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    How to Write a Blackwood Article

    by Edgar Allan Poe
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    "In the name of the Prophet -- figs!!"

    _ Cry of the Turkish fig-peddler_.

    I PRESUME everybody has heard of me. My name is the Signora Psyche
    Zenobia. This I know to be a fact. Nobody but my enemies ever calls
    me Suky Snobbs. I have been assured that Suky is but a vulgar
    corruption of Psyche, which is good Greek, and means "the soul"
    (that's me, I'm all soul) and sometimes "a butterfly," which latter
    meaning undoubtedly alludes to my appearance in my new crimson satin
    dress, with the sky-blue Arabian mantelet, and the trimmings of green
    agraffas, and the seven flounces of orange-colored auriculas. As for
    Snobbs -- any person who should look at me would be instantly aware
    that my name wasn't Snobbs. Miss Tabitha Turnip propagated that
    report through sheer envy. Tabitha Turnip indeed! Oh the little
    wretch! But what can we expect from a turnip? Wonder if she remembers
    the old adage about "blood out of a turnip," &c.? [Mem. put her in
    mind of it the first opportunity.] [Mem. again -- pull her nose.]
    Where was I? Ah! I have been assured that Snobbs is a mere corruption
    of Zenobia, and that Zenobia was a queen -- (So am I. Dr. Moneypenny
    always calls me the Queen of the Hearts) -- and that Zenobia, as well
    as Psyche, is good Greek, and that my father was "a Greek," and that
    consequently I have a right to our patronymic, which is Zenobia and
    not by any means Snobbs. Nobody but Tabitha Turnip calls me Suky
    Snobbs. I am the Signora Psyche Zenobia.

    As I said before, everybody has heard of me. I am that very Signora
    Psyche Zenobia, so justly celebrated as corresponding secretary to
    the "Philadelphia, Regular, Exchange, Tea, Total, Young, Belles,
    Lettres, Universal, Experimental, Bibliographical, Association, To,
    Civilize, Humanity." Dr. Moneypenny made the title for us, and says
    he chose it because it sounded big like an empty rum-puncheon. (A
    vulgar man that sometimes -- but he's deep.) We all sign the initials
    of the society after our names, in the fashion of the R. S. A., Royal
    Society of Arts -- the S. D. U. K., Society for the Diffusion of
    Useful Knowledge, &c, &c. Dr. Moneypenny says that S. stands for
    stale, and that D. U. K. spells duck, (but it don't,) that S. D. U.
    K. stands for Stale Duck and not for Lord Brougham's society -- but
    then Dr. Moneypenny is such a queer man that I am never sure when he
    is telling me the truth. At any rate we always add to our names the
    initials P. R. E. T. T. Y. B. L. U. E. B. A. T. C. H. -- that is to
    say, Philadelphia, Regular, Exchange, Tea, Total, Young, Belles,
    Lettres, Universal, Experimental, Bibliographical, Association, To,
    Civilize, Humanity -- one letter for each word, which is a decided
    improvement upon Lord Brougham. Dr. Moneypenny will have it that our
    initials give our true character -- but for my life I can't see what
    he means.

    Notwithstanding the good offices of the Doctor, and the strenuous
    exertions of the association to get itself into notice, it met with
    no very great success until I joined it. The truth is, the members
    indulged in too flippant a tone of discussion. The papers read every
    Saturday evening were characterized less by depth than buffoonery.
    They were all whipped syllabub. There was no investigation of first
    causes, first principles. There was no investigation of any thing at
    all. There was no attention paid to that great point, the "fitness of
    things." In short there was no fine writing like this. It was all low
    -- very! No profundity, no reading, no metaphysics -- nothing which
    the learned call spirituality, and which the unlearned choose to
    stigmatize as cant. [Dr. M. says I ought to spell "cant" with a
    capital K -- but I know better.]

