CHAPTER XXIV

BUILDING PROBLEMS

A. THE QUESTION OF TITLES

"The most exciting minute of the summer vacation" might be a general topic assigned for a theme in September. The majority of the class will probably develop this in story form, with a change of situation and an unexpected climax. Some of the anecdotes will be humorous; some will deal with danger. A few members of the class may give pure description, showing how at a certain moment-perhaps on waking from a sound sleep at two o'clock a certain sight or sound, which would ordinarily have caused no excitement, produced a deep effect on the mind. There will be as many different experiences as there are members in the class. Each one of these deserves a special name. To write "The Most Exciting Minute of the Summer Vacation" across the top of the first page would be like christening a child "Some One Who Goes to the Blank School." The name of a theme is its "title."

Finding a good title is often more important than might be supposed. An interesting title pleases a reader and predisposes him to think well of what follows; it proves in advance that the writer has some force and originality. We all know how much a novel or play or magazine story is helped by an attractive name. A good title for a theme often helps the writer by "sparking up" his mind to a livelier effort and by giving him something definite to aim at. Good taste in choosing titles is somewhat the same as in naming a child: we want something distinctive, but not freakish; interesting, but not sensational. If the most exciting minute of a vacation was "when I held an unopened letter, wondering what my fate was," the possibilities for a title range from "?" to "The Paper Casket." The big interrogation mark is

freakish, though teachers would prefer that originality to such a long and flatly descriptive title as "The Letter That I Did Not Open for a while." The reference to a "casket" may be unfortunate if the reader does not at once think of The Merchant of Venice. A title should not describe the contents of the theme; it ought to be a brief name, fitting the subject, merely pointing it out, rousing a reader's curiosity to see what has been written; and it ought to be of such a sort that when a reader has reached the end of the theme, he will feel, "I see now how neatly the name fits the turn of thought." A long title is unlikely to fit neatly. More than six words, unless they are short and compactly phrased, are likely to appear cumbersome. The best training in selecting titles is to have each member of the class suggest one for a certain topic, to write these all on the board, and then to vote on which is best. The ballot will not necessarily show the one that is best, but it will almost surely indicate the difference between good and poor. In the case of the unopened letter a class would feel that "Wow!" is vague and disagreeable, that "Holding Uncle's Letter" is insipid, that "He Who Hesitates Is Lost" is a trite maxim that does not fit the subject. "The Preposterous Postscript" would be a good choice only if a writer wanted disagreeable sounds at the head of his theme. "The Sprinkler Letter" would answer only if a writer wished to excite curiosity and did not wish to give any hint of the nature of his subject. "Fate Hid in an Auger Hole" might be appreciated by a class that recognized the Macbeth allusion, but certainly not by any other class. It is generally true that a title ought not to tell the secret that is to be divulged in the climax; so "The Joyous News" or "Worst Fears Confirmed" would be poor titles. None of these objections can be made to the following:

What Was Inside?

Fate in an Envelope
Afraid to Look

Sixty Seconds of Suspense

"Why Don't You Open It?"

Titles for stories may be chosen by fancy or caprice, and still be in good taste. For descriptions we expect something more matter-of-fact, though we usually prefer to see a writer avoid a mere flat statement of the subject like "San Diego Bay" or "A Crowded Jitney." In general it is best not to use the general topic as a name, but to find a title that fits our own particular handling of the topic. So in the case of expositions we prefer that a topic-like "The nature of artesian wells"-should not be made to serve as a title; for it is vague and unpromising; we suspect that there is nothing interesting in the theme. If we see "How Water Pumps Itself" or "Why the Water Spouts," we know at the outset that the writer takes an interest in his subject and will probably interest us. The same principle applies to arguments. Though we may not object to the question for a title, we are not attracted by "Resolved: That a Seven-Cent Fare is Just"; we are more pleasantly affected by "A Nickel Is Not Enough." A talented writer instinctively posts something attractive at the entrance to his theme; we do well to imitate him and to stretch all the talent we have to justify the title.

