How Ben Ames Williams Writes a Book

EDITED FOR PUBLICATION BY THE MANAGING EDITOR

In publishing this piece of work, the managing editorof the MAGAZINE signs his name to it merely as an indication of the fact that the article was asked for by the MAGAZINE and not submitted directly for publication.Professor Harry Wellman of the Tuck School asked Mr.Williams to psycho-analyze one of his books in order thatstudents of writing might benefit. Mr. Williams sent backthe story of the development of his book, "Pascal's Mill,"and with the quotations from the note book the student isable to understand the growth of the book from a singleidea to a well-finished plot. The method is perhaps of themost interest, though the slowly piecing together of thelittle details that finally run together to form the story,mosaic fashion, is also illustrated in Mr. Williams' text.Here is the story right out of the author's note book. Ihaven't added one line nor taken one word away.

ME. WILLIAMS' NOTE BOOK

A notebook which I began September 18, 1920, contains on the 17th page this note:

"A man with wide, yellow, staring eyes; an expression of countenance curiously suggestive of the glare of an owl."

This chap lived in—, was dead before I wrote the story.

Page 19, same notebook. "A mystery story written backward, the discovery of the murder solves the mystery."

Page 20, this paragraph: "The scene beside the train (This on a journey I took about that time). A large, rectangular old house that was a mill, resting across a stream, with an el thrown down along the stream's shores. Banks. The stream a pond above, a trickle below. The trickle of water always in the still house. The main road miles away; no habitations near; a railroad train that thunders daily by. And never stops. All else is silence and solitude. The house gray, paint gone, the hue of dusk. A house the hue of dusk, full of the trickle of water, always still."

Page 23: More at length, as follows: "A mystery story written backward. At the beginning, the murdered man is supposed to have gone away on a long journey of his own accord. As the next to the last chapter, the murderer hangs himself. As the last, solving all mysteries, the murder is discovered. The murder is the answer to all questions.

"Begin by devising the antecedents of the murder. The murderer is a gaunt, staring, wide-eyed man with yellow eyes curiously like an owl. Perhaps he has, as a pet, a young owl. To which he feeds fragments of meat, which the owl will not eat because the meat is stale. So he kills the owl. This may be the first circumstance. Why his insane fury at the owl? A sufficiently weird conception, surely.

"Title: Peculiar Incidents. Many Mysteries. Quillets and Quiddities. A Naughty Night to Swim In. The Man with the Owl. The Owl Man. Owl Eye. The Owl-Eyed Man. The Man with Owl's Eyes. The Man with Eyes Like an Owl. The Yellow-Eyed Man. The Man with Yellow Eyes.

"Conditions of the Murder. The murdered man must be supposed to have gone away. Must really still be here. His corpse to be discovered in the end.

"The action all to take place in a single day, from early morning till the next dawn. The discovery of the suicide at midnight, the dead man just after. That the house is afire a little after that. Only four characters in the story. A girl, a young man, an old man alive, and an old man dead. Use as the scene the still old house full of the sound of running water, beside the railroad." This material lay by till September, 1922, when I began to work on what eventually became the finished story. Notes in Work Book under that date and thereafter.

"Murder Mystery Written Backward.

"Tentative Chronology and Instalments.

"I—Coming to the house, its history, the people in it and the beginning of the mystery.

"II—Continued mystery, beginning love story. (Heart all prepared to love this girl he had never seen; he loved her quickly; they wed). No suggestion of murder in the departure of the other man. But the man still in the house, something is wrong with him. Girl and hero, coming in, hear a low moan.

"Ill—Their search through the house, find moan in the hinge of an old door. Tell the owl-eyed man to oil it. Later, the door oiled, the sound occurs again. Hear owl-eye moving and muttering. Another search; come out on shore of stream. Outside till dawn. How soft and warm the girl is in the night.

"IV—Finale: mill afire, discover uncle a suicide, discover brother murdered."

