Short Story Writing by Charles Raymond Barrett (phonics reader .TXT) 📖
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A title is apt if it is an outgrowth of the plot—a text, as I have said. It stands definitely for that particular story, and gives a suggestion of what is to come—but only a suggestion, lest it should anticipate the denouement and so satisfy the curiosity of the reader too soon. An apt title excites and piques the curiosity almost as much as does the story itself. Examples: Hawthorne's "The Wedding Knell;" Poe's "'Thou Art the Man!'" Wilkins' "The Revolt of Mother." Each of these titles conveys an idea, though a vague one, of the theme of the story, and so its aptness is apparent; but frequently the relevancy of the title is evident only after the story has been read, as in the case of James' "The Real Thing" and "The Lesson of the Master." Such a title is almost ideal. This suspension of aptness, carried to the extreme, produces such vague and weak titles as:
"Happiness Won."
"Almost Too Late."
"After All."
"Reorganized."
The title must be specific or it is seldom apt. It is in this particular that the novice generally fails. He deduces his title rather from the original plot, or even from the theme, than from the particular phase which he presents; but its title should distinguish his story from the host of tales builded upon the same basic plot, just as the Christian name of a Smith distinguishes him from the rest of the great family of which he is a member. Thus we have such titles as the following, which are more appropriate for essays in psychology, moral philosophy, or some kindred subject, than for fiction:
"How Dreams Come True."
"Moral Vision."
"Sorrow and Joy."
"The Straight Path."
More often the unspecific title is simply a vague reference to the general style of the story:
"A Wedding in a Texas Jail."
"A Frightful Night Ride."
"A Unique Rescue."
"A Lynching Incident."
"Nature's Freaks."
"A Valuable Discovery."
"The Widow."
"A Valued Relic."
"A Strange Case."
"The Old Clock."
"The Office Boy."
None of these titles represents any definite idea, and in nearly every case it served to introduce a story which was equally vague, ordinary, and uninteresting. Several of them, too—notably the first four—were not stories at all, but were simply bits of description by narrative, as their titles would suggest.
In general a phrase, otherwise indefinite, becomes specific when united with the name of a character, as in Hawthorne's "Howe's Masquerade" and "Lady Eleanor's Mantle;" but such titles are usually ordinary and unattractive. Some words frequently found in these compound titles are so vague in meaning or so worn from use that their total avoidance is the only safe course. Such are "Christmas," "Adventure," "Romance," "Story," "Vision," and "Dream." A "Dream" or a "Vision" is usually the relation of some commonplace incident with absurd adornments; and an "Adventure" is more often a piece of description than of narration. I know that these words may be found in combination in many happy titles, but it is best that the novice let them severely alone. That such titles are really a serious impediment to the success of their stories is shown by the action of the Chicago Record. For some years it was the custom of the Record to offer substantial cash prizes for the best Christmas stories written by school children; and prominent among the rules governing the competition was the announcement that stories bearing such titles as "Johnnie's Christmas," "Nellie's Christmas," "Mary's Christmas," would not even be read. The following titles show how fond is the novice of these objectionable words in their baldest combinations:
"Sarah's Christmas Present."
"Adventures with a Bear."
"Nettie's Romance."
"Lee's Romance."
"A Woman's Love Story."
"The Captain's Story."
"A True Story."
"The Story of a Vision."
"The Dream at Sea."
"Viola's Dream."
"Mabel's Dream."
"Eleanor's Dream."
The title should be attractive because it will be the test of the story, and it must be sufficiently interesting to arouse at a glance the curiosity of the reader, and induce in him a desire to peruse the narrative that it offers. Commonplaceness is the chief cause of the unattractive title, and that fault is usually traceable to the plot itself. It may, however, be due to a conventional expression of the dominant idea of the story, as in the list just given; and also in the following:
"How Amy Won the Prize."
"Fred Norton, the Artist."
Or it may be unattractive through comprising only the name of the chief character:
"Lucy Bonneville."
"Lester Rice."
The use of a name for a title is a matter which it is difficult to settle. If the story is dominated by one character, and particularly if it is a genuine Character Study, the writer naturally feels that he cannot do better than to name it after the character it depicts; and he has good authority for so doing in the example of Poe ("Berenice," "Elenora," "Morella"), Hawthorne ("Sylph Etherege," "Ethan Brand," "Wakefield"), Irving ("Wolfert Webber," "Rip Van Winkle"), James ("Sir Dominic Ferrand," "Nona Vincent," "Greville Fane"), Stevenson ("Olalla," "Thrawn Janet," "Markheim"), Wilkins ("Louisa"), Davis ("Gallegher," "Cinderella"), Kipling ("Lispeth," "Namgay Doola"), etc., etc. A good rule to observe would be this: If the name of the chief personage gives a hint of character, or if it is sufficiently unusual to attract attention, it may be used as a title; but in general it will be stronger if used in combination.