    When I joined the society it was my endeavor to introduce a better
    style of thinking and writing, and all the world knows how well I
    have succeeded. We get up as good papers now in the P. R. E. T. T. Y.
    B. L. U. E. B. A. T. C. H. as any to be found even in Blackwood. I
    say, Blackwood, because I have been assured that the finest writing,
    upon every subject, is to be discovered in the pages of that justly
    celebrated Magazine. We now take it for our model upon all themes,
    and are getting into rapid notice accordingly. And, after all, it's
    not so very difficult a matter to compose an article of the genuine
    Blackwood stamp, if one only goes properly about it. Of course I
    don't speak of the political articles. Everybody knows how they are
    managed, since Dr. Moneypenny explained it. Mr. Blackwood has a pair
    of tailor's-shears, and three apprentices who stand by him for
    orders. One hands him the "Times," another the "Examiner" and a third
    a "Culley's New Compendium of Slang-Whang." Mr. B. merely cuts out
    and intersperses. It is soon done -- nothing but "Examiner,"
    "Slang-Whang," and "Times" -- then "Times," "Slang-Whang," and
    "Examiner" -- and then "Times," "Examiner," and "Slang-Whang."

    But the chief merit of the Magazine lies in its miscellaneous
    articles; and the best of these come under the head of what Dr.
    Moneypenny calls the bizarreries (whatever that may mean) and what
    everybody else calls the intensities. This is a species of writing
    which I have long known how to appreciate, although it is only since
    my late visit to Mr. Blackwood (deputed by the society) that I have
    been made aware of the exact method of composition. This method is
    very simple, but not so much so as the politics. Upon my calling at
    Mr. B.'s, and making known to him the wishes of the society, he
    received me with great civility, took me into his study, and gave me
    a clear explanation of the whole process.

    "My dear madam," said he, evidently struck with my majestic
    appearance, for I had on the crimson satin, with the green agraffas,
    and orange-colored auriclas. "My dear madam," said he, "sit down. The
    matter stands thus: In the first place your writer of intensities
    must have very black ink, and a very big pen, with a very blunt nib.
    And, mark me, Miss Psyche Zenobia!" he continued, after a pause, with
    the most expressive energy and solemnity of manner, "mark me! -- that
    pen -- must -- never be mended! Herein, madam, lies the secret, the
    soul, of intensity. I assume upon myself to say, that no individual,
    of however great genius ever wrote with a good pen -- understand me,
    -- a good article. You may take, it for granted, that when manuscript
    can be read it is never worth reading. This is a leading principle in
    our faith, to which if you cannot readily assent, our conference is
    at an end."

    He paused. But, of course, as I had no wish to put an end to the
    conference, I assented to a proposition so very obvious, and one,
    too, of whose truth I had all along been sufficiently aware. He
    seemed pleased, and went on with his instructions.

    "It may appear invidious in me, Miss Psyche Zenobia, to refer you to
    any article, or set of articles, in the way of model or study, yet
    perhaps I may as well call your attention to a few cases. Let me see.
    There was 'The Dead Alive,' a capital thing! -- the record of a
    gentleman's sensations when entombed before the breath was out of his
    body -- full of tastes, terror, sentiment, metaphysics, and
    erudition. You would have sworn that the writer had been born and
    brought up in a coffin. Then we had the 'Confessions of an
    Opium-eater' -- fine, very fine! -- glorious imagination -- deep
    philosophy acute speculation -- plenty of fire and fury, and a good
    spicing of the decidedly unintelligible. That was a nice bit of
    flummery, and went down the throats of the people delightfully. They
    would have it that Coleridge wrote the paper -- but not so. It was
    composed by my pet baboon, Juniper, over a rummer of Hollands and
    water, 'hot, without sugar.'" [This I could scarcely have believed
    had it been anybody but Mr. Blackwood, who assured me of it.] "Then
    there was 'The Involuntary Experimentalist,' all about a gentleman
    who got baked in an oven, and came out alive and well, although
    certainly done to a turn. And then there was 'The Diary of a Late
    Physician,' where the merit lay in good rant, and indifferent Greek
    -- both of them taking things with the public. And then there was
    'The Man in the Bell,' a paper by-the-by, Miss Zenobia, which I
    cannot sufficiently recommend to your attention. It is the history of
    a young person who goes to sleep under the clapper of a church bell,
    and is awakened by its tolling for a funeral. The sound drives him
    mad, and, accordingly, pulling out his tablets, he gives a record of
    his sensations. Sensations are the great things after all. Should you
    ever be drowned or hung, be sure and make a note of your sensations
    -- they will be worth to you ten guineas a sheet. If you wish to
    write forcibly, Miss Zenobia, pay minute attention to the

    "That I certainly will, Mr. Blackwood," said I.

