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Now as to the method of romance…writing。 It should； in my judgment； be swift； clear； and direct； with as little padding and as few trappings as possible。 The story is the thing； and every word in the book should be a brick to build its edifice。 Above all； no obscurity should be allowed。 Let the characters be definite； even at the cost of a little crudeness； and so with the meaning of each sentence。 Tricks of “style” and dark allusions may please the superior critic； they do not please the average reader； and — though this seems to be a fact that many forget； or only remember to deplore — a book is written that it may be read。 The first duty of a story is to keep him who peruses it awake； if he is a tired man and it succeeds in doing this； then； within its limitations； it is a good tale。 For instance； when a year or so ago Mr。 Kipling； who as a rule goes to bed early； told me that he had sat up to I know not what hour and got chilled through reading “The Ghost Kings” because he could not lay it down； it gave me a higher opinion of that work than I could boast before。 In romance “grip” is almost everything。 Whatever its faults； if a book has grip； these may be forgiven。
Again； such work should be written rapidly and； if possible； not rewritten； since wine of this character loses its bouquet when it is poured from glass to glass。 It should be remembered； also； that the writer of a romance must； so far as it is concerned； live during its progress in an atmosphere quite alien to that of everyday life。 Now this in a workaday world is not easy to grown people； who perhaps have many affairs and anxieties to distract them； even if they possess or have acquired the power of dividing their brains into more or less watertight partments。 Indeed； for longer than a certain period it bees almost impossible。 Therefore； as the quality of the resulting story will depend upon the preservation of this atmosphere of romance while it is being evolved； it is highly desirable that the actual period of evolution should be short。 Personally I have proved this； again and again； almost to the extent that； in the case of my own books； I can judge how long they have taken to ay long have forgotten the amount of time I spent on each。
So it es to this： the way to write a good romance is to sit down and write it almost without stopping。 Of course some preliminary reflection is desirable to realise a central idea round which the story must revolve。 For example； in “She” that central idea was a ortality； but who found that her passions remained immortal too。 In “The Holy Flower；” which I finished yesterday； to take another case； the central idea is that of a gorilla which is worshipped as a god and periodically slays the king who holds his office as the brute’s priest and servant； with all the terrors that result from such a situation。 In the case of both these books； as of many others； I had nothing more in my mind when I set myself to face them。 Of course in such circumstances beginnings are hard — c’est le premier pas qui coute — but after the thing will generally evolve itself。 It is merely a case of what Anthony Trollope used to call “cobbler’s wax。” Or； if it “will not do so；” the author had better give up romance…writing and take up some useful occupation that is more congenial。
Of course these are only my views； but they are based upon an experience that is now painfully extended。 Other men may have other and better methods so far as they are concerned。 They presuppose； however； that the writer is to a sufficient degree possessed by the Spirit of Romance； without which he will do nothing of any permanent or even of immediate value。 The faculty of imaginative insight must be a part of his intellectual outfit。 He must be able； as he creates； to summon each scene whereof he treats before the eyes of his mind。 He must see the characters and their surroundings： the lion springing； the Zulu regiments rushing with uplifted spears； the fire eating into the grass of the hillside； while before it the scorched snakes glide and hiss。 He must share the every hope and care of those whom he begets： the rich； low voice of Ayesha must thrill his nerves； he must discern her enthralling and unearthly beauty； and look into the mingled grandeurs of her blasted soul！
And so on； and on； for if he； the creator； does not know the beings and things which he creates — if the details of them are as blurred as the images in a defective glass — how can he expect to convey a clear picture to his reader？ At the best that reader must help him out； must be the possessor of a certain receptive power and able to fill in a thousand minutiae of character and so forth； for to attempt to state these would overload the story； which； be it remembered； should consist of action； action； action from the first page to the last。 For the rest； little matters。 Even if the writer does not know what is ing next the circumstance is of no importance； for it will e when it is wanted。 There are even advantages in this； since； if he does not know； it is quite certain that his reader must remain in equal ignorance — a thing to be desired。
Such is the whole art of romance…writing as it is understood by me — who； critics may say； per contra； do not understand it at all。 To such as have sufficient experience of life and adventure in far lands； or sufficient vision to enable them to re…create the past； the gift is to be had for the taking — by those who can take。 To such as lack these qualifications it is somewhat hard to grasp and hold。 But even if he possesses all this equipment I would warn the future artist not to expect too much success； since a perfect specimen of the true breed of the beautiful butterfly； Romance； is rarely to be caught。 After the searcher has hunted all his life； if he finds two or three of them in his cabi he will have done very well indeed； and even at these； connoisseurs who sit at home and do not hunt themselves will be found to cavil。 In old days such specimens were perhaps more mon； though but few have survived the rust and damp of time。 But then their breeding…grounds in the dank tropical marshes or the lion…haunted forests were less known； and those who devoted themselves to this chase were few in number and supremely qualified for the business。 Now travelling is cheap； hundreds handle the ； and all e home with something that is offered for sale under the ancient label。
It is curious how often imagination is verified by fact — perhaps； as I said at the beginning of this screed； because the lines in which it must work are narrow and after all based on fact； perhaps because it does possess some spiritual insight of its own。 Many instances have e within my own experience of which I will quote a few that I chance to remember。
