My Story That I Like Best

In presenting this volume to you I am imagining that I am host for an evening. I have invited six of the distinguished writers of our time and asked them to relax over their coffee and in a mood of friendliness to discuss their own work. They have permitted me to have you sit with me and listen.

An interesting group, surely. Miss Ferber, black-haired, dark-eyed, vivid, animation itself; Irvin Cobb, tall, heavy-set, with, as his daughter says, two chins in front and a spare in the rear; Peter B. Kyne, about five foot six, with the face and figure of a well-fed priest; Jim Curwood, tall, wiry, outdoorsy in every line and movement; Nicholson, my idea of an ambassador to the Court of St. James; Harry Witwer, with the poise and quickness that one learns in the ring. (He did fight as a youngster; that's why he can make you see a prize ring when he describes it.)

Yes, an interesting group. Just as interesting to me today, after years of friendship, as to you, who may meet them for the first time. The sort of folks that wear well. The sort that haven't been spoiled by success. For each of them realizes the simplicity of the recipe that won his success. It can be told in few words: Think better and work harder than your competitor.

If you get to know these authors well, you will see that is all there has been to it: they have thought better and worked harder than the other fellow. And they are still doing it—thinking better and working harder: that's why their success endures. That's why their names are trade-marks for interesting, satisfying reading matter. As the manufacturer who establishes a trade-mark must not let his product deteriorate, lest he lose his customers, just so the successful writer must keep his product to high standard lest he lose his readers.

I have asked each of the six to tell you which of all the stories he has written he likes best, but before they begin let me tell you what inspired my request.

I grow irritated every now and then when some self-appointed critic arises to say that he has selected the best short stories for the year. What he means, of course, is that he has selected the stories which in his opinion are best. More often than not, his opinion is worthless; it may even be harmful. For if those studying for a career in writing accept his views, they may be misled in what really constitutes the story of distinction.

In this discussion there will be no effort to say that these stories excel in any year. What they represent is the selection by each of six authors of his own story which he likes best of all he has written. And inasmuch as each of these writers has been years at his trade, this forms a collection not only interesting to you and myself, but informative and valuable to the student of writing.

Distinction in writing is determined by one test: endurance in public favor. Not the favor of any one or two persons, but of the great mass of readers.

A critic here and there may—and often does—select some writer of freakish material and call him a genius, but that sort of genius is short-lived.

Freakish writing never lasts. Individual manner of telling a story, yes—that is essential to distinction. But individuality that endures results from personality that pleases.

No matter how much it may interest you to see a freak in a side-show, you would not want one as a lifelong friend. No matter how much it may interest you to see a piece of freakish writing, you would not keep it handy on your library shelves or table. As a curiosity, possibly; as a companion, never.