Journalism for Women | Page 9

in essentials it must for ever remain as it originally was. It is the expression, not only of the thoughts immediately to be set down, but of the very man himself, and with the man it will develop. It cannot be invented; it cannot be concocted. It must be a natural growth--watched, tended, fostered, pruned, but after all a natural growth.
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To find out, to uncover, one's true style; to lay bare one's self: how is this to be set about? Primarily, by experiment in the way of imitation, which is the commencement of all art. Every great artist--Shakspere, Beethoven, Velasquez, Inigo Jones--has started by imitating the models which he admired and to which he felt drawn. You must do the same. It is the surest and indeed the only way of arriving at one's true individuality.
I do not find it easy to recommend exemplars to the aspirant; so many writers of indubitable greatness have been fatal to their disciples; take the trite instance of Carlyle, whose influence twenty years ago ruined styles innumerable. Shakspere and Congreve, possibly our two supreme prose artists, have styles which, in directness and freedom from mannerism, are well suited to be models for the young journalist; but since they wrote only dialogue, now archaic in many details, it is very difficult for the young journalist to follow them with profit in descriptive work. Among modern writers, Mrs. Alice Meynell has a style unsurpassed in simplicity, fineness, and strength. Nevertheless I hesitate to name her as a model, lest the student, in trying to attain her succinct perfection, should fall into mere baldness. On the whole, my inclination turns towards Huxley's Essays. Here you have a style which, though by no means great, possesses every good quality, and has besides no tricks to lead the beginner astray; nothing more adorably fitted to the uses of newspaper work could be conceived. To these might be added the letters of Cowper, and the more popular essays of Matthew Arnold.
Paraphrasing is an excellent practice. Read a passage from the author of your choice; grasp thoroughly its purport, but do not learn it by heart. Then close the book, and endeavour to set down in fresh words the thing you have read. In a few days (not at once) compare your work with the classic. The comparison will induce humility, and humility is the beginning of knowledge. After a period of pure imitation you will begin, at first almost imperceptibly, to diverge into a direction of your own. Then proceed warily, making the curve very gradual.
Never attempt to pass judgment on your writing before it is a week old. Until a reasonable interval has elapsed, it is impossible for you to distinguish between what you had in your mind and what is actually on the paper; the brain, still occupied with the thought to be expressed, unconsciously supplies the omissions and clarifies the obscurities of the written word, which thus seems more satisfactory and convincing than it really is. With the passage of time, the thought fades, and the written expression of it, no longer illuminated by memory, must then stand with you on its intrinsic merits. When thus examining your work, read it aloud: the process will disclose weaknesses of all sorts not previously suspected.
Do not destroy anything which you have written. It is well from time to time to refer to past work. To find that one has progressed is always an encouragement to further effort.
So far generally.
As this book does not happen to be a guide to style, it is impossible here to discuss every point likely to arise during the aspirant's self-education in the art of literary expression. But there are several scarlet sins against which she must be briefly warned.
The worst of them is the sin of using trite expressions--phrases, figures, metaphors, and quotations; such as--not to mince the matter, took occasion to, won golden opinions, the cynosure of all eyes, mental vision, smell of the lamp, read mark learn and inwardly digest, inclines towards, indulge in, it is whispered, staple topic of conversation, hit the happy medium, not wisely but too well, I grieve to say, reign supreme, much in request, justify its existence, lend itself amiably to, choice galore, call for remark, hail with delight; and forty thousand others. The work of some writers is chiefly made up of these hackneyed locutions. Says Schopenhauer, in an illuminative passage which I cull from his clever but uneven essay "On Authorship and Style":--"Everyday authors are only half conscious when they write, a fact which accounts for their want of intellect and the tediousness of their writings: they do not really themselves understand the meaning of their own words, because they take ready-made words and learn them. Hence they combine whole phrases