Transcribe
Translate
Spaceways, v. 3, issue 5, June 1941
31858063101350_008
More information
digital collection
archival collection guide
transcription tips
8 SPACEWAYS HOW TO BE A HACK tle went out with him!'" If you have a long speech or explanation by one man, let others break it up for him with questions, leaders, exclamations, and such. And with dialogue between two men, once you've let the reader know beyond any doubt who's speaking, you can dispense with saids and its synonyms completely. Doc Smith is a prominent exponent of this method. Dialect should never be used, unless inevitable. And if it must be used, tone it down tremendously; literal dialect reads like nothing but gibberish. Avoid speeches by a drunk, too, but, similarly, if you must, let him slur only one or two words in what he says. For clever handling of dialogue by two drunks, see Lowndes' "The Martians Are Coming" in the first Cosmic. The best advice that has ever been given, or will ever be given, on the question of style, is, "forget about it". It's the expression of yourself, of what you've got inside you, and in time it will develop of its own accord. Imitation of another writer's style is fatal. So we finally reach the end of the story. What do we do now? Stop. I'm not attempting to be funny. Too many writers reach the climax of their story and drag their readers on for two or three pages more. Your reader loses interest when everything is cleared up, so quit. Don't just go off and leave the story dangling of course; leave your readers, as Woodford says, either satisfied or surprised. It doesn't hurt to heed the old vaudeville admonition and "leave 'em laughing", either, if you can do it without destroying the mood of the story or straining yourself too apparently. Nope, you ain't finished yet, Brother. Ya gotta revise. You should put what you have away in a dark closet somewhere and forget it for a month or two, but you won't. The next best thing is a competent critic. That doesn't mean to dash out and find a friend and beat him over the head with your epic. Friends are hopeless critics--they'll either tell you they've seen much worse stories in The Saturday Evening Post, or offer up the most preposterous, laughable criticism you can conceive of, and I can conceive of a lot. A competent critic is a rare and priceless jewel, and should be guarded with infinite care. I know; I have one in my own town, and owe most of what pitifully little I know about writing to him. Since you're pretty sure not to have anyone around you who knows anything about writing, you have either of two alternatives. Send the manuscript to your correspondents--too expensive--or get yourself an agent. There's only one agent in scientific fiction who specializes in the work of fans and beginning writers, and his name is Lowndes. He's a Roosian anarchist or something along the order, is very proud of having discovered sex, and writes poetry that you won't show to Junior after you get married, but he's a very intelligent person, and as an agent he's the best there am, in my opinion. The benefit of having an agent are these: it'll save you a gruesome amount of postage, and an editor will give an agent ideas about how he'd like to see a certain story re-written when he'd send only a rejection slip to the author. Reason is, naturally, the fact that the writer might consider the story "ordered" and virtually sold, and if the editor rejects it everybody will be calling everybody else names, and nobody will be happy. If you submit your stories independently, though, use large manila envelopes, send the manuscripts first class, and never mail it rolled or folded. Five pages--about a thousand words--will go for three cents. Twenty pages to twenty-five pages is from 5,000 to 6,000 words, the length of the average short story, and the five-pages-for-three-cents method will give you the proper rate, if you an ad extra three to cover the weight of the envelopes. Yep, envelopes ' cause you'll need something to return your opus. Don't forget to put return postage on the return envelope. This method, incidentally, of judging postal rates has been checked, at my request, by our local postmaster, and found correct for twenty-pound bond. Don't enclose notes to the editor; let the story speak for itself. And if
Saving...
prev
next
8 SPACEWAYS HOW TO BE A HACK tle went out with him!'" If you have a long speech or explanation by one man, let others break it up for him with questions, leaders, exclamations, and such. And with dialogue between two men, once you've let the reader know beyond any doubt who's speaking, you can dispense with saids and its synonyms completely. Doc Smith is a prominent exponent of this method. Dialect should never be used, unless inevitable. And if it must be used, tone it down tremendously; literal dialect reads like nothing but gibberish. Avoid speeches by a drunk, too, but, similarly, if you must, let him slur only one or two words in what he says. For clever handling of dialogue by two drunks, see Lowndes' "The Martians Are Coming" in the first Cosmic. The best advice that has ever been given, or will ever be given, on the question of style, is, "forget about it". It's the expression of yourself, of what you've got inside you, and in time it will develop of its own accord. Imitation of another writer's style is fatal. So we finally reach the end of the story. What do we do now? Stop. I'm not attempting to be funny. Too many writers reach the climax of their story and drag their readers on for two or three pages more. Your reader loses interest when everything is cleared up, so quit. Don't just go off and leave the story dangling of course; leave your readers, as Woodford says, either satisfied or surprised. It doesn't hurt to heed the old vaudeville admonition and "leave 'em laughing", either, if you can do it without destroying the mood of the story or straining yourself too apparently. Nope, you ain't finished yet, Brother. Ya gotta revise. You should put what you have away in a dark closet somewhere and forget it for a month or two, but you won't. The next best thing is a competent critic. That doesn't mean to dash out and find a friend and beat him over the head with your epic. Friends are hopeless critics--they'll either tell you they've seen much worse stories in The Saturday Evening Post, or offer up the most preposterous, laughable criticism you can conceive of, and I can conceive of a lot. A competent critic is a rare and priceless jewel, and should be guarded with infinite care. I know; I have one in my own town, and owe most of what pitifully little I know about writing to him. Since you're pretty sure not to have anyone around you who knows anything about writing, you have either of two alternatives. Send the manuscript to your correspondents--too expensive--or get yourself an agent. There's only one agent in scientific fiction who specializes in the work of fans and beginning writers, and his name is Lowndes. He's a Roosian anarchist or something along the order, is very proud of having discovered sex, and writes poetry that you won't show to Junior after you get married, but he's a very intelligent person, and as an agent he's the best there am, in my opinion. The benefit of having an agent are these: it'll save you a gruesome amount of postage, and an editor will give an agent ideas about how he'd like to see a certain story re-written when he'd send only a rejection slip to the author. Reason is, naturally, the fact that the writer might consider the story "ordered" and virtually sold, and if the editor rejects it everybody will be calling everybody else names, and nobody will be happy. If you submit your stories independently, though, use large manila envelopes, send the manuscripts first class, and never mail it rolled or folded. Five pages--about a thousand words--will go for three cents. Twenty pages to twenty-five pages is from 5,000 to 6,000 words, the length of the average short story, and the five-pages-for-three-cents method will give you the proper rate, if you an ad extra three to cover the weight of the envelopes. Yep, envelopes ' cause you'll need something to return your opus. Don't forget to put return postage on the return envelope. This method, incidentally, of judging postal rates has been checked, at my request, by our local postmaster, and found correct for twenty-pound bond. Don't enclose notes to the editor; let the story speak for itself. And if
Hevelin Fanzines
sidebar
