Bill Adams: I never
think of the reader—not even when the story is in print. If I do, I think it is
a remarkably odd world to contain such queer ducks.
Samuel Hopkins Adams: Damn the
readers. I'm too busy with the immediate people of my imagination to worry
about the dim and distant thousands.
Paul L. Anderson: The
story only, when writing; consideration of the reader comes in the preliminary
planning.
William Ashley Anderson: I think
only of the story without regard to readers, on the assumption that a good
story will never fail to find readers.
H. C. Bailey: A
distinction between thinking of the story itself and of the reader is to me
difficult. I suppose my mind is chiefly concerned to make the words express
what is real in my imagination—but that implies considering a reader. Of course
it is necessary sometimes in revising to simplify.
Edwin Balmer: On the
story. When revising, somewhat on the readers.
Ralph Henry Barbour: In
writing, my mind does its own centering, and it centers on the story. The
reader gets a mighty small look-in. In revising, the reader is considered. But,
as I've already said, I don't revise much.
Frederick Orin Bartlett: I never
have my readers in mind either in writing or revising. It is extremely
difficult for me to visualize a reader of any sort until the story is actually
in print. Then I feel my audience only as individuals write to me or in some
other way respond.
Nalbro Bartley: When I
write, I think of only the story—never whether anybody is going to read it—or
pay for it, for that matter. But when, after it has been cold-in-a-drawer for
about a week, I revise, I try to think of the nature of the story which the
editor originally ordered—whether or not it hits any forbidden spots and if the
average reader is going to respond or not. I think impersonal revision is the
most valuable sort.
Konrad Bercovici: I never
have the reader in mind when I write. I do not want him to have me in his mind
either. It is the story. Nothing else.
Ferdinand Berthoud: I'm afraid
that in my amateurish way I center my mind wholly on my story—laugh and cry
with my characters. However, now I'm learning and getting
a little more experienced I am trying to be less selfish and to think of the
readers.
H. H. Birney, Jr.: On the
story.
Farnham Bishop: Write
for the story, revise for the reader. Except that, whenever explaining
anything, I keep trying to be clear enough for the layman, accurate enough for
the expert, and interesting enough for both. (Result of ten years lecturing on
semi-technical subjects to general audiences.)
Algernon Blackwood: I never
give the reader a single thought. To some imaginary reader, sitting at a desk
inside my own mind, I tell my story. It is written to express—to relieve—an
emotion in my own being. It is never written to please other readers or any
imaginable public.
Max Bonter: As
closely as I have been able to come to it, I am a dual personality when I
write. My imagination invents, but reason checks. Reason seems in my case to
represent prospective readers.
Katharine Holland Brown: First,
write down all the story before it gets away. With no regard for any reader. Second,
revise, and try to make the story intelligible and to make it march.
F. R. Buckley: I center
my mind on the story. I have thought of the readers beforehand, that is, I know
what will go and what won't: have generally studied the magazine I'm writing
for and got general atmosphere of the stuff it uses; can't get more than that.
In this atmosphere I have framed the story as previously detailed. That's all I
have to do with the readers.
Prosper Buranelli: I never
think of readers—am never too sure I shall have any. You don't think of a third
party, whom to convince, when you are working out a proof in geometry.
Thompson Burtis: I center
myself on the story. Occasionally the readers enter the picture when I am using
technical stuff which I realize I must write down to them.
George M. A. Cain: Am not
clear about this. I endeavor to tell the reader enough
to guide him to so much of my vision as is vital to the story. I think he
seldom escapes my consciousness. I think of him as reading what I tell. If I am
writing for public speech, I think of myself as saying the words to an audience
imagined before me while I write.
Robert V. Carr: When I
want to sell my story, I write with the reader in mind. When I want to enjoy
writing, I forget the reader. I am not sufficiently egotistical to want to
reform the reader, neither do I desire to uplift him or to change his
prejudices and superstitions to fit my mold. I believe that intelligence
decreases with numbers; therefore I am not a democrat. It has been my
observation that nothing arouses the hatred of the average man so much as the
power to do him good. If one has the power to hurt him, to destroy him, he will
erect a statue in honor of the possessor of that power. But if one has the
power to do him good, and he lacks that power, he will, sooner or later, fly at
the possessor of the power to do good like a mad dog. Pessimistic? It is no
more logical to hope for the best than to hope for the worst.