"A man with wide yellow eyes who stares unwinkingly like an owl."

"Signs of struggle discovered on his way to the old house."

"The owl-eyed man feeding owls, and they refuse the stale meat. He wrings their necks. Himself badly gouged and clawed."

"The girl at first lies valorously, putting a bold face on adversity ; tells how she loves the old mill, the stream, the wind. Really, she is in terror all the time."

"Owl-eyed man was once a minister; a young divinity student. He loved minister's wife and lacerated the flesh, retiring to the wilderness to do a long penance."

"Went out to kill a cat once, against a pine stump. Brother laughed at him."

"Brother called him 'Hoot-Owl.'

"A large, rectangular old house that was once a mill, resting across a stream, with an el thrown down stream. The stream a pond above, a trickle below. Sound of trickling water always audible in the still house. The main road miles away. No habitations near. A railroad train daily goes by, accentuating the mystery in the air. It never stops. All else is silence and solitude. The house is gray, the paint is gone, it is the hue of dusk. A house the hue of dusk, full of the sound of dripping water trickling over mossy stones, always still."

"The action all to take place on a single day, from early morning till the next dawn."

"Roar of many passing trains fills the house; for the valley is deep and wooded and the air stirs little and the nights are long."

"Questions: "What took the young man to the spot? "Why was the girl there?

"What motivated the murder?"

"The girl was raised there in an atmosphere of old books. Victorian novels combined with the out of doors to produce sweetness and adequateness. Lived on Dickens, Shakespeare, Thackeray, George Eliot, Scott; the Spectator, Pepys, Emerson's Essays, Hawthorne, Theological books. Her uncle raised her as a penance; he had loved her mother, wife of another man, with a raging passion. Father and mother to China as missionaries; he had retired beforehand to do solitary penance; mother left a letter saying she wished him to care for her daughter. They died in the Boxer rebellion and she was delivered to him. Had no living kin at that time, but lived in a home in Newton Centre. News of her parent's death, head of the home, a wise old woman, sent for the owl-eyed and he took home the little girl. His father had run the mill, now dead. He lived there the life of a hermit. His brother somewhere in the far places of the earth. Girl supposed to have no relatives save mother's father, a rich old man who died leaving her a small income for life. He had instructed law firm to keep her located, and they had done so all these years; were now prepared to carry out the commission with regard to her. The old aesthetic with the owl-eyes guarded her jealously; this is her story."

"Her loyalty at first hides many facts; these she later, little by little, discloses."

"Motive for the murder, two-fold. The slain man jeered at his brother, and made amiable eyes at the girl. She tells the young man of his kindly advances, of his kisses and so on. He reads between the lines and hates the man. Wonders why he went away. He understands the man's design, as does the reader. Murdered because he annoyed, sought to seduce the girl; with maniacal fury because he had jeered at the owleyed man."

"Young mail seeks out the spot as an emissary from his father's firm."

MURDER IN THE MILL

"How was the murder committed? House is reached by an old road, once smooth, now grown up in brush and full of rocks thrown up by frost. A cart for conveyance, and a horse. Above the house a long dead water, backed up by the dam; and the road roughly parallels this. The owl man drove his brother out by this route to the nearest railroad station. Brother had only a hand bag for luggage. At a certain point toward the head of the deadwater, the owl man, sitting on his brother's right, pulled loose the stave which worked the brake in the cart or wagon and smashed his brother in the head with it. At the same time, and before he could bleed, thrust him over the side of the buggy. Tied him stoutly with cord and carried him into the bushes toward the dead water and hid him there. Put out his bag, also, and hid that. Drove on to town for his supplies; back at the regular hour. That night rowed up the dead water in his skiff, late at night, and got the body and brought it down to the old mill."

