roughly how he should go about the business of finding real stories. In
fact, I believe that discussion and analysis of perfect work has a
tendency to chill the enthusiasm of the beginning writer. What he
chiefly needs is to be told the considerations he must hold in mind in
conceiving, developing, and writing a story. The rest lies with his own
abilities and capacities to work intelligently and to take pains.

Therefore the first part of this book takes up the problems of technique
in the order in which they present themselves to the writer. Beginning
with matters of conception, the discussion passes to matters of
construction and development, and finally to matters of execution, or
rather the writing of a story considered as a bare chain of events. Then
the matters of description, dialogue, the portrayal of character, and
the precipitation of atmosphere are discussed, and lastly the short
story and novel, as distinct forms, are taken up.

Usually the propositions necessary to be laid down require no
demonstration; they are self-evident. That is why a book on technique
for the writer need not indulge in fine-spun analysis of perfect work.
Where analysis will lend point to the abstract statement, I have made
it, but my constant aim has been not to depart from the viewpoint that
the reader has in mind some idea of his own and wishes to be told how to
handle it. Unquestionably literary dissection is useful in that it gives
the beginning writer familiarity with the terminology and processes of
the art, but the main object of a book on technique is to place the
results of analysis, directly stated, in logical sequence.

I will note one other matter. A great part of the technique of fiction
writing concerns matters of conception and development which are
preliminary to actual writing. In fact they are essentially and
peculiarly the technique of fiction. The story that is not a justly
ordered whole, with each part in its due place and no part omitted,
cannot have full effect, however great the strictly executive powers of
its writer. Verbally faultless telling will not save a story which is
not logically built up and developed, either before writing or in the
process of writing. The art of telling a story is largely the art of
justly manipulating its elements. The art of telling it with verbal
perfection is not so much a part of the strict technique of fiction
writing as it is of the general technique of writing. Therefore