Why should I bounce a stone off
the reader's head when all he asks from me is a shot of literary hop to make
him forget the next installment on his tin canary, the ever-increasing double
chins of his wife, his children who no longer make him feel a glow of pride by
their resemblance to him, or his late patriotic debauch from which he is now
recovering with a door-mat tongue and a general feeling of seediness? Why
should I attempt to make a reader think, when I know so little myself? I should
try to amuse him and let it go at that.
George L. Catton: It all
depends. Tastes differ. Personally I don't care a penny for "blood and
thunder" stories, all action to no end and without a theme or soul. But
the vast majority of readers to-day want that kind of story and if an author
wants to keep eating he's got to kill his own likes
and dislikes for his stomach's sake. I like stories with action of brains, not
brawn, but money talks. I have to keep my mind on my readers' likes and
dislikes when I'm writing to keep my bread basket from blowing away. Otherwise
I'd write what I liked myself, never think about my readers, and do better
work—from a literary viewpoint.
Robert W. Chambers: The
story only. In revising, the story alone.
Roy P. Churchill: My best
stories come when I center on the story, but it is very hard when the readers'
so-called limitations are so borne in upon you. For instance, terms and
expressions of sailors seem to need some explanation when told to a landsman.
Yet, do they? My most enjoyable reading is when the writer fires on regardless
and lets you understand or not. Makes you work your own mind just a trifle to
"get" what he is driving at.
Carl Clausen: Always
on the story.
Courtney Ryley Cooper: Absolutely
on the story. In revising, or rather editing, I watch the things that I know a
reader will look for. But the story comes first. Because if it isn't a
story—there won't be any readers!
Arthur Crabb: I think
that when I write I have the story in mind and not the reader. The same is true
in revising.
Mary Stewart Cutting: I center
my mind on the story itself. I have my reader in mind in so far as I wish to
write it clearly; in the vernacular "to get it over."
Elmer Davis: I used
to center on the story itself, but they didn't sell. Now I center on the editor
at whom I am aiming it. Yes, I know you will say that is all wrong. It is, for
Tolstoy, Balzac, etc. But not for the sort of writers who make their living out
of checks.
William H. Dean: My God!
Never on the reader! That's fatal. If one tries to write to or for an audience,
his work is worse than mediocre. I think of my characters and their destinies,
think only of them—do my best to interpret, never to
invent. If my readers like what I write, they agree with my interpretations. If
any beginner should ask me to give him a single rule to observe, I should say,
"Always write to interpret; you will go down in defeat if you ever
deliberately set about to please any reader."
Harris Dickson: Don't
think I ever have the reader in mind, except when in matters of local coloring
I must consider viewpoints outside of the South and remember to make myself
clear. Frequently I do not employ certain forms of colloquialism because the
outside reader may not comprehend—and explanations are generally bad. In public
speaking, however, this is different. There you face your audience and get a
response. Many times the speaker practically follows his audience, falling into
the same vein of thought and traveling along in harmony. Over and over again I
felt this on the platform during our wartime publicity campaigns. Again, the
speaker may feel a hostility or lack of comprehension in his audience, that he
must go further, explain more clearly, hammer in a fact. Or he may feel that
his audience has "got" his slightest gesture, that they comprehend
fully, and no more is needed.
Captain Dingle: I never
think of the reader. I lose myself in the story. I am my characters, in turn,
within limits.
Louis Dodge: I think
of my story, not of my readers, when I write; however, I try to finish my
story—to put on paper what I have in mind, to make things fairly plain.
Phyllis Duganne: I don't think of
readers when I'm writing. At least, I suppose I do in a way—I try to make
people and things in a story convincing, and as I'm convinced at the start, I
must be considering readers. But I don't think of them consciously; it's just
the story I'm consciously considering. In revising, I think frequently of
editors—after all, they're rather important.
J. Allan Dunn: I do not
think I have my readers largely in the forefront of my
mind, save as I know they are apt to clamor, through the editor, for the
satisfactory ending. Which is one reason why I like to write for ——. There I am
practically untrammeled. I am unconscious of an audience and I want to be.
Walter A. Dyer: I become
preoccupied, when writing, with the story rather than with my readers, and I am
afraid I too often leave the editors entirely out of account. I have, however,
in the case of stories for boys, had to keep my audience in mind.