"Plan of the old mill. (This plan I of course drew in detail). This was a sawmill. No cellar, because the water would leak in; but a pit where the shaft from the great wheel revolved, geared to the wheel to make more revolutions. An undershot wheel. Shaft now out of gear. Once was a window on down stream side open. This has been boarded up. So has the machinery room above, where disused saws rust in their seats and sawdust lies deep around. This also was open sided, has been boarded up. These are in the part that juts out over the stream. There remains on the ground floor one room where the owl-eyed man sleeps, and the el where they cook and eat."

"Second floor, over machinery room, a hall in the angle of the el. Girl's bed room in the end toward the railroad, above the water; top of the wheel box comes far below her window. Six or eight feet below. Closets next her room facing front; then another bed room in the corner. Hall runs back and comes down in the shed by a stair there. These are unused bedrooms. There is also an attic, stair at shed end of el. Attic cut up by timbers and old junk, but no rooms in it. A farmyard in angle of barn and el; entrance to owl-eye's bedroom from out of doors, and also into kitchen direct and outdoors into kitchen. Also kitchen to shed. Door owleye's room to machinery room, locked and bolted up for years. Trapdoor to shaft pit and a ladder down there. Stove in kitchen, another in girl's room for heat. A pump in the kitchen. A place to bathe in the shed, with a stove in it."

"Hoot Owl hides the body in the shaft pit, tied to an old disused wheel in a sitting position."

"The deep valley is full of great owls; their hoarse notes and also their shriller hoots. They fly early and late in the gloom. Their still wings make no sound. They seem to glide, yet flap too. Minks live about the old mill, bold and impudent. Black ducks in the deadwater. Black turtles, and innumerable frogs. It is full of tall light grass which dissolves at a touch in mushy filth. A swimmer becomes plastered with it. Water plants. Alder on shores. Keep a horse, two cows, the girl keeps ducks and there is a pig. Up a cart track on a level knoll, a small garden grows sickly. When he goes there it is September, and night falls early. Daylight coming by five o'clock, sun sets at six."

"Titles. Hoot Owl. The Man of the Mill. The Mill in the Gorge. The Gorge of Owls. Pascal's Deadwater. (Name Pascal suggested by Fiscal Meadow, near Searsmont.) Deadwater. Pascal's Mill. PASCAL'S MILL!"

"Water above the mill not deep. Wheel end of dam on an island, and another channel there. Silt has almost filled the deadwater. till it comes within two or three feet of the surface everywhere, and hard to find a boat landing as the banks are soft."

"Names of people. Pascal's Mill for a title. Joe Druce, lawyer; his father Tom Druce. Judea Pascal, Uncle Jude, Hoot Owl. Zonas Pascal, Uncle Zone, his brother. Dora Burnitt, the girl. Her mother was Dora Hayes. Father Simon Burnitt. Grandfather Joshua Hayes. Pullman porter, station agent, garage keeper, taxi driver. Jim Vaugh of Twin Falls."

"Story opens at early morning, just after breakfast. Ends next morning at dawn."

"Instalment Climaxes. "I—The feeding of the owls. 12:30 P. M.

"II—Uncle Jude summons them to talk. 9 P. M.

"Ill—The discovery of Uncle Jude a suicide. 3 A. M.

"IV—The discovery of the murdered body. 5 A. M."

CHAPTER DEVELOPMENT

I—Bob Druce, on the train bound on a commission for his father, watches for the house of his destination and sees it in a flash as it goes by. What he has seen. The house. Its description. And the girl with an aching loneliness and longing in her posture.

II—His mission, what his father bade him do, the story his father told.

Ill—He alights from the train, the station, North Thomaston, city, trolley, inquiries, and he starts for the house. All full of commonplace detail. Descends into—Crosses steep climb. Down into valley, still dark and shadowed here and an owl flies overhead. The tote road. Cart tracks. A man has walked both ways. Finds himself watching these tracks. A glimpse of water on his right as he goes down stream. Crosses a ledge where—which runs down to water. He walks down the ledge. Sees a stave that has served human hand. And picks it up and carries it along.

