When I started writing, a little more than twenty
years ago, my literary experience had not
progressed much beyond the harness
section of Sears-Roebuck's catalogue; and
I did not know the name of the
editor of that. I doubt that I knew the name
of any editor, and I certainly
was not acquainted with one personally; to
the best of my knowledge I did
not even know a single writer. I thought
authors were long-haired nuts
with Windsor ties and halitosis, and editors
grouchy old gentlemen with
fuzzy white beards and spectacles. That was
before I had met such men as
Don Kennicott, Edwin Balmer, Ray Long, and
Bob Davis.
As to writers, I do not know much about them even yet; but judging by the
lengths some of them go to obtain publicity I feel that I was not far wrong
in my original estimate of their mentality, and a lot of them look as though
they had halitosis.
But what I knew about writers and editors
was encyclopedic compared with what I knew
about any phase of the profession of literature.
Doubtless there are reviewers who will opine
that I have not greatly increased my knowledge
in the ensuing twenty years -- but it is
not of the technic of writing that we are
concerned at the moment; it is with a certain
aspect of the practical rather than the artistic
side of writing that I wish to deal.
Among the innumerable things of which I was
ignorant were the various rights inherent
in literary productions. Vaguely, in a hazy,
muddy sort of way, I realized that magazines
and books were different; and so, when I
sent out my first manuscript, I insisted
upon retaining the book rights. Not knowing
about any of the other rights, I generously
passed them all over to the magazine. Of
course there may be some question as to the
degree of my generosity inasmuch as I did
not know that I was passing over anything
and since, at the time, they were quite valueless.
I had sold a number of stories before I awoke
to the fact that I had been parting with
something that might, some day be valuable;
and thereafter I offered fix serial rights
only, a description which has since talk
the form of first American and Canadian magazine
rights only. This latter is one which I advise
all writer to adopt, since it precludes the
possibility of later missunderstandings in
relation to second magazine righi and definitely
retains for the writer his newspaper rights.
In connection with the rights which I gave
away there later occurred one of those things
which could have happened in a few lines
of business and which constitute, with numerous
other pleasant incidents, the basis of my
belief that writing is as altogether as satisfactory
a means of livelihood as one may find. Long
after these rights became valuable the magazines
that had acquired them through my ignorance
reassigned them to me without question and
without payment; and in addition to this
every magazine that has ever copyrighted
one of my stories in its name has given me
a proper legal assignment of such copyright.
Of late years I have been fortunate in having
been able to arrange for the copyrighting
of magazine stories in my own name or that
of my corporation; but to those who are unable
to make such an arrangement with the magazines
for which they write, I suggest that they
insist that immediately upon the completion
of the copyright by the magazine it be legally
assigned to them.
I have found that there is no better aid
in the protection of an author's rights in
his work than the recordation of the copyright
in his own name or, as in my case, the name
of a corporation which he controls. This
is especially true in the protection of motion
picture rights and the marketing of them,
as producers insist, for their own protection,
upon determining the ownership of the copyright,
and often employ attorneys to consult the
records at Washington before they will enter
into a contract for the motion picture rights
in a story.
Furthermore, there are some unscrupulous
producers or agents who are constantly checking
copyright ownership at Washington in the
hope of buying up copyrights in valuable
material the copyright to which does not
stand in the name of the author.
But owning the copyright does not necessarily
give you all the rights in your work if you
have been careless in the transferring of
rights and licenses to others. I have already
mentioned the necessity of thinking of your
newspaper and second magazine rights when
you despose of your first magazine rights.
Twenty years ago I thought I was getting
all there was out of it when sold all the
serial rights in a story for a quarter of
a cent a word, but since then I have sold
second magazine rights in those same stories
for many times what all the former rights
brought me then.
I have never taken my work very seriously
and I am afraid that I never shall, but I
take the business end of it quite seriously.
It was only inexperience that drew me into
my first errors. Of course I have made a
lot since, but I endeavor not to make the
same one twice. however, I am still constituted
much as I was twenty years ago, when the
idea of actual cash dramatic rights existing
in "Tarzan of the Apes" would have
given me nothing more serious than a laugh.
Yet only a few years after it was published
I entered into a contract for its production
in England, where it ran with greater or
less (mostly less) success in the provinces
for some time. It was not a hit, but it might
have been, and it may some day lie. What
you are writing today may be a hit some time.
It has certain potential values which you
should protect.
Equally remote were the possibilities of
profiting from foreign and translation rights.
A kindly providence who looks after infants,
inebriates, and young authors, preserved
my foreign and translation rights to me.
Afterward, my foreign royalties were, at
one time, greater than my United States royalties.
It paid me well to own them. Therefore, never
underrate the value of any of your rights;
laugh at them, if you will; but hang on to
them.
Since those simple days of twenty years ago,
when I blithely gave away a fortune in rights
that I did not know existed, many changes
have taken place, bringing new rights with
them. Today I am closing a radio contract
covering the dramatic presentation of my
stories over the air. What a far cry from
second magazine rights. Within a year I have
seen a television clause inserted in one
of my motion picture contracts; and today
I am watching my television rights with as
great solicitude as I watch any of the others,
for long before my copyrights expire television
rights will be worth a fortune. Possibly
not mine, but some one's -- perhaps yours.
