2. Few men and very few women can be trusted to spell correctly every word in common use. I have seen the MSS. of many of the foremost women journalists of the day, and have found orthographic errors in nearly all of them. Of course spelling is not a matter of the highest importance--a certain great English novelist is notoriously incompetent in this respect, and relies upon his printers--but it deserves attention. Bad spelling spoils the appearance of the cleverest article, and raises a prejudice against it in the editorial mind. And not all bad spellers have the ingenuity of Mr. Umbrage of The Silchester Mirror, in Mr. J. M. Barrie's novel, When a Man's Single:--
"When Umbrage returned, Billy Kirker, the chief reporter, was denouncing John Milton [the junior reporter] for not being able to tell him how to spell 'deceive.'
"'What is the use of you?' he asked indignantly, 'if you can't do a simple thing like that?'
"'Say "cheat,"' suggested Umbrage.
"So Kirker wrote 'cheat.'"
I think, however, that women have at last learnt to spell words ending in ieve and eive. They go astray nowadays in ance and ence; also in seperate and irresistable, and in the past participles of verbs ending in it.
The simplest and best way to cure a case of weak spelling is to hand the dictionary to some wise friend, and ask him or her to question you. A quarter of an hour daily devoted to this treatment will effect a remarkable improvement, even when the patient happens to think there is no room for improvement.
3. Grammar, I suppose, is taught in girls' schools on approved modern principles; nevertheless few women seem to have any acquaintance with it. Yet grammar is not a difficult study, nor a lengthy one, and an understanding knowledge of its principles is of the greatest assistance in the formation of a good literary style. This is a truism: that is why it needs saying again.
You will find Dr. Richard Morris's Primer of English Grammar (Macmillans, 1s.), with Mr. John Wetherell's Exercises on Morris's English Grammar (same publishers and price), very useful, and, though they are small books, quite adequate to your needs. Both can be mastered in a month. The first business is to learn to parse. To parse is "to explain the duty each word performs in a sentence: that is, to tell the relation each word bears to the rest in a sentence:" the definition clearly shows how indispensable to a writer is some skill in parsing. Of course many of the exercises are set obviously for children, but sufficient remain to puzzle the woman of average intelligence. That lady might, for example, have a difficulty in parsing the italicised words in the following: "My cap, having stuck on a long time, now went whirling down the lane." Afterwards comes analysis--the breaking up of a sentence into its component parts--not less urgent than parsing. This branch of the subject is treated well and thoroughly in Mr. Wetherell's book, and his exercises should be worked through conscientiously. Note further, in the same primer, the division relating to syntax, and especially the exercises on pp. 74, 75. The chapter on conjunctions is also of serious importance to women.
4. By "composition," I mean merely the art of writing without transgressing the rules of grammar and kindred canons by which all writers agree to be bound. The higher matter of "style" will be treated in the next chapter.
The best book on this subject is Professor Nichol's English Composition (Macmillan's, 1s.). It is small, but it omits no point on which beginners are likely to err. Women should give particular attention to the following:--
False concords, p. 22.
Purity in the use of words, p. 33.
Want of discrimination between synonyms, p. 39.
Carelessness as to the meaning of sentences, p. 42.
The use of relatives, p. 52. Professor Nichol most truthfully says: "The most fertile source of confusion in English is a slovenly use of relatives."
Arrangement, p. 63.
For guidance as to punctuation, study Stops, by Paul Allardyce (F. Fisher Unwin, 1s.). No book, however, could possibly deal with every point likely to arise under our wonderful English system of punctuation. It is an excellent plan to read aloud any sentence which presents a difficulty, and to punctuate it according to the pauses made (almost unconsciously) by the voice. This method is well-nigh infallible. If doubt still remains, remember that it is better to punctuate too little than too much.
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Concurrently with the study of newspapers, spelling, grammar, and composition, the aspirant must make a practice of writing daily a short interesting description (say five hundred words) of some event or scene personally observed during the day. Nothing should be allowed to interfere with the regularity of this exercise, which is essential, not only for the improvement of style, but also for the sharpening of that faculty of subject-selection so necessary to the journalist. It is idle to say: "Nothing interesting ever happens within my ken," There is no event, no scene, but has its interesting aspect. Your business, madam, is to discover that aspect.
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It may be well to state here that neither shorthand nor typewriting is requisite to the ultimate success of the journalistic aspirant. The common notion that shorthand is part of the equipment of every journalist is quite wrong. If, however, the aspirant possesses a typewriter and the skill to use it, she will of course be able to get her articles transcribed for nothing.
Chapter V
Style
"How can I acquire a good style of writing?"
Pathetic question, invariably asked by the artless beginner!
You cannot acquire a good style; only a bad style can be acquired.
It is a current impression that style is something apart from, something foreign to, matter--a beautiful robe which, once it is found, may be used to clothe the nudity of matter. Young writers wander forth searching for style, as one searches for that which is hidden. They might employ themselves as profitably in looking for the noses on their faces. For style is personal, as much a portion of one's self as the voice. It is within, not without; it needs only to be elicited, brought to light.
The one possible way of developing the latent style which has always been yours, is to forget absolutely that such a thing as style exists.
For good style consists in saying exactly what you mean with the utmost clearness and the utmost naturalness: simply that! When you have accomplished so much, you have accomplished good style. In no sense is style of the nature of embroidery, an ornament superimposed: this is what the beginner fails to grasp; she somehow cannot rid herself of the superstition that after the meaning is precisely expressed, something further remains to be done.
I have put clearness and naturalness as the two attributes of good style. Clearness need not be defined. Naturalness will not suffer definition; it depends on the individual, and must be determined by the individual. What is proper for one person may be improper for another. Carlyle was ungraceful with impunity; Lamb could not have been so. We may no more choose our styles than our characters. Style, like character, can, it is true, be trained--strengthened, chastened, refined, rendered shapely; but in essentials it must for ever remain as it originally was. It is the expression, not only of the thoughts immediately to be set down, but of the very man himself, and with the man it will develop. It cannot be invented; it cannot be concocted. It must be a natural growth--watched, tended, fostered, pruned, but after all a natural growth.
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To find out, to uncover, one's true style; to lay bare one's self: how is this to be set about? Primarily, by experiment in the way of imitation, which is the commencement of all art. Every