It is only reasonable to believe that every editor will read at least so much of every script as is necessary to convince him of its value or its lack of value to the firm by which he is employed.  He draws a salary to discover stories which are worth while, and is always on the lookout for good, live, gripping stories which will make pictures calculated to add to the reputation of his employer.  There is just one way he can find such stories, when the author’s name is unknown to him, and that is by reading the script, either in whole or so far as to permit his trained judgment to pass fairly upon it.  The editor who does not do this honestly either does not exist or will soon lose his position, for he will be sure to overlook valuable material by his negligence.

At the very outstart resolve to be professional in your methods, be businesslike, and play fair.

The advisability of constantly abiding by these three rules of the photoplay writing “game” must be apparent to any intelligent person.  Though the field for the sale of photoplay scripts is likely to become much larger, and the prices paid promise to become better as time goes on, every day some new writer of proved ability (in the field of fiction writing, as a rule), enters this field.  Against him, with his superior experience and knowledge of literary usages, you must compete.  Therefore, in order to win, you must do as he does. He is fair to himself. From a mechanical point, his scripts are likely to be all that they ought to be; he sends them out knowing that they are in correct form to receive the proper consideration of the most exacting editor. And they do. In the same mail with his script comes one from a beginner.  This unknown writer may have an idea—­that most important requisite in picture-play writing—­which is really fresher and even better than that embodied in the story of the experienced writer.  But the merit of the idea is hopelessly concealed under a mass of misleading and unnecessary language; the script is poorly written—­in longhand; it is badly spaced; spelling, punctuation, everything, betray ignorance or carelessness of what is expected in a properly prepared script.  What chance, then, does it stand when placed beside that of the trained writer?  And whose fault is it?

Give yourself a fair chance. From the day that you write your first photoplay, write it so carefully, prepare the script with so much regard for the accepted rules, that no editor will be able to point to it with a sigh and exclaim:  “Oh, well, it has to be read.  Here goes!” Make it a script that he will dive into with keen anticipation of finding something as good as its mechanical preparation would cause him to expect.

We now add a number of items of practical advice.

[Illustration:  Essanay Producing Yard; Two Interior Sets Being Arranged for a Historical Drama]

[Illustration:  Players Waiting for Their Cues in the Glass-Enclosed Selig Studio]