Walter Prichard Eaton: I never
have my readers in mind when I write. My one job is to get into words the idea
in my head. Alas! before I begin I consider whether it is an
idea which will sell. That is because we all feel we have to live. In revising,
I try only to make what I have written correspond more closely with the idea I
set out to convey—and also, I try, often, to make my sentence rhythms more
attractive to the ear.
E. O. Foster: When I
write I center my mind on the story itself and I am ashamed to say that I do
not have my readers in mind, except as I write I know there are over four
million ex-service men in the United States who are probably watching to catch
me in an inaccuracy. I also consider that I am writing about the time of the
Spanish-American War and that the tactics and military evolution have changed
considerably in these years. Fortunately I was also in the World War and know
what the changes are.
Arthur O. Friel: The
story excludes everything else.
J. U. Giesy: Mainly
on the story, the scene and action I wish to paint.
George Gilbert: I think
only of the story. After it is written I think of selling it. But although this
answer seems to exclude the readers, it puts them first, for I have confidence
enough in what I write to make me think that if it is printed readers will like
it. If I did not, I would not write anything.
Kenneth
Gilbert: When I write, my mind is centered on the story itself, but
the reader is not forgotten, merely crowded back a bit.
Holworthy Hall: I never
think of the reader at all. In the first place, I think of the story itself—and
afterward if I ever consider any one else, it is the editor and not the reader.
We are all constantly selling stories to editors, but never to subscribers. It
is the editor's job and not mine—to consider what he imagines his subscribers
want to read. During the actual writing of a story I think of nothing but the
urgency of translating into words the ideas which are in my mind.
Richard Matthews Hallet: When
writing I certainly think first of pleasing myself in the effects I fight for;
but a habit of stepping out of your own skin and into the skin of a reader
should be a healthy one and indeed is three-parts, if not the whole of
self-criticism, without a wholesome infusion of which I doubt if much real work
gets done. But don't start by trying to please other people. Please yourself
first. As Walter Pater says of "that principle axiomatic in
literature," that, "to know when one's self is interested, is the
first condition of interesting other people." I have gone astray before
now by deluding myself into thinking I was interested in a given story simply
because I had decided to write it.
William H. Hamby: On the
story itself. I never think of the reader unless it is some point that it
occurs to me might be misunderstood.
A. Judson Hanna: I seldom
thought of the reader, merely writing a story as it came to me, until I began
receiving the circulars sent to contributors by ——. When writing now I try to consider
the effect of a story on the reader. I always have the editor in mind as I
write.
Joseph Mills Hanson: I think
of the story; very seldom of the readers of it.
E. E. Harriman: I center
my mind on the story—try to make it natural—vivid—strong. The reader may go
to Hades for all I care then. All I am thinking of is
the responsibility I have to bring this character out unblemished and with the
affectionate regard of the public or to save that one alive and in possession
of his claim.
Nevil G. Henshaw: In
making the first draft I think only of the story. In revising of the reader.
Joseph Hergesheimer: Never
the reader!
Robert Hichens: When I
am writing, I do not think about readers, only about my subject, my characters
and how I am expressing myself.
R. de S. Horn: When I
write I consider the story alone, until it is almost finished or rather until
the final corrections are ready to be made. Then I consider my readers only so
much as to correct with an eye to avoiding technicalities which they might fail
to understand. Every story in my opinion has one particular style prescribed by
the story itself as visualized by the author. If he allows himself to be swayed
by considerations of the people who will read it or the magazines that may buy
it, he is playing himself false and I believe the story will show it. The thing
to do is to write the story as your consciousness tells you it should be
written and then leave it to the literary agent to find the magazine and class
of readers that it will best fit. I think the best illustration of this fact is
that invariably our best authors' biggest works have come before the magazines
have had a chance to subsidize him and buy his output in advance, thereby
purchasing the right to "advise" what form his work should take.
Clyde B. Hough: When I
write I am not aware of the fact that there are to be readers. A standard is
hung up somewhere in the back of my mind as a sort of goal to drive it, but my
mind is really concentrated on the characters and their action, particularly
their action.
Emerson Hough: I never
think of my readers. Poor people!
A. S. M. Hutchinson: Most
emphatically no. I never give a thought to the reader. The idea of doing so is
extraordinary to me. It is impossible and ridiculous.