IV—Reaches the house, stave in one hand, suit case in the—No suit case at all. He planned to go out that afternoon. No sign of life. He tosses stave aside as he enters barn yard. To kitchen door, knocks, goes in. The girl, some talk with her; her reticence; her dignity; she is mid-Victorian, strong and well. A picture of her, her reading and so on. She does not talk frankly. Uncle Jude is out, somewhere around the barn. At last they go to the window and watch him feed his owls. The fact that they are usually alone but Uncle Zone has just left. And the birds refuse to eat, and in a silent fury he kills them. The girl clings a little to Bob's arm, and Jude Pascal turns and saw them in the window and came purposefully toward the kitchen door. Rob has twisted knee painfully. Brake handle a stort staff. End first instalment, tentative.

V—This is 12:30 p. m. Train passes. Dinner is ready. The girl putting it on the table. Jude comes in and eyes the young man. Description of Jude, his owl eyes, his questions. Bob awed to silence, placative, tries to make friends. His proposal is that girl come away to school but she is not sixteen, is twenty-two now. Old man's will made sixteen years ago. At last they eat dinner. After dinner in the farmyard. Old Man's will six years ago. No sixteen still. The cart. Bob sees a new stave, produces old. Jude takes it and studies it in his hand, curiously. Bob a little afraid; how well it fits for a blow. Then Jude turned into the barn.

VI—It came on to rain. Train passes. The girl washes dishes. He thinks unhappily of the long tramp out and she apologizes for Uncle Jude. Usually O. K. But different since Uncle Mose—Zone—came. Been here some weeks. Went away three days ago. Talk of Uncle Mose—Zone. Girl liked him. He made—He is—- Little—Uncle Jude didn't. Used to call Uncle Jude Hoot Owl. Because of eyes. Uncle Jude hated that, and Uncle Mose's attitude toward her. She didn't mind it, but Uncle Jude did. Rob finds himself stoutly hating Uncle Mose—Zone.

YII—Rain slackens a little and Rob goes out to look the place over. Walks a little down stream. No. Into the barn, the horse, the cows. Out behind the stream below. A trout pool. Tempts him on. Hears sound of an axe, comes back to find on shore of dead water a bon fire. Owl cage, owls, stave, boat; Uncle Jude working in a fury. Rob afraid to go near him. Jude at last sees him. They talk. Jude says he is considering. Rob must stay over night. Think it over. Milk cows.

VIII—Supper. Uncle Jude to his room, they hear outer door open and close. Dora tells how he went out two or three nights ago, very late, rowed up dead water. Like an owl to see in the night. Didn't hear him come back at all. They hear a groaning sound; in the machine room of the old mill. Dora says the house is full of such noises. Bob goes outdoors, with girl, sees light in old room. Creaking machinery and running water. Jude comes back. Rob questions him about the old machinery; would like to see it. Jude says fiercely has all been boarded up for many years. Not safe to go in there. He hasn't been in there in years. Bob and girl look at each other. 9 P. M. End second instalment.

THIRD INSTALMENT

IX—Jude tells of Dora. Jude sends Dora to bed and questions Rob at length. Rob gets the impression that the man has not slept for nights on end. Asks Rob about himself acutely. And what he thinks of Dora. A strange questioning. Jude reminds Rob he once trained for ministry.

What would her life be with me gone? Something of the confessor in all clergymen. What do you think of me? I think you're very weary, sir. Trains pass. Jude shows Rob to bed.

X—His bed over Jude's; hears him moving and cannot sleep. By and by the girl to his door; Jude is in the machinery room. Her whispers in the dark are franker. Something terribly wrong with him. I'm afraid of him. Rob stations himself in the stair, at the stair head. By and by the movements cease. He goes down, out of doors, the night moonlit, windows lighted in Jude's room, sound of prayer.