In the endeavor to make his title distinctive and attractive the novice is liable to fall into the error of making it cheap and sensational. A title which offends against good taste must not be used, no matter how desirable it may appear in the matter of attractiveness. The newspaper caption writer who headed an account of a hanging "Jerked to Jesus!" attained the acme of attractiveness, but he also committed an unpardonable sin against good taste. The short story writer seldom descends to such depths of sensationalism: his chief offense consists in the use of double titles, connected by the word "or." Often either title alone would be passable, if not really good; but their united form must be placed in the category of bad titles. Such titles are rated as bad chiefly through the effects of association. It used to be common for a story to bear a double title; but to-day the custom has been relegated to the cheap, sensational tale of the "penny dreadful" order, and the conjunctive title is a recognized mark of "yellow" literature. This fault in a title can usually be corrected by the use of either of the titles alone, as may be seen from a study of the following:
(1) "The Story of Dora; or, Innocence Triumphant."
(2) "Jessie Redmond; or, The Spider and the Fly."
(3) "Outwitted; or, The Holdup of No. 4."
(4) "The Battle of the Black Cats; or, A Tragedy Played with Twenty Thousand Actors and Only One Spectator."
(5) "Fate; or, Legend of 'Say Au Revoir, but not Goodbye.'"
(6) "The Romance of a Lost Mine; or, The Curse of the Navajos."
(7) "A Little Bunch of Rosebuds; or, Two Normal Graduates."
(8) "Her Silk Quilt; or, On the Crest of the Wave."
(1) Neither part is particularly happy. "The Story of Dora" is too general, and conveys an idea of largeness and time that is better suited to the novel than to the short story; "Innocence Triumphant" is cheap, sensational and trite. (2) "Jessie Redmond" is too commonplace a name to be a good head line; "The Spider and the Fly" was worn out years ago. (3) Either title alone is good; "The Holdup of No. 4" is preferable because of its definiteness. (4) "The Battle of the Black Cats" alone would pass, in spite of its hint of sensationalism; but the second part is of course ludicrously impossible. (5) "Fate" is too indefinite; the second title is cheap and old. (6) Either would do, though the first is somewhat vague, and "Curse" savors of sensationalism. (7) Either would do, though the first sounds rather silly. (8) The first is good; the second is vague and rather old.
That a title should be new is so obvious that offenses against this rule are usually unconscious; yet in some cases stories have been capped with stolen headings, where the theft was so apparently intentional that it seemed as if the writer wished to fail. Lapses in this regard are usually due to the writer's ignorance of the value of a title; or to the too ready use of the abstract theme, as mentioned before. Of such titles are "All's Well that Ends Well," "Love's Labor Lost," and "The Irony of Fate," all of which are great favorites with the beginner. Like charity, they will cover a multitude of sins, but they constitute so great a literary sin in themselves that they should be rigorously eschewed. To this class belongs also such a title as "Cuba Libre!" which is so very old, and which during the last few years has been so twisted and mishandled in every conceivable way that its mere use is an irritation. Such a title will frequently be apt, specific, attractive, and, in application, new; but it will so exasperate the reader that its use will be perilous.
For self-evident reasons the title should be short. Aptness and specificness do not require an epitome of the story; and a title like "Why Tom Changed His Opinion of Me," or "What the Rabbit Drive Did for Me" is prosy as well as long. It used to be the custom to make the title of a writing a regular synopsis of the matter contained therein; but modern readers object to being told in advance exactly what is to happen. No ruling concerning the proper length of a short story title is possible; but generally speaking, the shorter the title the better it is. Compound titles connected by "or," like those previously mentioned, are as offensive in their length as in their sensationalism.
To illustrate further these several points I introduce here a few good titles used by successful short story writers. They are roughly divided into three classes according to their derivation. The title may be the text of the story:
Edgeworth: "Murad the Unlucky."
Hawthorne: "The Wedding Knell;" "The Prophetic Pictures."
James: "The Real Thing;" "The Lesson of the Master."
Poe: "The Masque of the Red Death;" "'Thou Art the Man!'"
Stockton: "The Transferred Ghost."
Wilkins: "The Revolt of Mother;" "Two Old Lovers."
The title may represent the principal character by name or by some apt appellation:
Davis: "Gallegher."
Hawthorne: "The Ambitious Guest;" "Feathertop."
Irving: "The Spectre Bridegroom;" "Rip Van Winkle."
Poe: "Morella;" "Ligeia."
Stevenson: "Markheim."
Wilkins: "A Modern Dragon;" "A Kitchen Colonel."
The title may mention the principal object:
Adee: "The Life Magnet."
Burnett: "The Spider's Eye."
Hawthorne: "The Great Stone Face;" "The Great Carbuncle."
James: "The Aspern Papers."
Kipling: "The Phantom 'Rickshaw."
Poe: "The Black Cat;" "The Gold Bug."
Stevenson: "The Bottle Imp."
[18] "Literary Chat." Munsey's Magazine. May, '98.
[19] "Misleading Titles of Books," by William Mathews. The Saturday Evening Post. Apr. 21, 1900.
V THE USE OF FACTSAll fiction is founded upon fact, for the boldest imagination must have some definite point from which to take its flight; but the ungarnished truth is seldom literature in itself, though it may offer excellent material for literary embellishment. The amateur, content with knowing that he is recounting what did actually happen, falls
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