How can you tell a story if you are thinking about its effect on the people?
Inez Haynes Irwin: I do not
think I ever think of my readers at all. In writing I am always thinking of my
own impressions of my work. I have to bear in mind certain limitations of
subject which publication in magazines involves. That of course is another
story. Revising is a work I revel in—and I think only of my own pleasure.
Will Irwin: In
writing the story I have only the story in mind. In revising, I think of the
reader. For by now I have the succession of events and pictures so clearly
established in my imagination that I am likely to take too many things for
granted.
Charles Tenney Jackson: The
story alone. I have never given the reader much thought. Now and then I wonder
what the devil's the matter with an editor!
Frederick J. Jackson: In
writing I center my mind on the story itself; the same fellow who takes the
hindmost can take the readers. If my story can interest a critical reader like
myself, it's a cinch it will interest others. I have a large number of partly
completed stories. They were never finished because they did not interest me.
If they have failed in this initial test they are too dead to have much chance
with others.
Mary Johnston: The
story. In revising, the same.
John Joseph: I am quite
sure that I never write a paragraph without pausing to consider the reader's
probable reaction to it. Lately I have been learning to keep one eye on the
editor too.
Lloyd Kohler: I think
that as a rule I constantly keep my readers in mind while writing a story. At
any rate, the stories which I have really wanted to write I have never
written—because I know it would be dangerous to try to "get them
over."
Harold Lamb: Think
only of story.
Sinclair Lewis: Both,
inextricably mixed.
Hapsburg
Liebe: I don't have anything in mind but the story itself when
writing a story.
Romaine H. Lowdermilk: I center
on the story alone in the first draft. Thereafter I keep the
reader in mind as I revise. Especially do I try to make each sentence and
paragraph clear. I try to be merciful as well as lucid and say what I have to
say as clearly and as entertainingly as I can without artificial means of
tricking for interest. Though I do resort to sustained suspense in the body of
the tale as well as bring in obstacles and the like much as we encounter them
every day in our efforts.
Eugene P. Lyle, Jr.: I'm
afraid my mind is centered mostly on the story itself and I'm not thinking of
the reader. Get a good story clearly told and you needn't bother about the
reader; he'll do the reading all right.
Rose Macaulay: Both.
Crittenden Marriott: On the
story. I write a lot to "get it off my chest."
Homer I. McEldowney: When I
write I center my mind rather intently on the story itself, with my reader,
however, parked on the side-lines. I don't forget that he is there. I believe
that I am coming to give him a thought more often as I write more. Undoubtedly
I take him into greater consideration in my revision of detail, reference and
diction than I did at first.
Ray McGillivray: I do all
my deciding in regard to market, and all the work of reconciling recalcitrant
characters to the dictates of good taste (as best I can guess both) before a
word is written. Never was there a fiction horse which ran well with either of
these check-reins on his neck.
Helen Topping Miller: When I
write I do not consider my reader at all. I am concerned with my characters; I
live, move, think and feel with them. Even in revising I do not think of my
reader. I work hard for a true picture, and usually I find the reader gets it,
if I have felt it strongly enough.
Thomas Samson Miller: Center
the mind on the story, of course; but never let the reader—and editor—out
of sight. Keep in mind certain peculiarities of editors, taboos of magazines,
and, above all, take care to avoid offending popular tastes and prejudices, and
keep in mind the average stupidity and that average human beings are non-visual
and non-imaginative. At least I do so when writing with dollars in view.
Sometimes—quite often, in fact—I indulge in truth and in beauty—in art,
that is to say.
Anne Shannon Monroe: I never
think of my readers: when I write I am galloping ahead on a lively good time of
my own: and when it is all finished, I hope it will mean a good time to some
one else—but I am not particular about that.
L. M. Montgomery: In
writing a story I do not think of all these things—at least consciously. I
never think of my readers at all. I think of myself. Does this story I am
writing interest me as I write it—does it satisfy me?
If so, there are enough people in the world who like what I like to find it
interesting and satisfying too. As for the others, I couldn't please them
anyhow, so it is of no use to try. I revise to satisfy myself also—not any
imaginary literary critic.
