editoradmin
The Writing Myth
by Lea Palmer
When one mentions their hobby is writing, people are suitably impressed and immediately begin asking questions. The most common ones, “What does a writer look like?” “Are they really intense and emotionally unsound?” “How can they stand the hours of loneliness?” First, appearance has nothing to do with being a writer; it seems strange that the acts of recording and interpreting life and experiences is reason for these and other fables.
The lonely hours are spent in assembling readable material; a narrator usually works harder and longer proportionately than most laborers. Once a journalist has an understanding of English grammar and the techniques selected for their medium or style they propel themselves towards a deliberately chosen end, that job sets its own terms. However, it still takes many years of intensive application to write with true unity, powerful statement and vivid description.
Some time is also necessary in the beginning to revoke personal attitudes, egoisms, falsities, substituting in their place wisdom, understanding and truth. To state one’s opinions publicly is not an easy experience but the ability to “take it” is what counts. This daily stint of writing, however small, is the most direct path to eventual success. At a desk, or away from it, little time is wasted, there is no option but to write.
Being a writer is like being two people most of the time, thus generously endowed with two sources of power, belief and emotions. This double-mirrored, reflecting and reflected effect is their constant companion, and once this writing-self dominates, burden or blessing, their destiny is captured. They put it down on paper without encouragement allowing nothing to interfere with them and their long working hours.
Some stimulation and “shop talk” is required to gain a freshness of viewpoint; mixing with people and places is essential. Using one’s feet is the best way to research, whether it be in a library or outdoors. “On the spot” information leaves nothing to chance. The secret is to keep busy taking notes upon everyday events and conversations and to register them in permanent form with a simple, unaffected style, the two qualities longest remembered. Not just because it is fashionable to go on record, but because there is always something to say which, but for the scribe, would have been left unsaid.
Authors do get discouraged and winded now and then, wondering why they struggle against such tremendous odds. It is financially the most ill-rewarded occupation in the world, yet it seems there never was a writer who did not find a lot of joy in writing even though he may never become as masterful as James A. Michener or Pearl S. Buck. Probably by the time they are getting the greatest enjoyment that is possible in writing, they are now writing salable material.
The seed grows in writing as it does in nature, and once a wisp of wisdom opens up wider horizons there is only one way to excel in this tapping of one’s innermost thoughts and resources. That is to write, and while the finished product may be beautiful and fulfilling it is not born without pain, however constructive that pain may be.
Writing has an exuberance of youth, ambition and vigor. When it goes well there is no joy like it. Once involved there is no escape – to increase the experience of others, giving them a deeper awareness of the huge panorama against which lives are led is the crowning achievement of a writer. Without written words, words in print, a writer does not exist. This is when the blazing light of discovery and awakening reaches full flowering.
No myth this
THE VOICE OF EXPERIENCE would plead against a certain over-eagerness to please the critics, a quite unnecessary timorousness lest the writer unwittingly offend. Let these authors and editors come to quick realization of these truths, fundamental to success in self-expression. Forget the critics and write to express yourself, and in your writing be yourself.
– Edward H. Cole, The National Amateur, March ‘33
Laureates: A tactical shot…
by Gale Sheldon
The continuing debate over the laureate awards erupted in full force at the San Diego convention. After emotional arguments, reasoned reaction and specific requests to observe the constitution, an amendment was proposed. Accordingly, publishers could submit material from their journals for laureate awards, but only with written permission from each author. This proposal moved a small step away from the more rigid interpretation that authors alone be allowed to enter their material.
An author should have complete control over which of his materials published during the year should be judged for awards. A judge might select a second-rate item, unless the author weeds it out of the competition. But is an author the best judge of his own work? Can’t we trust others to submit quality originals? Can’t the judges discern the caliber of the various entries with accuracy? If only the author can determine his quality creations, why have any judging at all?
The difficulty of getting entries from reluctant creators seems only partially answered. “How can we believe that a laureate represents the best that was created if some able authors fail to enter their work?” queried Glenn Engebretsen. By asking them to enter something they have produced. By educating members to enter their own material. These answers were not satisfactory to some.
