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