Frederick Moore: When I
write I center my mind on the story—I live it and sleep it until it is done. It
exists wholly, just as much as the Grand Central Station exists. It has to. I
do not think of the reader then, with the exception of what result I want to
get with every word, every phrase, every sentence. But when I see it in type,
then I think actually of the reader—and shiver.
Talbot Mundy: The
story. Hardly ever conscious of the reader.
Kathleen Norris: In both
writing and revising I never have anything in mind but the story itself, and
the struggle to preserve consistency and verisimilitude.
Anne O'Hagan: My mind centers
upon the story and I forget about the readers until
the story begins to come back from the editors.
Grant Overton: I do not
think I ever think of my readers when actually writing. Afterward in reading it
over I may think of them. I do not think of them very much anyway. I think of
how I like it myself.
Sir Gilbert Parker: On the
story itself always, never on the reader.
Hugh Pendexter: I never
have the reader in mind while writing a story. The story is as real as any news
assignment I covered when a newswriter.
Clay Perry: I
believe the "readers" are absent when I write, unless a dim nebulous
sort of personality in the back of my head which might be called
"One," and represent my idea of the composite taste and judgment of
an average, well-educated person, could be called "Mr. Average
Reader" (or perhaps a little above the average). If a story is worth
writing, it seems to me, it must absorb the writer, he must live in it, become
familiar with his characters.
Michael J. Phillips: I think
the reader is pretty constantly at the back of my mind. He is always, though
sometimes unconsciously, being taken into consideration.
Walter B. Pitkin: When I
write my first draft, I think only of the story I am telling. When I go to the
second draft I tend to think of both editor and reader. This is only roughly
and broadly true.
E. S. Pladwell: My mind
is centered on the story itself. If the story is good the reader will read. I
wish to cater to the reader's taste only in a general way; that is, I know that
all the mainsprings of human life and drama are the same to reader and writer
alike, and therefore a story which appeals to the humanity of a writer must
automatically appeal to the humanity of a reader, in a general way, always
provided that the other elements of a good story are present, such as plot,
technique, etc.
Lucia Mead Priest: I seem
to have about all I can do to keep my story folk where
they belong. It is perhaps unfortunate, but "readers" are a
negligible quantity—seldom in the count.
Eugene Manlove Rhodes: Center
on the story itself. Think of readers when revising.
Frank C. Robertson: My mind is
always centered upon the story I am writing, except where some question of
probability or plausibility arises. Right there I stop and work it out from an
imaginary reader's viewpoint. Of course, in rewriting I have the reader
constantly in mind.
Ruth Sawyer: On the
story itself.
Chester L. Saxby: I do not
have the reader in mind. I write stories that nobody wants because they don't
come out pleasantly, or for some other reason. That's because anything worth
writing gets a hold on me as a subject for thought and I want to express it for
my own satisfaction.
Barry Scobee: On the
story. Never think of the reader, unless now and then in difficult passages I
wonder if the reader will grasp the meaning.
R. T. M. Scott: I have my readers
always in the back of my mind, but just sufficiently to keep away from things
like the war which editors are fed up on. (Perhaps the editors and not the
readers are in the back of my mind.) Otherwise I forget the world or all of it
which lies beyond the story.
Robert Simpson: I
center my mind on the story only. Subconsciously, I suppose, my future audience
is being considered while I labor strenuously over revision.
Arthur D. Howden Smith: Try to
think only of the story.
Norman Springer: My
tendency is, of course, to think only of the story while writing it. This query
uncovers a curious thing. Now, when I write a story, I have a tendency to
ramble. The trouble usually is that I am too much interested in my character. I
like to investigate his feelings and thoughts at much too great length.
Well, I
have developed a critic in the mind who works while I write. It is as though
some faculty were standing quite aloof from me and the story, watching. When I
wander into by-paths it checks me. Sometimes it doesn't, and I get into a mess.
It is a faculty that is constantly getting stronger, and, like the fond mother,
I have great hopes of it.
I've talked this thing over with
other fiction writers and I find it's a rather common experience. Several of
them told me that throughout their careers as writers they have been conscious
of this slowly developing faculty for self-criticism while at work.
Julian Street: I don't
have my readers in mind at all until after the story is done—save that I always
try to make things clear to a vague some one to whom I am
telling my story. But in writing the story—the people in the story—are
everything. I don't think of editors, either. I write to the severest critic I
have inside me.
