, 1889-07-16
POT BOILERS.
Authors Aye Compelled to Write the
Kind of Stories Tint VIII seu.

Authors Aye Compelled to Write the
Kind of Stories That VIII Sell
A clever and an experienced writer
in The Fortnightly Review thus NOR
Allies on the trade of author:
Cynicisml All, no; respondent reali-
Zaion of economic law. These are the
conditions under which alone the au-
thor by trade necessarily lives. But
do you think he likes them7 Incredi-
blel Impossiblel For the author, too,
has had his day Of illusion, you may
be sure. There was once a time, long,
long ago, when he thought he might
say what lay nearest his own heart;
might speak out to the world for good
or for evil, the truth that was in him.
Never mind whether the truth was
worth speaking or not; TO him at least
1t was all important Hard experience
alone has knocked all that out of him.
And TO the end, for the most part, he
kicks against the pricks. He hates the
sordid, squalid necessity fdk earning
his bread by lowering himself TO the
tastes Of the public he must needs
serve with its daily literature. Slowly
and painfully he learns to take his
place beside the maker of hats and the
importer of latest Paris fashions, as q
unit in a trade that lives by pleasing.
Perhaps pot boiling is his true func-
ton in life, but he at any rate must
have other ideals and other interests.
For the author has usually aims and
aspirations and theories OF his own.
The very ability which enables him to
spin words into pretty phrases that
take the editorial mind by their
freshness, implies as a rule tastes,
feelings and sympathies above the
common. II he could, he would
gladly say what he has deepest and
most earnest within him. He would
give the people of his best. But when
he tries it on, the people too often
turn it over listlessly at the railway
book stalls, and say with a yawn, We
prefer his shilling shockers, thank
you And most of us have tried it
on, every now and again. We have
listened, as advised, to the intuitions
of our inspired genius. The publish
ers, to be sure, looked askance at our
work; they shook their capitalist
heads ominously. Never mind; we
have a few hundreds of our own laid
by-the spoils Of the Philistines from
those shockers aforesaid let us pub
lish at our own risk and expense.
OueaIn, Wen print IL. Alas, alas,
how fiat that work fell. in which we
tried to elevate the taste or improve
the morals or intellect of the public |
The PUBLIC chose rather to keep its
taste and morals at its own dull level.
A loss or two of this sort soon
taught us wisdom. We accepted our
true place in the world. We boiled
the pot, If not c~heerfully, yet resign
eddy. We began to feel the pulse OF
the market. Most of us never quite
succeed in catching it, to be sure; that
pulse is so capricious-or we ourselves
have such incentive finger ends-that
we fail exactly to synchronize some
how with its erratio movements. But
we get near enough to make both ends
meet approximately. That modest
result amply sufaces for the average
ruck Of a hard worked but eminent1y
humble and contented profession.
The fact is, as the world is consti-
tuted, to say out in full what you nc
tually think about anything is fatal.
You must write always with one eye
askew upon 10, 900 foolish popular pre-.
judices.