e, and on the other side a stroke for
each leader, letter, or other insert--this will serve as a convenient
record-device.

_3. The Note-Book Habit_

To have the plot-instinct is a great blessing for the writer. Lacking
this, however, the most valuable asset he can possess is the note-book
habit. Carry one with you _constantly_. Jot down everything that may
be of help in framing and developing a plot, as well as in creating a
dramatic scene for a story. Remember that plots are not lying around
fully developed, awaiting only some observant eye to discover them,
but they almost always grow out of single ideas--plot-germs--which one
may recognize as incidents and situations in everyday life or in
unusual circumstances. Do not wait for the fully developed plot to
come to you, for the chances are that it will not. Jot down the single
idea and in time it may germinate and become a fully developed
plot--even though you may have to use hot-house methods and force its
growth.

[Illustration: William S. Hart, Leaning on the Camera, with part of
His Supporting Company and the Cameraman and His Assistant in a Scene
from "The Poppy Girl's Husband," an Artcraft Picture]

[Illustration: Harry Beaumont Directing Fight Scene Between Tom Moore,
Goldwyn Star, and the Villain, in "A Man and His Money"]

It seems incredible that any writer, knowing, as he must, that the
idea, the plot-germ, is what really makes the story, should neglect to
note it down the moment it comes to him; and yet there are those who
simply trust memory to retain an impression. In the photoplay
especially "the idea's the thing" for here you cannot depend on
description or on good writing to sell your story.

The rule of jotting down your thought on the instant does not apply
merely to ideas that come as inspirations, or thoughts suggested by
what you read or see, but it applies especially to the ideas that come
to you at the time you give yourself up to concentrated thinking in
play-production. A certain writer on the photoplay--we do not recall
who--once wrote a paragraph headed "When do you do your thinking?"
This critic found that he could think best when riding, say on a
street car. Others have discovered that ideas come to them most freely
when they are sitting in a theatre. One writer has learned that his
best plot-ideas come to him after he lies down for the night. For this
reason, a tabouret with pad and pencil always stands at his bedside,
and a sp