There is also the difficulty of determining in what category an entry should be judged. Professional magazines (such as The Atlantic) specifically indicate the type of material they publish in each issue: poetry, fiction, comment and general articles. There is no reason why a publisher couldn’t indicate the category of an item when he prints it. I have used such words as “A story by Dave Oden” to indicate a piece of fiction. Writers should be willing to make such a notation on their manuscripts, especially when they believe mislabeling might occur.
You might also ask why it’s necessary to secure the author’s permission to enter something he wrote. He wanted it to be published so others could read it. He’s not trying to hide his talent. In fact he is engaging in displaying it by the mere fact of wanting it to be printed and read. Even newcomers to amateur journalism know that awards are given each year. He could reasonably suppose that what he has produced might win an award if it has sufficient merit. Now if an author doesn’t want any of his work so judged, he may certainly let this be known, and it will very likely be honored. As a last resort, if he wins an award which he does not wish to receive, he may always refuse to accept it.
It seemed to me the telling argument at the convention came from Victor Moitoret, who suggested that laureate awards were similar to the Olympic Games. Each candidate for the Olympics must enter himself, no one can do it for him; he himself must compete in the event. In like fashion, therefore, the amateur who wishes his material to be judged for an award must himself enter the item.
This reasoning had a greater effect upon the convention than most of the others. It was straightforward, to the point, and seemed to clarify the issue.
But was it really logical? I kept mulling it over, not sure that the two competitions were the same. Was a literary or artistic creation the same thing as an athletic feat? Is physical talent the same as intellectual or artistic talent? Should they be judged the same way?
Rather than looking at the Olympic Games as an example to follow, let’s look at what may be more appropriate models. For years Nobel Prizes have been awarded in five fields, one of them literature. Candidates may not apply directly for these prizes. A qualified person must submit each name in writing. This might be a better example to follow. How should we define “qualified person?” Why not an active member who met the voting requirement for the previous year? Would this method flood the contest with doubtful material? It seems unlikely.
Another model to examine is the Pulitzer Prize, given in journalism and literature. According to the rules, any individual may submit nominations in writing for these awards. Any individual! That should be fairly easy to interpret, no mater what kind of constitutionalist you are.
* * * *
CENTENNIAL SEAL cuts are still available, free. Write to the editor of Campane, address on page 12.
* * * *
Nobel and Pulitzer prizes are pretty heady stuff, I agree. But so are Olympic Games. I am not suggesting that our literary efforts come up to these. However, I see nothing wrong in looking to excellence for our examples. I’m sure Vic Moitoret had this in mind. I just can’t agree with his conclusions. Nobel and Pulitzer Prizes are much more suitable guides. What’s wrong with following an awards procedure that has worked for them?
The amendment proposed at San Diego falls far short of these worthy models.
To ensure that all the best material is entered each year for the laureates, the constitution should be amended to read (Article XII, paragraph 6): “Any active member may enter material for the laureate competition by sending to the Recorder… one copy of each paper containing or constituting an entry….”
Let’s go all the way to excellence.
A Supporting Round of Fire
by Thomas B. Whitbread
If an author, moved by false or true modesty, doesn’t want his work submitted in a laureate contest, he should so stipulate in writing when submitting his manuscript. If an editor accepts it, he should observe the author’s stipulation. Otherwise, each editor-publisher should be free to enter in laureate competition any work he thinks so highly of as to give birth/berth of print.
If an author who has not stipulated against laureate entry dies before his manuscript sees print, the publisher should have full right to submit in whatever year his journal is published. Sudden death and publishers’ delays should in no way deprive a deserving author of posthumous recognition.
The burden would be on the author to stipulate against laureate entry. But the proposed amendment to Article XII, requiring creators to give “written permission” for laureate entry is an improvement and should be passed. As I read its provisions any future “Vondy” McDonald or Verle Heljeson, having given written permission for entry, could win a laureate any time after death. Which, in our hobby, with life-affirming defiance of workaday deadlines, is as it should be.
