It is rather the fashion to sneer at detective stories as a low form of literary art; perhaps because of the quality of many that find their way into print. Yet the very fact that cheap and mediocre mystery tales are published is proof of the widespread demand for this sort of story.

      There is no reason why such tales may not be made masterpieces; witness the work of Poe, Doyle, and others. Where is there a better opportunity for the portrayal of deep-lying human passions than in the reaction of man to crime and punishment?

      The defect of most of such work lies, I think, in the subordination of motive to inanimate clues. A finger-print; a chemical reaction — these are stressed, while the characters remain colorless; mere props for a clothes-line hung with incident. If the writer will take as much pains with characterization as with plot; if he will strive to make his people real, and to suggest their inevitable reactions to the crime — perplexity, fear, suspicion, the desire for revenge, whatnot — his story will be stronger for its very ingenuity of plot than the most careful character study, per se. There are two several sorts of story, after all, without regard to the question of romanticism and realism: the story of plot, and the story of character — the tale of action, and that of reaction. In one, incident is stressed; in the other, the effect of incident upon the mental processes of those concerned.

      This writer has tried deliberately enough to combine these types; to make his work the history of real and interesting people — doing things; and with some success. To change the person, I have written some 60,000 words of detective fiction in the last two months — and sold every word, except one story which goes out today. Of eight stories, only one has had to be remailed; and that sold on the second trip. I received two-thirds of a cent a word for one story, one cent a word for all the others.

      Perhaps, therefore, I may be justified in speaking with some authority of this sort of work. As I have said, detective stories make a very wide appeal; you will find them in every magazine, even the most exclusive ones, and some publications print almost nothing else. Regardless of the passing literary mode, a good detective tale is sure of its market. And the demand is such that even rather thin, poorly constructed stories sell readily enough.

      I have worked out a sort of prescription for the compounding of these tales. Carefully followed, it will produce salable fiction for anyone who possesses the faculty of story-spinning. And it is simple enough, too:

      First, ask yourself, What crime am I capable of committing? Or, In what circumstances would I commit a crime? Or you may select a given crime; murder, burglary, embezzlement. Mull it over in your mind; work out an infallible method whereby you could commit the deed without the possibility of detection. Then turn the thing over; look at it from outside until you discover the flaw. Make that the pivot of the tale, select a title that suggests it, and have your detective to work from it to a solution of the mystery.

      Your central character need not be a professional detective, of course; he may be a school teacher, a plumber — what you like. But if he is convincing, if your characters are well depicted, and react in a human fashion to their several relations with the central mystery, then your story will sell, though the plot be hackneyed and conventional.

      Write of localities with which you are familiar, so that your characters may be projected against a background which gives the illusion of actuality. Take pains, not only with motives and habits of thought, but also in describing mannerisms, in recording quaint turns of speech, habits of dress, oddities of appearance. Every person has certain pet expressions, gestures and the like; refer to these, not once, in a tedious description, but at intervals as the person plays his part in the tale. And do not be afraid of repetition; a half a dozen references to some single peculiarity (though it be no more than a prominent gold tooth, or the habit of wearing red neckties ) scattered at intervals through your story, will aid the reader in forming a mental picture more than will half a page of height, weight, and coloring.

      This leads me to a very important point in characterization. Our memories are almost entirely visual. Long psychological analyses are all very well, but they must fail to convince unless the reader can also see your character. Further, conscious memories are always condensations. We remember our friends, not by any general description, but by a gesture, a trick of speech, which calls up a vivid picture. Select five persons of your acquaintance: how many of you can tell, off-hand, the color of their eyes? But if one of them had mismated eyes — one brown and one blue — that would stand out, and would be noticed every time you looked at that individual. So, in writing, refer to your character's distinguishing, individual tricks of manner or speech every time you bring him forward in the narrative. Thus he will take on the colors of life.

      One thing further: always write from a synopsis — a scenario. Those who say they cannot do this are only making one of the excuses of intellectual laziness. If you must see your story on paper first, write it out; then analyse, dissect, condense. Make your skeleton, and build up from that once more. Then unessential incidents will eliminate themselves, and those remaining will fall into proper order and emphasis to aid the march of your story. You may be able to write salable stuff without this tedious process; I have done it myself. But a story strung out haphazard in such fashion can never be the best of which you are capable. It is no easier to tell a story properly without an adequate skeleton than it is to build a house without at solid frame. And surely the man who works with any art cannot be satisfied with less than his best.

      I have profited by following these rules, wherefore I pass them on in the hope that they may do you a service no less profitable.

      As regards marketing the detective story, the whole field is before you. If your story be good enough, it will be acepted by any magazine which prints fiction, and this regardless of the prevailing literary styles. As for magazines which use such material exclusively, Detective Story, published by Street and Smith, is, in my experience, the best market. It pays well and promptly, and the editor, Mr. Frank E. Blackwell, is the sort of editor with whom it is a pleasure to deal.