I pass over “King Solomon’s Mines；” a work of pure imagination； for in my day very little was known of the regions wherein its scenes were laid； many details of which have been verified by subsequent discovery。 In its sequel； “Allan Quatermain；” however； occurs a fine example of the literary coincidence。 In this book I invented a mission station at an unexplored spot on the Tana River； which station I caused to be attacked by the Masai。 In subsequent editions of the work I inserted the following note； which explains itself：
By a very strange and sad coincidence； since the above was written； the Masai； in April 1886； massacred a missionary and his wife； Mr。 and Mrs。 Houghton — on this same Tana River； and at the spot described。 These are； I believe； the first white people who are known to have fallen victims to this cruel tribe。
Again； in a tale called “Maiwa’s Revenge；” I gave an elaborate description of a certain escape of Allan Quatermain from pursuing savages； who hunted him up the face of a cliff and seized hold of his ankles。 He freed himself from their attentions by firing down on them along the line of his leg with a pistol。 Some years later a gentleman arrived at this house whose name； I think； was Ebbage； and on whose card was printed the vague and remote address； “Matabeleland。” He informed me that he had travelled specially from London to inquire how on earth I had learned the details of his escape from certain savages； as he had never mentioned them to a single soul。 Before he left I satisfied myself that his adventure and that invented by myself and described in the tale； which I had thought one of a somewhat original sort； were in every particular identical。
Again； in “Mr。 Meeson’s Will” I set out very fully indeed； the circumstances under which a new and splendid liner was lost at sea； and the great majority of those on board of her were drowned owing to lack of boats to acmodate them。 In a preface to this story； written in the year 1888； I make the following remark：
The only part of this humble skit； however； that is meant to be taken seriously is the chapter which tells of the loss of the R。M。S。 Kangaroo。 I believe it to be a fair and； in the main； accurate account of what must and one day will happen upon a large and crowded liner in the event of such a collision as that described； or of her rapid foundering from any other cause。 It is a remarkable thing that people who for the most part set a sufficient value on their lives； daily consent to go to sea in ships the boats of which could not on emergency possibly contain half their number。
During the present year this prophecy； and indeed the whole scene of the sinking of the Kangaroo； has been fearfully fulfilled in the instance of the great White Star liner Titanic。 If I could think of and foresee such things； how is it that those who are responsible for the public safety have proved themselves so lacking in prevision — that section of the Board of Trade； for instance； whose duty it is to attend to such matters？
I fear we must seek the answer in the character of our nation； whose peculiarity it is to ignore or underrate dangers that are not immediately visible； and therefore never be ready to meet them。 If anyone doubts this； let him study the history of our wars during the last sixty years or so； and even earlier。 The Crimea； the Abyssinian Expedition； the first Boer War； the Zulu War； the second Boer War； which was the child of the last two； the Egyptian Wars； have all told the same tale。 With the details of three of these I have been acquainted； and they are awful。 Only our wealth has brought us out of them — I will not say with honour； but in safety。 We declare proudly that “we always muddle through；” but this； after all； is a boast that only fits the lips of the inpetent。 What will happen when we are called upon to meet a nation； or nations； of equal or greater strength； that are petent？24 One can only hope for the best； and that the genius of our people； or of individuals among them； may carry us through in the future as it has done in the past。 Meanwhile we blunder on。 England； in lives and treasure； pays the bill out of her ample but not bottomless pocket； and everything ends in a rocket…burst of decorations conferred amid the shouts of the devotees of music…halls。
23 This was written in 1912； and has been lying in Messrs。 Longmans’ safe without the author having access to it since that date。 — Ed。
Probably the blame is to be laid at the door of our national lack of imagination： we cannot embody in our minds or provide against that of which we have had no recent experience。 We live from hand to mouth； and think more of the next elections than of our future as a people and a great Empire； refusing to bear those small burdens that would make us safe； and to support statesmen rather than politicians。 Any who point out these things are cried down as alarmists； or as persons seeking some personal or party end； since the petty and the mean always see their own colours reflected in the eyes of others。 Like the large farmer who confided to him his conviction that I was travelling on my tour of agricultural investigation through England in search of “free drinks；” these judge by their own low standards。 “Free drinks；” or their equivalent； is what they want； and therefore must be what you want； since otherwise why would anyone work for nothing？ And here es the sorrow。 The little minds； Shakespeare’s multitude who “suckle fools and chronicle small beer；” are in the vast majority。 They have the votes and give power to their chosen。 The rest are but voices crying in the wilderness。 Well； there it is； and doubtless God Almighty knows the way out。 At any rate； it must be a part of His plan； so why should we grumble？
Another small instance of imagination being justified in my own case is to be found in my tale； “Stella Fregelius；” where； for the purposes of that mystical story； I invented an instrument which I called the “aerophone；” whereby people could speak with each other across a space of empty air。 When I wrote this story； about the year 1898； neither I nor anyone else had heard of such a machine。 Now I learn that it is working and patented under the same title； namely； “aerophone；” and doubtless ere long it will be in general use。 It is right； however； that； per contra； I should chronicle a prophetic failure。 In “Doctor Therne” I ventured to suggest that our general neglect of vaccination would bring about some outburst of smallpox such as in past