… and the ricochet
by Victor A. Moitoret
Mr. Sheldon, I believe, has confused the issue in several places, not, of course, purposely, because I do not question his motivation at all. But Gale asks, “Is an author the best judge of his own work?”Then, by inference, he gives a negative answer. He’s probably right, if we only consider the quality of the work and especially is he right if we consider the appeal of the work to a reader or to many readers. But who is the best judge of the category of a written piece?
If Gale’s view prevailed, would he really want me to be able to enter his piece in this Campane in the History Laureate contest for him, because I think it covers some history of the San Diego convention, while another member enters it at the same time in the Miscellaneous Prose category for him? We already have a more concrete and real example, brought out at the San Diego debate but ignored by Gale in his argument here.
Ann Vrooman is on record in print with the flat opinion that Rowena Moitoret’s laureate winning essay, “The Glass Fly,” was fiction and should have been entered in the Fiction Laureate contest. But Rowena, the author, maintains firmly that she made the account just as accurate and as true as she possibly could and that it contains not one iota of fiction or invention. Now who is the best judge of the laureate contest category in which this should be entered?
I will grant Gale’s point that some literary award contest might offer a better parallel than an athletic competition. Would Gale allow me to substitute for the Olympic Games some other more cultural competitions like art shows or photography contests where, to my knowledge, it is normal for the creator to enter his own work for judging? Gale, did you ever hear of any philatelist entering part of someone else’s collection in a stamp exhibition to win a gold medal?
Actually, the Nobel Prize comparison fails to convince me. Gale’s “qualified” person by his terms for NAPA (any active member who met the voting requirement for the previous year) could be some printer who has set 1000 ems of type and printed it in an amateur journal during the previous year. Does that really “qualify” that member to judge whether a piece of someone else’s writing is fiction or miscellaneous prose or history? And if “any individual” can make nominations for the Pulitzer prize, the funding that old Joseph P. left for his contest must certainly contain provision for some screening out of the chaff before entries are submitted to official judging. How would that happen in NAPA?
In fact, Gale, not having served ever as recorder or president, must be forgiven for his refusal to consider the plain everyday mechanics of the situation – often the case in discussing our laureate system (and especially so by those who blandly say, “Everything in the bundles should be automatically entered!”)
Who screens our entries before passing them to the laureate contest judges? Not the recorder – his function is only to receive entries and submit them to the president. The president alone is our screening body. Who is our current president? One of the best authors NAPA has attracted in years. But is she capable of 100% accurate determination of category of material submitted by someone other than the author? Would you want that responsibility when you become president? Defense rests on that point.
One might well believe he is truly “qualified” to judge that Jake Warner’s Boxwooder should be entered in the Printing Laureate contest. Under Gale’s argument, he, as an active member, would be able to enter Jake’s paper. But suppose Jake wants to enter that category himself, but he wants to submit for judging only the three very best issues out of the twelve he has printed during the year, to increase his chances of winning. Your entry of all twelve could not be denied under your proposal, so the printing judge would be confused and perhaps unfairly biased against Jake’s own entry.
Worse yet – and this has happened at least once (but not with The Boxwooder) – suppose you did not know that three of Jake’s issues had been commercially printed for him, and you entered all twelve. Still more confusion – and deep embarrassment if a printer were given an award for something he knew was not even eligible and so had not entered himself. Only the printer can know whether he himself printed a paper to make it eligible for our printing competition, and only the publisher of a paper can know whether he distributed it to more than 100 members if he mails it privately. Your suggestion that someone could refuse a laureate award would only lead to awkward situations for everyone involved: winner, honorable mention, judge of awards, president.
Personally, I am a bit weary of arguments over the laureate system and its mechanics that are based almost entirely on theoretical possibilities. Show me, Gale, a concrete example of where either an individual or the NAPA as a whole has actually suffered from the present system, and I’ll be glad to debate further with you.
Campane has been published since 1941 in the interest of the National Amateur Press Association and the hobby of amateur journalism by Harold Segal, Margo Gardens, Bristol, Pa. 19007. Hand set in Baskerville types and 440 copies printed on 60-lb. Offset stock on an 1890 7×11 Pearl treadle press.
Articles discussing associational problems, critiques or recollections and research in the history of the hobby are constantly sought and welcomed by the editor.