    "Good!" he replied. "I see you are a pupil after my own heart. But I
    must put you au fait to the details necessary in composing what may
    be denominated a genuine Blackwood article of the sensation stamp --
    the kind which you will understand me to say I consider the best for
    all purposes.

    "The first thing requisite is to get yourself into such a scrape as
    no one ever got into before. The oven, for instance, -- that was a
    good hit. But if you have no oven or big bell, at hand, and if you
    cannot conveniently tumble out of a balloon, or be swallowed up in an
    earthquake, or get stuck fast in a chimney, you will have to be
    contented with simply imagining some similar misadventure. I should
    prefer, however, that you have the actual fact to bear you out.
    Nothing so well assists the fancy, as an experimental knowledge of
    the matter in hand. 'Truth is strange,' you know, 'stranger than
    fiction' -- besides being more to the purpose."

    Here I assured him I had an excellent pair of garters, and would go
    and hang myself forthwith.

    "Good!" he replied, "do so; -- although hanging is somewhat hacknied.
    Perhaps you might do better. Take a dose of Brandreth's pills, and
    then give us your sensations. However, my instructions will apply
    equally well to any variety of misadventure, and in your way home you
    may easily get knocked in the head, or run over by an omnibus, or
    bitten by a mad dog, or drowned in a gutter. But to proceed.

    "Having determined upon your subject, you must next consider the
    tone, or manner, of your narration. There is the tone didactic, the
    tone enthusiastic, the tone natural -- all common -- place enough.
    But then there is the tone laconic, or curt, which has lately come
    much into use. It consists in short sentences. Somehow thus: Can't be
    too brief. Can't be too snappish. Always a full stop. And never a

    "Then there is the tone elevated, diffusive, and interjectional. Some
    of our best novelists patronize this tone. The words must be all in a
    whirl, like a humming-top, and make a noise very similar, which
    answers remarkably well instead of meaning. This is the best of all
    possible styles where the writer is in too great a hurry to think.

    "The tone metaphysical is also a good one. If you know any big words
    this is your chance for them. Talk of the Ionic and Eleatic schools
    -- of Archytas, Gorgias, and Alcmaeon. Say something about
    objectivity and subjectivity. Be sure and abuse a man named Locke.
    Turn up your nose at things in general, and when you let slip any
    thing a little too absurd, you need not be at the trouble of
    scratching it out, but just add a footnote and say that you are
    indebted for the above profound observation to the 'Kritik der reinem
    Vernunft,' or to the 'Metaphysithe Anfongsgrunde der
    Noturwissenchaft.' This would look erudite and -- and -- and frank.

    "There are various other tones of equal celebrity, but I shall
    mention only two more -- the tone transcendental and the tone
    heterogeneous. In the former the merit consists in seeing into the
    nature of affairs a very great deal farther than anybody else. This
    second sight is very efficient when properly managed. A little
    reading of the 'Dial' will carry you a great way. Eschew, in this
    case, big words; get them as small as possible, and write them upside
    down. Look over Channing's poems and quote what he says about a 'fat
    little man with a delusive show of Can.' Put in something about the
    Supernal Oneness. Don't say a syllable about the Infernal Twoness.
    Above all, study innuendo. Hint everything -- assert nothing. If you
    feel inclined to say 'bread and butter,' do not by any means say it
    outright. You may say any thing and every thing approaching to 'bread
    and butter.' You may hint at buck-wheat cake, or you may even go so
    far as to insinuate oat-meal porridge, but if bread and butter be
    your real meaning, be cautious, my dear Miss Psyche, not on any
    account to say 'bread and butter!'"

    I assured him that I should never say it again as long as I lived. He
    kissed me and continued:

    "As for the tone heterogeneous, it is merely a judicious mixture, in
    equal proportions, of all the other tones in the world, and is
    consequently made up of every thing deep, great, odd, piquant,
    pertinent, and pretty.

