rely solely upon talent never amount to anything worth talking about. The ideal combination is

training added to talent. Superior ability never proves itself until a man sets to work.

John Burroughs has said of style what Emerson once declared of certain methods in mathematics, that it is incommunicable. So is the artistic spirit. All must agree that it is impossible to implant talent, toinducateit ” to coin a word with a meaning just the opposite of educate, which signifies to lead out.

Of course I apply this now to the talent for conceiving and constructing fictions. " This gift of story-telling, " writes Professor Matthews, " can exist independently of any other faculty. It may be all that the possessor has. He might be wholly without any of the qualifications of the literator ; he might lack education and intelligence ; he might have no knowledge of the world, no experience of life, and no insight into character ; he might be devoid of style, and even of grammar ” all the deficiencies are as nothing if only he have the gift of story-telling. Without that, he may have all the other qualifications and still fail as a writer of fiction. " 1

These words are extreme, but we must recognize their fundamental truth. Genius intuitively knows what lesser minds must needs be taught. The atmosphere in which the genius moves calls forth his creations. " Thus Shakespeare was never taught the principles of dramatic art ; Bath had an instructive appreciation of [the] laws of harmony ; and Turner had some insight into the laws of painting ” they simply looked ” and understood. " 2

But while one writer springs, as did Minerva, fullpanoplied from the brow of Jove, a thousand, like Achilles, are born of lowlier parents, trained by demigods, and dipped in the Styx to make them invulnerable —and even then one heel is always subject to mortal wounds. Since talent and the artistic spirit and the storytelling gift are incommunicable, what is it that canbe taught? Why, the knowledge of how master-fictionists have told their stories. Though success can never be fully explained, nor guaranteed to those who will follow a given course, still you may, by analyzing the results attained by short-story artists, discover two things (and these two things the two important ones to know about the mechanics of any art) — its subject matter, and its form. The rest is a question of ability and application ; it remains to put into practice the principles deduced from the work of writers whom men call great, while coloring all with the tone of your own spirit. It is one thing to teach how good short-stories are written ; it is quite another to teach one to write a good short-story.

When Mr. William Allen White says that, " Art consists in surmounting difficulty to produce beauty, " and Mr. Mabie that art is " always and everywhere the best sway of doing a thing, " we have before us two different views of art. In the one, the short-story artist — and both the authors quoted refer to him — is regarded as attaining an effect which, in so far as it measures up to a standard, is perfect art ; in the, other, the craft of the literary workman is held in view. The former — that is the artistic result — we may explain and illustrate and

analyze. We may help and direct the worker, but no more. As to the latter quotation, " the best way of doing a thing " can be taught in principle and in practice. But after all it is only the way to do it, it is not the thing itself. The same distinction holds in teaching art of all kinds. 3

Mr. Sherwin Cody, in the Introduction to his collection of The World's Greatest Short Stories, utters some concise and illuminating words regarding both the nature of literary art and its special relation to the short-story.

" There are two kinds of art, conscious and unconscious. When the knights-errant of genius cry, ' The poet is born, not made, ' they by no means intend to imply that form is nothing : they are thinking, ' Genius invents its own forms unconsciously, which are far superior to the forms selected by the conscious artist who is uninspired by genius. They ignore the conscious artist who is inspired by genius, for there is nothing at all incompatible between conscious art and genius. The fact is, however, that the history of nearly every special art is that at first its forms are unconscious, or, let us say, experimental; and as in its evolution it draws near to perfection and its possibilities are realized to the full, very nearly all its practitioners become conscious artists. "

That there is great need for story-writers to make a more careful study of their art is doubtless more apparent to the reader of manuscripts than to the average

writer. Men and women who admit the necessity of preparation for doing any other work well, seem to assume that authorship is a gift of the gods — and themselves the recipients of the divine favor 1

One of the judges of an important prize short-story contest conducted by Collier's Weekly in 19os was Mr. Walter Page. Of those competing he says:

" So many writers seemed to mistake good materials for good stories that I wonder if this be not a common mistake in our time. Surely it is a fundamental mistake to forget that story-telling is an art, a difficult art, too. A man who has a stirring fact or a thrilling experience has not a story until he has used it in some proper way — has constructed it, has built it. "

Another experienced literary worker gives this testimony, which will be seconded by every editor : " There are many writers throughout the country, with good education, with clear brains, and with the ambition to see their work in print, who are failing merely because they are not familiar with the technique of the short-story. "

In this connection it is interesting to note that wellknown authors themselves differ widely in their estimates of the value of a formal training for authorship as compared with natural ability. But upon one thing they all agree — that constant practice and hard work are at the foundation of success. Not one feels that a native gift,

uncultivated, entitles him to a hearing. And all have proved their faith by their works.

Upon the one hand, Thomas Wentworth Higginson says that he came to literature by heredity, for the printer's ink in his blood is three hundred years old. Stedman felt that he inherited from his mother the knack of expression. Lowell thought that " man's style is born with him. " Haeckel acknowledged nature " as the first and best mistress " in expression. Miss Corelli professes to " owe nothing to systematic training. " Hall Caine says that without a " natural ear for prose " no writer " will ever do great things. " " Miss Mulock " believed that " composition is a gift, not an art. " General Lew Wallace and Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward attribute nothing to method. George Moore says that he was never anything but desultory in his studying. Andrew Lang thinks writing comes by nature. Robert Barr, H. Rider Haggard, Arthur Morrison, and " John Oliver Hobbes " have expressed themselves as doubtful of the value of special training for fiction writing, while George W. Cable " never had a teacher competent to teach the art " of literary construction.