T. S. Stribling: A
"reader" never enters my mind. I never give a hang whether anybody
reads it or not, or what they think about it so long as I can get past the
editor and get a check. I want the check because I can't live in idleness
without it.
Booth Tarkington: I don't
have readers in mind—only myself as a reader.
W. C. Tuttle: I
suppose that a writer should consider the reader, but I have never done so; it
has always been a case of story first; feeling that, if the story is good, the
reader gets the real consideration.
Lucille Van Slyke: Your
question hits upon the greatest snag in my attempt to write. I find it bothers
me excessively to have to keep any reader in mind; it's a mental hazard to me
to think of anybody that I know personally reading what I am writing—a
perfectly childish stage fright. (I qualify this—I dearly love writing a story
for a child.) I am scared to submit a story to an editor after I have met
him—don't mind at all having it slammed at fifty
editors I have never met. Realize it's foolish and feminine and illogical, but
it's so. But I do try to visualize a sort of composite reader when I am revising.
Example—just now I am doing a year's ghastly potboiling—a thousand words a day
six days a week for a newspaper syndicate. Each day is a separate short story,
all hinge together—climax each sixth—larger climax each month with a bang at
the end of six months. This is the most disagreeable writing task that I have
ever tackled. It's plain deadly. But I never sit down to it that I do not lay
aside my usual writing method. Remind myself of this: Whoever reads what I am
writing now is a person in a hurry. I will have the attention at the most for
not more than two minutes. Scattered or tired attention. I must literally jab.
Short sentences, short paragraphs. Few adjectives and always the same ones when
I mention a character already mentioned, so that I can save my regular reader's
time. And I must write very carefully with extra clearness. This rubberstamping
must be neatly done. Nobody has issued such orders to me but myself and I may
be wrong, all wrong! But if I could visualize my magazine reader or book reader
as clearly, I dare say it would be a very good thing for me as a writer. Only,
I forget the reader entirely when I'm working on the thing that really
interests me.
Atreus von Schrader: When I
write I do not have my readers in mind. But I have considered them carefully
beforehand ... also the editor to whom I hope to sell the piece.
T. Von Ziekursch: When I
write the reader is an outsider and never has a chance. It is one of my biggest
hopes to bring some fun and joy, some touches of life, some deeper thoughts to
any who may read my stories; but I certainly never have and probably never
shall give these possible readers a thought. I would write if I never sold a
word of it. I wanted to for years when I never had an outside opportunity to
get within gunshot of a paper and pencil; I could pour
out a lot of those yearnings right here, but what's the use? Now I am in a
place where I can write, I am fairly young and, believe me, I'm going to it
with both spurs working hard. My mind is unequivocally centered on what I want
to write. I hope to find markets for it and readers who'll like it, but I'd
write it just the same if I didn't.
Henry Kitchell Webster: This
question is answered, better than I can answer it here, in my contribution
to The New Republic Symposium on the Novel, entitled, "A
Brace of Definitions and a Short Code."
G. A. Wells: I
consider nothing but the story. It is there to be told and I try to tell it to
the best of my rather poor ability. The reader for me does not exist. It
doesn't make any difference whether anybody reads it, other than a continual
complaint of unworthiness of my stories would soon put me persona non
grata with publishers.
William Wells: Center
too much on the story. Am breaking myself of that bad habit.
Ben Ames Williams: When I
write, my mind is on the job of writing. I never consciously consider either
reader or editor. I try to tell the story in an appealing way. But if you ask
me who I am trying to appeal to, I can't answer you!
Honore Willsie: In
writing or revising I never think of the reader.
H. C. Witwer: In
writing, I have nothing in mind but the story. A wandering mind is fatal to
good work. I think of the readers when I see my yarn printed and—when I get the
mail.
William Almon Wolff: On the
story, emphatically and always. I take the reader into account, in revision, to
this extent: My final revision follows a reading by a friend. I'm interested in
whether he likes the story, but only academically—I can't do anything about
that. But I want to know whether everything is clear. I will take infinite
pains in revision if a comment indicates that I haven't
explained something fully; if my meaning has eluded this reader. On that point
I'm always wrong and my reader is always right—the fact that I can explain the
confusion doesn't count. You can't follow your story, explaining every point
readers don't understand.
Edgar Young: I center
on the story.
