you persist in sending your articles to the wrong papers.
The first defect ought to be remedied speedily. The second is more difficult to deal with, and the third is most difficult. The eradication of these two will necessitate careful and continuous study of journalism in all its manifestations, and nothing but successive defeats will teach you how to be victorious. However, perseverance granted, the hour will come when an article of yours finds its way to the composing room. A day of ecstasy, upon which every disappointment is forgotten and the way forward seems straight and facile!
As soon as you can rely upon selling one article out of four, count it that you are progressing.
* * *
As to remuneration, a few papers send out cheques at regular intervals without putting their contributors to any trouble in the matter. Others, and among them some of the best, never pay till a demand is made. Some, including one or two organs of note, never pay till they are compelled to do so. If a remittance is not received during the month following publication, it is advisable to deliver an account, giving the date of appearance, exact title, and number of pages, columns, or inches.
2. This brilliant novel should be seriously studied by every young journalist. It contains more useful advice to the outside contributor than all the manuals of journalism ever written.
Chapter VII
The Search for Copy
There comes a time when the aspirant, proudly conscious of a certain technical skill in composition and construction, and disheartened by repeated failures, exclaims with petulance: "What shall I write about?" She dolefully imagines that the list of feasible subjects is exhausted; her wearied brain refuses any longer to carry on its sterile activities, and despair settles down upon her. This is because her eyes have not been opened to the limitless possibilities for the making of good "copy" which exist on every side. Most probably she has been looking in quite the wrong direction.
When Rob Angus, in When a Man's Single, remarks to Rorrison, "And yet I had thirty articles rejected before the 'Minotaur' accepted that one," Rorrison's reply is, "Yes, and you will have another thirty rejected if they are of the same kind. You beginners seem able to write nothing but your views on politics, and your reflections on art, and your theories on life, which you sometimes even think original. Editors won't have that, because their readers don't want it. Every paper has its regular staff of leader-writers, and what is wanted from the outsider is freshness. An editor tosses aside your column and a half about evolution, but is glad to have a paragraph saying that you saw Herbert Spencer the day before yesterday gazing solemnly for ten minutes in a milliner's window. Fleet Street at this moment is simply running with men who want to air their views about things in general."
With slight modification the satire applies admirably to women. Perhaps women are not so anxious as men to air their views about things in general (though they are tolerably anxious), but they are certainly too prone to write down vaguely their vague fancies about things in general. Fleet Street at this moment (to use Rorrison's expressive phrase) is simply running with women who are writing fanciful essays and not selling them because editors don't want fanciful essays--or indeed any sort of essays.
Let us see this fact clear: editors have little use for essays and they have no use for views (except their own). To gain acceptance essays must be extremely well done, and emphatically they are not stuff for beginners to tackle. Apparently the easiest form of composition in the world, the essay is in truth one of the most difficult. Not much experience is needed to prove this. Yet every woman who aspires to journalism must needs employ her clumsy pen upon essays. "From my Window" is a favourite title with the rank beginner. Charles Lamb might conceivably have written an essay called "From my Window" which would have been a masterpiece--and there is a remote chance that some editor might have accepted it. But then Charles Lamb is dead, and his secret died with him.
* * *
Despite the vast number of articles written and printed during recent years, there remains a yet vaster number of articles waiting to be written--even after leaving essays out of account. In fact the more articles written, the more to be written. The field for copy has a resemblance to Klondyke: removal of treasure serves only to bring larger quantities into sight.
Journalism ever grows wider, more comprehensive; the whole history of the profession demonstrates this. In the early years of daily journalism, for example, the sole subjects deemed worthy of a newspaper's attention were politics, money, and the law. Some conservative sheets still endeavour to live up to this ideal, but the circulation and the influence go to those which find no aspect of human existence beneath their notice. Formerly newspapers had a morbid dread of being readable. They have lost that dread now, and those which have lost it most completely, most completely succeed. As with the dailies, so with every other sort of paper. The aim is to be inclusive, satisfying the public curiosity and at the same time whetting it; for the more the public knows, the more it wants to know. And it refuses any longer to make a task of newspaper-reading. It demands that it shall be amused while it is instructed, like a child at a kindergarten.
To make sure that you are availing yourself of the immense possibilities for copy which this extraordinary inquisitiveness on the part of the public has fortunately created, you must cultivate an attitude of mind which is constantly asking the question:--
"Is there copy here?"
This attitude may and must be cultivated to such an extent that instead of vainly searching for subjects, you are at a loss to choose among the multitude of ideas for articles which suggest themselves at every turn of existence.
I will illustrate what I mean.
In the first place, it is necessary to remember that articles are divided into two classes--those which are not topical and those which are. Daily papers subsist almost exclusively upon the latter; other papers require both.
We will take the non-topical articles first. These, since they do not spring naturally from passing events, must be suggested by the occurrences of one's everyday life. Thus:--
You get up in the morning.
"Queer ways of sleeping." For Tit-Bits and its class. Material at British Museum.
"My alarum." Humorous.
"How to economise space in a small bedroom." For a women's paper.
"Where some Queens sleep." About the sleeping apartments of sovereigns. Ample material in biographies and periodical literature.
"Does a woman require more sleep than a man?" For the silly season.
"Is breakfast in bed enjoyable?" Ditto.
You walk downstairs.
"Some famous staircases."
"Stair-climbing as a form of indoor exercise."
"How to decorate a staircase inexpensively."
You sit down to breakfast.
"Our newsboy." Humorous.
"Papa at breakfast." Ditto.
"The proper way of making coffee." (There is always a market for this kind of thing.)
"How