Of course not every litterateur is able to judge of what forces were most effective in contributing to his success. The value of that informal training which a literary worker is constantly giving himself is real, even if unrecognized. The author of genius and the writer of talent both grow as they labor.

Other authors, equally eminent, testify to their regard for training. " The present which is made to sem of us

at our birth, " says Jean Ingelow, " is not that same thing which the others can acquire by study, by thought, and by time. But though what is required is not the same, yet those who have a gift can never make it what it was meant to be until the other has been added. " Huxley ascribed his literary ability to the fact that he had learned " to spare no labour upon the process of acquiring clear ideas. " Dowden thinks that " Genius is energy quite as much as insight; and insight is as much dependent upon tireless activity as upon Divine gift. " Anthony Trollope said that " there is no way of writing well and also of writing easily. " Frank Norris declared that in fiction " even a defective training is better than none. " George Gissing thought highly of literary training, as also did Wilkie Collins. Renan declared that " Good training of the mind is the only school of good style ;" with which Taine agreed, saying that, " The men of my time in France have all received a special training with a view to style, " and laying much stress upon classical discipline. George Meredith counsels study, as does Marion Crawford. Grant Allen attached great importance to education, and S. Baring-Gould served an " apprenticeship in literature. " William Black ' and Edward Eggleston recommended incessant practice. Sir Walter Besant believed in studying technique, as did Poe, Balzac, Stevenson and Hawthorne. Ambassador Bryce and John Burroughs advise the study of masterpieces of English. Parkman acknowledged his great debt to training, as does Edward Everett Hale. Oliver

Wendell ziolmes and Edgar Fawcett learned how not to write, by means of instruction. °

In the last analysis, it is a personal problem to discover what course one should pursue in preparing for authorship. The critic hesitates to lay his finger upon anyone thing as indispensable, for fear of having someone arise and triumphantly point out that this author and that succeeded without any education, another without having read Shakespeare or even his own contemporaries, another without any knowledge of grammar, rhetoric, and esthetics — and so on. However, it is surely safe to recommend a secondary-school course and, if possible, a college career as well. Many schools and higher institutions are now giving courses in the short-story, while studies in composition, rhetoric, esthetics, and the English novel cannot but be helpful. As yet, we have no professional schools of authorship, though we are promised that which seems more practicable — a school of journalism.

Then there is no want of admirable books on all these'and cognate subjects, with occasional lecturecourses as well. A suggested laboratory method for the study of short-story models is fully outlined in a later chapter. But by all odds the most useful thing is to write. Write persistently, then revise, and then — perhaps destroy, per-

haps preserve, perhaps publish! Be grateful for intelligent criticism whenever you can get it, whether from a teacher or from an active editor. " In my own case, " says Mr. Howells, " I noticed that the contributors who could best be left to themselves were those who were most amenable to suggestion and even correction, who took the blue pencil with a smile, and bowed gladly to the rod of the proofreader. Those who were on the alert for offense, who resented a marginal note as a slight, and bumptiously demanded that their work be printed just as they had written it, were commonly not much more desired by the reader than by the editor. " $

If a chance opens to do newspaper work, you will find it a difficult but profitable school; though it leaves little leisure and less energy for fiction writing; and, as Charles Dudley Warner has pointed out, the newspaper reporter must cultivate compression at the expense of his power to elaborate. '

But whatever you do, do not lightly take up literature as a life-work. The way is long, and the rewards are both slight and slow to materialize. To some, literature is a trade, to some an avocation, to some a profession. '" Succeed in it as an avocation before you venture to adopt fiction as your " visible means of support. " But having set professional authorship as your goal, despise not the lightest hint that will make your preparation more thorough and adequate.

Consider these words written by " Mark Twain " to a young friend. They are an allegory, serious and big, for all who would essay the literary life.

"There is an unwritten law about human successes, and your sister must bow to that law, she must submit to its requirements. In brief, this law is:

"I. No occupation without an apprenticeship.

" 2. No pay to the apprentice.

" This law stands right in the way of the subaltern who wants to be aGeneral before he has smelt powder; and it stands (and should stand) in everybody's way who applies for pay and position before he has served his apprenticeship and provedhimself. "

But even the apprentice must exercise initiative, so do not be afraid to do things your own way —" to be faithful to the coloring of your own spirit, " as Walter Pater has put it. In his preface to Pierre et Jean, Maupassant finely says : " Each of us . . . forms for himself an illusion of the world, an illusion poetical, sentimental, joyous, melancholy, unclean, or dismal, according to his nature. " So the biggest part of your preparation is to cultivate your personality.

To some, rules are fetters which despoil them of freedom; to others, belts which gird the loins for successful effort. " Good judgment lies at the far end of a long and up-hill road. But the well-trained mind comes after awhile to feelthe right and the wrong of each step. 2)11

Finally, I wish that every timorous worker might read and digest " The Magic Story, " whose message, in brief, is this :

" Go, therefore, and do that which is within you to do; take no heed of gestures which beckon you aside ; ask of no manpermission to perform. " 12

OUTLINE SUMMARY

TALENT ANN TRAINING

(Talent Incommunicable Raketion of Art to Talent Relation of Training to Talent

Education and Study Newspaper work

Apprenticeship

is Frederic Vaa Rensselaer Dey (Success Company, New York).