Foreword
The CWA Margery Allingham short story competition was one of those lovely ideas that seem to come into the world almost perfectly formed â no red-faced kicking and screaming, no tugging with ropes or forceps, no late-night haggling in smoke-filled rooms. The Margery Allingham Society (MAS) was enjoying its annual Birthday Lunch at the University Womenâs Club and had invited crime-writer (and Allingham
aficionado
) Imogen Robertson to make a speech and cut the cake. Thereâd been a business meeting in the morning at which the treasurer, instead of pursing her lips and shaking her head â as I believe to be the usual custom at AGMs â had been able to announce that, due to the long ago generosity of Margeryâs sister Joyce Allingham, the Society had a bit of money in its reserves. How should we spend it to enhance Margeryâs reputation and perpetuate her writerly legacy? A Lecture Series? A Convention? Perhaps not. Allingham herself would have presented her excuses and avoided both of them.
Margery Allingham was a hands-on professional writer from childhood. She was born into what we might now describe as a âmediaâ family â there were journalists, editors, photographers, advertising copy-writers and actors among her closest relatives, as well as other inveterate fiction-producers. A story she liked to tell in her later years was of an exasperated housemaid âwho once snatched a ragged notebook from my hand and exploded, âMaster, missus and three strangers all sitting in different rooms writing down lies and now YOU startinâ!â As soon as she could manage a pen she wrote poetry, drama, advertisements and of course, short stories. She was particularly encouraged by her father, a former penny paper editor who had regularly solicited short stories from his readers as well as commissioning established authors. The short story form was, I think, a much more widely accepted part of a writerâs development in the early twentieth century than it is today. It was also a more feasible way of earning money. Margeryâs first published story earned her 8/6d from the magazine
Mother and Home
when she was just thirteen years old and throughout her life she continued to turn to this literary form when she needed prompt amounts of cash.
Once someone at the Birthday Lunch suggested that the Society endow a short story prize the idea was accepted at once. It had a rightness about it. Many members felt that Allinghamâs own short stories are an unjustly neglected part of her achievement, despite MAS chairman Barry Pikeâs useful and recent bibliographical pamphlet. Others pointed out that the short story form may be experiencing something of a renaissance in the new publishing conditions. Todayâs readers, carrying entire libraries about with them on various electronic devices, are as happy to include flash fiction for possible brief moments of reading respite as enormous high fantasy series when uninterrupted hours might stretch luxuriously ahead. Short stories and novellas have their place in this new flexibility â though whether they will ever become as valuable commercially as they were in the days of the
Strand
magazine,
Ellery Queenâs Mystery Magazine
,
Good Housekeeping
et al. is debatable. But thatâs currently true of almost all aspects of a working writerâs income. So, a properly sponsored prize might at least provide a windfall to one author per year.
Then of course people began to discuss logistics: who would publicise, who would read, who would judge? Our guest of honour, Imogen Robertson, mentioned that she was an active member of the Crime Writers Association (CWA) and knew that they were seeking sponsorship for a new award for unpublished short stories to complement the existing short story Dagger. They might provide the administrative expertise if the MAS would donate the prize. Another guest at this auspicious event
The CWA Margery Allingham short story competition was one of those lovely ideas that seem to come into the world almost perfectly formed â no red-faced kicking and screaming, no tugging with ropes or forceps, no late-night haggling in smoke-filled rooms. The Margery Allingham Society (MAS) was enjoying its annual Birthday Lunch at the University Womenâs Club and had invited crime-writer (and Allingham
aficionado
) Imogen Robertson to make a speech and cut the cake. Thereâd been a business meeting in the morning at which the treasurer, instead of pursing her lips and shaking her head â as I believe to be the usual custom at AGMs â had been able to announce that, due to the long ago generosity of Margeryâs sister Joyce Allingham, the Society had a bit of money in its reserves. How should we spend it to enhance Margeryâs reputation and perpetuate her writerly legacy? A Lecture Series? A Convention? Perhaps not. Allingham herself would have presented her excuses and avoided both of them.
Margery Allingham was a hands-on professional writer from childhood. She was born into what we might now describe as a âmediaâ family â there were journalists, editors, photographers, advertising copy-writers and actors among her closest relatives, as well as other inveterate fiction-producers. A story she liked to tell in her later years was of an exasperated housemaid âwho once snatched a ragged notebook from my hand and exploded, âMaster, missus and three strangers all sitting in different rooms writing down lies and now YOU startinâ!â As soon as she could manage a pen she wrote poetry, drama, advertisements and of course, short stories. She was particularly encouraged by her father, a former penny paper editor who had regularly solicited short stories from his readers as well as commissioning established authors. The short story form was, I think, a much more widely accepted part of a writerâs development in the early twentieth century than it is today. It was also a more feasible way of earning money. Margeryâs first published story earned her 8/6d from the magazine
Mother and Home
when she was just thirteen years old and throughout her life she continued to turn to this literary form when she needed prompt amounts of cash.
Once someone at the Birthday Lunch suggested that the Society endow a short story prize the idea was accepted at once. It had a rightness about it. Many members felt that Allinghamâs own short stories are an unjustly neglected part of her achievement, despite MAS chairman Barry Pikeâs useful and recent bibliographical pamphlet. Others pointed out that the short story form may be experiencing something of a renaissance in the new publishing conditions. Todayâs readers, carrying entire libraries about with them on various electronic devices, are as happy to include flash fiction for possible brief moments of reading respite as enormous high fantasy series when uninterrupted hours might stretch luxuriously ahead. Short stories and novellas have their place in this new flexibility â though whether they will ever become as valuable commercially as they were in the days of the
Strand
magazine,
Ellery Queenâs Mystery Magazine
,
Good Housekeeping
et al. is debatable. But thatâs currently true of almost all aspects of a working writerâs income. So, a properly sponsored prize might at least provide a windfall to one author per year.
Then of course people began to discuss logistics: who would publicise, who would read, who would judge? Our guest of honour, Imogen Robertson, mentioned that she was an active member of the Crime Writers Association (CWA) and knew that they were seeking sponsorship for a new award for unpublished short stories to complement the existing short story Dagger. They might provide the administrative expertise if the MAS would donate the prize. Another guest at this auspicious event
Similar Books
