Fiction Writers on Fiction Writing: Advice, opinions and a statement of their own working methods by more than one hundred authors

In Short

This book compiles the responses of 116 professional writers to a detailed questionnaire regarding their creative processes, habits, and philosophies. Rather than offering abstract literary theory, it presents a chorus of voices—ranging from widely read novelists to short-story specialists—discussing how they generate ideas, whether they outline or improvise, and how they approach revision. By organizing these diverse perspectives into thematic sections, the volume provides a multifaceted view of authorship. It has endured because it functions not as a rigid manual, but as a genuine historical archive of professional practice, capturing the practical, often messy realities of writers navigating the demands of both art and the literary market.

The Story

The "story" of this book is the collective struggle to transform a fleeting spark of inspiration into a finished, publishable manuscript. It begins with the genesis of ideas: authors describe how a story might start with a striking incident, a specific setting, or a character trait. Some writers, like Joseph Mills Hanson, find their starting point in historical events, while others, like Robert Hichens, are driven by the inevitable friction between two clashing personalities. The narrative of the creative process then moves into the fundamental division of labor: the choice between meticulous planning and spontaneous discovery. Some contributors, such as Honore Willsie and H. C. Witwer, insist on blocking out the entire arc to the end before writing a single word, ensuring that every ingredient is in hand. In contrast, writers like Frederick J. Jackson prefer a hazy sense of the climax, allowing the story to "ramble" and take shape as they work, believing that a rigid skeleton leads to stilted prose.

The middle arc of the book explores the physical and mental tools of the trade. Here, the contributors discuss the act of visualization—how they "see" their story-worlds with their eyes shut. Some, like Phyllis Duganne, describe the process as a highly sensory experience, noting that a skilled writer can make them taste, smell, and hear a scene as if they were physically present. Others, including Algernon Blackwood, express a strong aversion to heavy description, preferring a light touch that allows the reader’s own imagination to fill in the blanks. The conversation then shifts to the persistent tension between the "creative self" and the "editorial self." The authors grapple with how to balance the raw impulse of creation with the necessary, often cold-blooded application of technique—the "other self" that acts as a proxy for the reader.

As the book approaches its conclusion, the focus turns toward the practicalities of the craft: the debate over whether writing can be taught, the value of reading the classics versus contemporary peers, and the advice they would offer to beginners. The consensus is largely that "fiction cannot be taught" in a vacuum; rather, it is a craft learned through experience, personal observation, and the refusal to "prostitute" one's ability for easy money. The book concludes by exploring the deeper, psychological "why" behind the act of writing and reading, framing fiction as a form of escape, a way to live experiences one is otherwise denied, and a fundamental human necessity that satisfies a deep, underlying yearning.

How It Unfolds

The genesis of a story Authors describe the initial sparks that ignite their work, identifying incidents, historical settings, or specific character traits as the primary seeds. They catalog these ideas in notebooks, waiting for the right moment or complementary element to transform a vague notion into a concrete narrative.

Planning versus spontaneity The contributors debate the necessity of outlines, contrasting those who map every detail in advance with those who prefer to write straight through to capture a sense of discovery. This section highlights the different temperaments required to sustain a narrative, whether through careful structural preparation or the fluidity of the first draft.

The internal theater Writers discuss how they visualize their scenes, often revealing how they use their own senses to build a world. They share a common concern about the dangers of over-description, arguing that a single, well-chosen word or image is more effective at engaging the reader than a dense, cloying passage.

The editor’s proxy The book examines the "other self" that every writer must cultivate to act as a critic, balancing creative passion with the technical demands of the audience. It argues that technique is essentially the application of knowledge about the reader, and that the best writing occurs when this knowledge becomes so assimilated it feels entirely natural.

The life of the craft The final section offers advice to the next generation, cautioning against imitation and encouraging writers to draw from their own life experience. It ends with reflections on why people write and read, positioning fiction as a profound, if sometimes addictive, method of human connection and exploration.

The People

The book features a vast ensemble of 116 contributors, creating a dialogue rather than a single narrative. Harris Dickson and William Harper Dean emerge as strong advocates for the "write what you know" philosophy, emphasizing that a writer’s value lies in their unique perspective on their own "backyard" rather than in imitating historical novels. Frederick J. Jackson provides a particularly candid look at the cold-blooded nature of revision, describing the "jaundiced eye" he turns toward his own work to ensure the story is tight and effective. Mary Johnston and Ben Ames Williams represent the planners, providing a disciplined approach where the ending is always clearly in mind before the beginning is written. Lucille Van Slyke acts as a spirited, intuitive voice who views writing as a form of "singing" and warns that the true writer must possess an inescapable drive. Finally, the editor, Arthur Sullivant Hoffman, functions as the orchestrator of these personalities, acting as a bridge between the disparate methods of the authors and the needs of the general reader, constantly reminding the audience that regardless of their process, these are all professionals who must navigate the reality of publication and public reception.

In Its Own Voice

The genesis with me is usually an incident, situation or setting.

Joseph Mills Hanson explains his method for starting a new project.

The young writer as well as the old must bear in mind that he offers his work, not in competition with his next-door neighbor, nor in competition with his town, his state, his country or his own generation, but in competition with the best that has ever been produced by the best brains of the world.

Harris Dickson provides a sobering reality check for those looking to enter the profession.

Fiction, then, in the sense of its elemental hold on us, is that conscious modification of the actual occurrences of life by rearrangement of them so that they present to us complete experiences of the sort for which we yearn.

The book offers a definition of the fundamental appeal of storytelling.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an investigation into the nature of professional discipline. It asks whether the act of writing is an unteachable art or a craft that can be perfected through the application of technique. The central argument is that while inspiration is the spark, the sustainability of a writing career relies on the development of an "other self"—a secondary, critical consciousness that understands the reader's needs. The book explores the tension between art and commerce, suggesting that the most successful, lasting fiction bridges this gap by remaining true to the author’s own experience while being consciously shaped to move a human audience. It is a study of the "writer’s mind" at work, focusing on how a creator manages the bridge between their private imagination and the public page.

Why Read It Today

This book is a fascinating artifact for anyone interested in the mechanics of storytelling or the history of the early 20th-century publishing world. Readers who enjoy "behind the scenes" glimpses of creative labor will find the diversity of opinion refreshing; it is a rare opportunity to see that even successful, established writers have fundamentally different, and often contradictory, ways of working. You will likely feel as though you are sitting in a room with a hundred mentors, listening to them argue about whether to plan, whether to revise, and how much to trust their own instincts.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the period-specific attitudes that permeate the text. The language reflects the conventions of the 1920s, and some of the advice regarding the "magazine market" is clearly rooted in the era's specific publishing landscape. Because the book is a compilation of answers, it is not a smooth, linear read, but rather a fragmented, conversational experience. It does not provide a "how-to" manual with a single correct method. Instead, its value lies in its sheer breadth. It stays with you not as a set of rules, but as a reminder that the "right" way to write is the way that works for you. If you are looking for a definitive, step-by-step curriculum, you may find it challenging, but if you are looking for the quiet, practical wisdom of those who have spent their lives at the typewriter, it is an invaluable companion.