    "Let us suppose now you have determined upon your incidents and tone.
    The most important portion -- in fact, the soul of the whole
    business, is yet to be attended to -- I allude to the filling up. It
    is not to be supposed that a lady, or gentleman either, has been
    leading the life of a book worm. And yet above all things it is
    necessary that your article have an air of erudition, or at least
    afford evidence of extensive general reading. Now I'll put you in the
    way of accomplishing this point. See here!" (pulling down some three
    or four ordinary-looking volumes, and opening them at random). "By
    casting your eye down almost any page of any book in the world, you
    will be able to perceive at once a host of little scraps of either
    learning or bel-espritism, which are the very thing for the spicing
    of a Blackwood article. You might as well note down a few while I
    read them to you. I shall make two divisions: first, Piquant Facts
    for the Manufacture of Similes, and, second, Piquant Expressions to
    be introduced as occasion may require. Write now!" -- and I wrote as
    he dictated.

    "PIQUANT FACTS FOR SIMILES. 'There were originally but three Muses --
    Melete, Mneme, Aoede -- meditation, memory, and singing.' You may
    make a good deal of that little fact if properly worked. You see it
    is not generally known, and looks recherche. You must be careful and
    give the thing with a downright improviso air.

    "Again. 'The river Alpheus passed beneath the sea, and emerged
    without injury to the purity of its waters.' Rather stale that, to be
    sure, but, if properly dressed and dished up, will look quite as
    fresh as ever.

    "Here is something better. 'The Persian Iris appears to some persons
    to possess a sweet and very powerful perfume, while to others it is
    perfectly scentless.' Fine that, and very delicate! Turn it about a
    little, and it will do wonders. We'll have some thing else in the
    botanical line. There's nothing goes down so well, especially with
    the help of a little Latin. Write!

    "'The Epidendrum Flos Aeris, of Java, bears a very beautiful flower,
    and will live when pulled up by the roots. The natives suspend it by
    a cord from the ceiling, and enjoy its fragrance for years.' That's
    capital! That will do for the similes. Now for the Piquant

    "PIQUANT EXPRESSIONS. 'The Venerable Chinese novel Ju-Kiao-Li.' Good!
    By introducing these few words with dexterity you will evince your
    intimate acquaintance with the language and literature of the
    Chinese. With the aid of this you may either get along without either
    Arabic, or Sanscrit, or Chickasaw. There is no passing muster,
    however, without Spanish, Italian, German, Latin, and Greek. I must
    look you out a little specimen of each. Any scrap will answer,
    because you must depend upon your own ingenuity to make it fit into
    your article. Now write!

    "'Aussi tendre que Zaire' -- as tender as Zaire-French. Alludes to
    the frequent repetition of the phrase, la tendre Zaire, in the French
    tragedy of that name. Properly introduced, will show not only your
    knowledge of the language, but your general reading and wit. You can
    say, for instance, that the chicken you were eating (write an article
    about being choked to death by a chicken-bone) was not altogether
    aussi tendre que Zaire. Write!

    _'Van muerte tan escondida,
    Que no te sienta venir,
    Porque el plazer del morir,
    No mestorne a dar la vida.'_

    "That's Spanish -- from Miguel de Cervantes. 'Come quickly, O death!
    but be sure and don't let me see you coming, lest the pleasure I
    shall feel at your appearance should unfortunately bring me back
    again to life.' This you may slip in quite a propos when you are
    struggling in the last agonies with the chicken-bone. Write!

    _'Il pover 'huomo che non se'n era accorto,
    Andava combattendo, e era morto.'_

    That's Italian, you perceive -- from Ariosto. It means that a great
    hero, in the heat of combat, not perceiving that he had been fairly
    killed, continued to fight valiantly, dead as he was. The application
    of this to your own case is obvious -- for I trust, Miss Psyche, that
    you will not neglect to kick for at least an hour and a half after
    you have been choked to death by that chicken-bone. Please to write!

    _'Und sterb'ich doch, no sterb'ich denn_

    _Durch sie -- durch sie!'_

    That's German -- from Schiller. 'And if I die, at least I die -- for
    thee -- for thee!' Here it is clear that you are apostrophizing the
    cause of your disaster, the chicken. Indeed what gentleman (or lady
    either) of sense, wouldn't die, I should like to know, for a well
    fattened capon of the right Molucca breed, stuffed with capers and
    mushrooms, and served up in a salad-bowl, with orange-jellies en
    mosaiques. Write! (You can get them that way at Tortoni's) -- Write,
    if you please!