XI—The night, the owls, the frogs, the ducks, he smokes a pipe and listens. Smouldering embers of the boat, the trickle of water, the girl, the sort of girl he could love. How their acquaintance has progressed. Pipe out, not yet sleepy, feels like a man waiting for a clock to strike. At last back in house and goes to bed.

XII—Girl wakes him, says she feels someone in the house. They search together with candles, the second floor rooms, the hall, the attic.

(Last three chapters no good. Revised, thus:)

X—But Rob is not ready for sleep, will smoke a pipe out of doors, and find his own way to bed. Jude to his room. Out of doors, night, moon, owls, frogs, ducks. Embers of the burned boat still smoking despite light rain that fell. The trickle of running water, the girl, the sort he could love. How their acquaintance has progressed. Pipe out, not yet sleepy, like a man waiting for a clock to strike. At last rises to go back to bed. Trains pass.

XI—Hears in Jude's room sound of running—sound of murmuring voice. Oh God. A prayer. The man in some terrible torment of spirit. Then another sound, light scraping, a razor being honed. Why not, since Jude cannot sleep? One of his own recreations, to put an edge on his knife in office while thinking. Kinship of spirit with the man. Growing sleepy now, hears a door open, footsteps, silence. Jude in kitchen; drowsy. Half awakened at last by a rude jar that shakes his bed. Then sleeps.

XII—Abruptly, a little after that, he is wide awake again. Dora has opened—Dora has moved in her room. He feels a fear in the night, and after a while rises and draws on shirt and trousers. Mosquitoes busy outside his window. He listens with all his ears. No sound downstairs. Jude asleep at last, then. Dora comes scratching at his door and he goes and finds her trembling and sobbing. So small and soft; candle in her hand, great bathrobe about her, afraid. Afraid! Afraid! Heard Uncle Mose-Zone. As though he were hurt or afraid. A muffled cry. She is afraid but wants to see. Sounded downstairs? Upstairs, perhaps. They light two candles and set out to search the house. 3 A. M. End third instalment.

XIII—Night still, a little rain again, trains rush by, sound of running water. They search second floor. Up into attic. Into shed. Rats—Cats there. Hay in the shed. Funny. Kitchen door barred. (Hay in barn but why in shed.) Back upstairs and down. He urges her to bed. He will go down. She says she will also go down.

XIV—Down to kitchen. Hay piled back of stove and under stairs. Jude's door locked. On the kitchen table a letter to Robert Druce. Bid him come into Jude's room alone. But door is locked, and Dora will not let him go in. She loves him, clings to him. He hesitates. Then decides the note is that of one in anguish and will go in. Bids her wait. Outside, breaks screen, breaks window. In. Dark in there, a presence full of menace. He lights a candle and sees Jude hanging from a timber in the roof. Has climbed on table and jumped off. Breath of dampness in the place like a tomb.

XV—A letter on table for him. He cuts Jude down, puts it in his pocket, cuts Jude down. No, he does not see the letter. Cuts Jude down, lays on bed, looses the rope, clears it away. Then admits Dora. Uncle Jude dead. She sees he hanged himself. He sees door to machinery room ajar. It lures him; he bids her wait and goes in. Dusty, dim, spider webs, trap in floor. Has been used, wet tracks about. Opens it. Down ladder, sees Uncle Mose—Zone tied to old pulley wheel there, throat cut. Bruise on head, gagged, bound, dead.

XVI—Back up, she has letter in her hand, has read it, they read it together. He says: "Can't do that, have to report." But she thrusts candle into hay, all aflame at once. Drives them back. He up to get her clothes and his own, out on the old mill wheel. Get horses and cows from the barn.

XVII—Conclusion.

This concludes the entertainment. That is to say, these are the only notes preserved. From these I made a more elaborate outline by chapters on loose sheets; and that in turn was modified in the process of elaboration involved in writing the story

The notes here copied from the work book, occupied me for ten days; the remainder of the work of outlining took three or four days more.

FROM "GREAT OAKS" MR. WILLIAMS' LATEST BOOK