It is a standing rule (though perhaps a doubtful one) that "the title ought not to be assumed in the first sentence"-that is, that a pronoun in the first sentence ought not to refer to the title. If the title is "Where Are We Going?" the first sentence must not say, "This is a hard question," but must repeat: "Where we are going is hard to say."

B. How To BEGIN

There was a time when authors felt the need of making a leisurely approach to a subject; it was customary to write an "introductory" passage. There still is, and always will be, a need for introducing whatever is unexpected or is foreign to a reader's habit of thought. There may sometimes be need of an introduction to remove prejudice or to explain a point of view that the reader might misjudge. In every case where a writer feels at the outset that there is a gulf between himself and

his reader he will build a bridge of introduction, show the way across it, and say, "Now you can see what I am about."

There is seldom need of a bridge to the subjects treated in our compositions. High-school introductions seldom introduce. They do not bridge a gap, but simply erect a barrier, require us to walk around it, and lead us to the original point for a fresh start. The ordinary high-school introduction is a pretense, without any function to perform. In oral themes it is almost sure to be a waste of time. It is often a pile of words raised by a student who does not know how else to begin. Sometimes it is nothing more than a lazy failure to notice what the topic is. It may be just a preliminary ceremony, performed without any rational purpose. Students have been known to commence too abruptly, but a hundred times more common is the fault of beginning far away from the subject and setting down an opening paragraph that accomplishes nothing.

The safe rule is never to think of the first paragraph as an introduction. It is to be regarded as the first part of a whole. A story ought not to be "introduced"; it should begin with the purpose of displaying promptly to a reader the people in a situation. Examples of "introductions" have been given previously. (See pages 33, 71.) A description of a procession or a fire should not (except for some special reason) begin with "as I was reading the newspaper the night before." Exposition will ordinarily be more clear and argument more persuasive if a writer makes a prompt and business-like attack.

A good illustration of a common type of beginning at a distance from the topic is these opening paragraphs of a 450-word theme on "The Holy Rollers."

A few years ago I had occasion to make a three-weeks stay at a little town on the coast of southern Georgia. Like many another Georgia seaside town, Bannbrae consisted of a waterfront, three ramshackle piers, about nine unpainted houses, and plenty of sand. It was essentially a fishing town, and every morning early one could hear the chug-chug-bang-chug of countless motor-boats heading out the inlet in pursuit of the daily catch.

The population was made up of about three hundred colored people and thirty whites. The colored people are very superstitious and exceedingly religious. They are divided into many different sects of varying degrees of fanaticism. It is about one of these sects, the "Holy Rollers," that I wish to write.

That is by no means a horrible example. The details are given attractively, and we are somewhat interested in them. The objection to them is that they do not introduce the subject, since the three piers and the motor-boats and the thirty whites have no effect on "superstitions." The fact that these objects may be seen in Bannbrae, that the picture of them comes into the writer's mind when he thinks of "Holy Rollers," is no excuse for misleading our minds. A real theme is not a catch-all for the memories that are strewn about in the writer's mind, but is a selection of one memory that is presented as one subject. Throughout the rest of his description the writer was highly entertaining, furnishing matter of this sort:

And then, with one accord, they all got down and began to rollfat old women doing their best to roll, but not even being able to turn over; old men helping each other along; and young men rolling like mad. Out of this sea of screaming, writhing idiots stuck hundreds of waving arms and legs, striving to help their owners to "tu'n ovah, tu'n ovah fo'de Lawd!"

The talent that can put such material on paper ought not to have prefaced its description with sand and chugging motors.

The first paragraph of a description is the place where we are most likely to find material that does not help toward the principal effect. This is also true of exposition. If some machine or some process is to be explained, a reader prefers to enter promptly upon something significant or novel. If a class hears a number of talks on "how to make something," they are not entertained by a first minute that tells of the obvious "assembling of materials." Of course there must be nails for attaching boards to studding, and probably they were bought at a hardware store. What of it? An audience wants to hear of those matters that were somewhat out of the ordinary, that made this operation