    "Here is a nice little Latin phrase, and rare too, (one can't be too
    recherche or brief in one's Latin, it's getting so common --
    ignoratio elenchi. He has committed an ignoratio elenchi -- that is
    to say, he has understood the words of your proposition, but not the
    idea. The man was a fool, you see. Some poor fellow whom you address
    while choking with that chicken-bone, and who therefore didn't
    precisely understand what you were talking about. Throw the ignoratio
    elenchi in his teeth, and, at once, you have him annihilated. If he
    dares to reply, you can tell him from Lucan (here it is) that
    speeches are mere anemonae verborum, anemone words. The anemone, with
    great brilliancy, has no smell. Or, if he begins to bluster, you may
    be down upon him with insomnia Jovis, reveries of Jupiter -- a phrase
    which Silius Italicus (see here!) applies to thoughts pompous and
    inflated. This will be sure and cut him to the heart. He can do
    nothing but roll over and die. Will you be kind enough to write?

    "In Greek we must have some thing pretty -- from Demosthenes, for
    example. !<,D@ N,LT8 ¯"4 B"84< :"P,F,J"4

    [Anerh o pheugoen kai palin makesetai] There is a tolerably good
    translation of it in Hudibras

    'For he that flies may fight again,
    Which he can never do that's slain.'

    In a Blackwood article nothing makes so fine a show as your Greek.
    The very letters have an air of profundity about them. Only observe,
    madam, the astute look of that Epsilon! That Phi ought certainly to
    be a bishop! Was ever there a smarter fellow than that Omicron? Just
    twig that Tau! In short, there is nothing like Greek for a genuine
    sensation-paper. In the present case your application is the most
    obvious thing in the world. Rap out the sentence, with a huge oath,
    and by way of ultimatum at the good-for-nothing dunder-headed villain
    who couldn't understand your plain English in relation to the
    chicken-bone. He'll take the hint and be off, you may depend upon

    These were all the instructions Mr. B. could afford me upon the topic
    in question, but I felt they would be entirely sufficient. I was, at
    length, able to write a genuine Blackwood article, and determined to
    do it forthwith. In taking leave of me, Mr. B. made a proposition for
    the purchase of the paper when written; but as he could offer me only
    fifty guineas a sheet, I thought it better to let our society have
    it, than sacrifice it for so paltry a sum. Notwithstanding this
    niggardly spirit, however, the gentleman showed his consideration for
    me in all other respects, and indeed treated me with the greatest
    civility. His parting words made a deep impression upon my heart, and
    I hope I shall always remember them with gratitude.

    "My dear Miss Zenobia," he said, while the tears stood in his eyes,
    "is there anything else I can do to promote the success of your
    laudable undertaking? Let me reflect! It is just possible that you
    may not be able, so soon as convenient, to -- to -- get yourself
    drowned, or -- choked with a chicken-bone, or -- or hung, -- or --
    bitten by a -- but stay! Now I think me of it, there are a couple of
    very excellent bull-dogs in the yard -- fine fellows, I assure you --
    savage, and all that -- indeed just the thing for your money --
    they'll have you eaten up, auricula and all, in less than five
    minutes (here's my watch!) -- and then only think of the sensations!
    Here! I say -- Tom! -- Peter! -- Dick, you villain! -- let out those"
    -- but as I was really in a great hurry, and had not another moment
    to spare, I was reluctantly forced to expedite my departure, and
    accordingly took leave at once -- somewhat more abruptly, I admit,
    than strict courtesy would have otherwise allowed.

    It was my primary object upon quitting Mr. Blackwood, to get into
    some immediate difficulty, pursuant to his advice, and with this view
    I spent the greater part of the day in wandering about Edinburgh,
    seeking for desperate adventures -- adventures adequate to the
    intensity of my feelings, and adapted to the vast character of the
    article I intended to write. In this excursion I was attended by one
    negro -- servant, Pompey, and my little lap-dog Diana, whom I had
    brought with me from Philadelphia. It was not, however, until late in
    the afternoon that I fully succeeded in my arduous undertaking. An
    important event then happened of which the following Blackwood
    article, in the tone heterogeneous, is the substance and result.
    If you're writing a How to Write a Blackwood Article essay and need some advice, post your Edgar Allan Poe essay question on our Facebook page where fellow bookworms are always glad to help!

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