The Fiction Factory: Being the experience of a writer who, for twenty-two years, has kept a story-mill grinding successfully — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
The Fiction Factory: Being the experience of a writer who, for twenty-two years, has kept a story-mill grinding successfully
John Stuart Mill · en
"It may be," ventured John Milton, "that I could do better work,
snatching a few precious moments from those everlasting pay-rolls, than
by giving all my time and attention to my private Factory."
"Is that logical?" inquired Mrs. John Milton.
"I don't know, my dear, whether it's logical or not. We're dealing with
a psychological mystery that has never been broken to harness. Suppose
I have the whole day before me and sit down at my typewriter to write a
story. Well and good. But getting squared away with a fresh sheet over
the platen isn't the whole of it. The Happy Idea must be evolved. What
if the Happy Idea does not come when I am ready for it? Happy Ideas,
you know, have a disagreeable habit of hiding out. There's no hard and
fast rule, that I am aware, for capturing a Happy Idea at just the
moment it may be most in demand. There's lightning in a change of work,
the sort of lightning that clears the air with a tonic of inspiration.
When I'm paymastering the hardest I seem to be almost swamped with
ideas for the story mill. Query: Will the mill grind out as good a
grist if it grinds continuously? If I were sure--"
"It stands to reason," Mrs. Edwards maintained stoutly, "that if you
can make $125 a month running the mill nights and Sundays, you ought
to be able to make a good deal more than that with all the week days
added."
"Provided," John Milton qualified, "my fountain of inspiration will
flow as freely when there is nothing to hinder it as it does now when I
have it turned off for twelve hours out of the twenty-four."
"Why shouldn't it?"
"I don't know, my dear," John Milton admitted, "unless it transpires
that my inspiration isn't strong enough to be drawn on steadily."
"Fudge," exclaimed Mrs. Edwards.
"And then," her husband proceeded, "let us consider another phase
of the question. The demand may fall off. The chances are that it
WILL fall off the moment the gods become aware of the fact that I am
depending on the demand for our bread and butter. Whenever a thing
becomes absolutely essential to you, Fate immediately obliterates every
trail that leads to it, and you go wandering desperately back and
forth, getting more and more discouraged until--"
"Until you drop in your tracks," broke in Mrs. Edwards, "and give up--a
quitter."
"Quitter" is a mean word. There's something about it that jostles you,
and treads on your toes.
"I don't think I'd prove a quitter," said John Milton, "even if I did
get lost in a labyrinth of hard luck. It's the idea of losing you along
with me that hurts."
"I'll risk _that_."
"This is a panic year," John Milton went on, "and money is hard to
get. It is hardly an auspicious time for tearing loose from a regular
pay-day."