I am going to hang onto mine, however; and
at least I can get a smile out of them now,
if I never get anything else.
Perhaps in my radio contract I shall insist
upon the reservation to me of the interplanetary
rights. Why not? Radio rights and sound and
dialogue rights would have seemed as preposterous
twenty years ago; and with my intimate knowledge
of conditions on other worlds, I, of all
men, should anticipate the value of broadcasting
Tarzan to the eager multitudes that swarm
our sister planets. In addition to which
I am accorded another smile in a world none
too generous with smiles since Wall Street
started weeping down all our backs.
In some instances writers are now compelled
to fight for certain rights, particularly
those who enter into motion picture contracts;
and this is wrong. Such things should be
as much a matter of standard practice as
are the efforts of motion picture producers
to falsify royalty accounts.
Perhaps, when the Authors' League gets the
Vestal copyright bill off its chest, as it
may during the next fifty-six years, it will
have time to devote to other things; and
then, let us hope, it may negotiate the adoption
of standard practices upon the part of all
the various markets wherein writers sell
their wares. All rights should be clearly
and definitely defined so that there may
be no misapprehension nor confusion concerning
their interpretation. For example, our term
serial rights is too general in its significance;
the word serial should be abandoned and publication
substituted for it. Then we would have: First
magazine publication rights, second magazine
publication rights, newspaper publication
rights, book publication rights; and everyone
would know what the other fellow was talking
about.
It is something that we should give thought
to, if for no other reason than to impress
upon our minds the fact that in entering
into agreements we should be quite certain
that every reference to rights mentioned
in the agreement is based upon a clear understanding
by all parties of the definition of such
rights, and that such a definition is embodied
in the contract.
In closing, I should like to leave another
thought with you. It is based upon a practice
I have been trying to establish (not always
successfully) in relation to certain of my
own rights; it might be called the reversion
of rights.
Owners lease houses, real estate, yachts,
and other possessions for definite periods
of time, at the end which all rights in the
property revert to them. There are certain
rights in literary productions that may be
leased, rather than sold outright, to the
great advantage of the author; and if the
principle may be gradually established by
the insistence of authors in a position to
insist and with the moral aid of the Authors'
League and others concerned with the welfare
of writers, eventually will be accepted by
the buyers of these rights as a matter of
common practice.
There are many reasons why such a plan may
be advantageous to authors without working
any hardship on the original lessee. The
latter is interested primarily and almost
wholly in immediate profits; he would a not
buy these rights on the prospects of profits
to be derived ten years later. Therefore,
he is not paying for the profits that may
be derived subsequent to a reasonaable earning
life of the property and, consequently, should
not own them.
The principal advantages to the author are
the possibly remote contingency of increased
value after a lapse of years and the ability
to take these rights off the market upon
the termination of the lease. This latter
is especially important in the matter of
motion picture and radio rights, and will
be in television rights when they develop.
Sales of motion picture rights are often
embarrassed, complicated, or estopped by
the natural fear on the part of a potential
purchaser that the owner of the picture rights
in another story by the same author will
reissue it for the purpose of reaping the
benefits of expensive exploitation of the
later picture, at the same time competing
with the new picture in the exhibitor market.
Doubtless, similar conditions will arise
in connection with radio and television rights.
Three years should be the limit of radio
contracts, at least until we have gained
greater knowledge of this field through experience;
five to ten years should be the limit of
motion picture contracts, most of which can
be negotiated on a seven year basis. We may
safely leave the duration of television and
interplanetary rights to the future.
In any event, watch all of your rights all
of the time; they are the basis of your entire
literary estate. You will find plenty of
people willing and anxious to steal them,
and in remote corners of the earth, too.
I have had rights purloined in Italy, Russia,
and India, and, of course, New York; but
naturally a man cannot be expected to watch
all the thieves on this planet when, so much
of his time is spent on Mars and Venus .
. .
Beloved by small boys, emulated by growing lads, and sighed over on occasion
by adults, Tarzan of the Apes remains today the symbol of the back-to-the-primeval
spirit that gives little boys the nightmare and either sends their elder
brothers mooning up the stairs to day dream, or ejects them whooping out
the front door looking for a dog to chase.
Eighteen years ago, Edgar Rice Burroughs
playfully conceived "Tarzan of the Apes."
He did it with no more African experience
than came to him as department manager of
Sears-RoeBuck, and later treasurer of the
American Battery Co.
Today, Tarzan is in the magazines, cartoon
strips, novels, newspapers, and on the radio,
and stage. Besides the long Tarzan series
Mr. Burroughs has written "Thuvia, Maid
of Mars," "The Warlord of Mars,"
and in fact a complete series of adventures
in love, war, and death on Mars. His character
Tarzan, one can honestly say, has been pressed
into the consciousness of the nation.
THE WRITERS 1932 YEAR BOOK & MARKET GUIDE