Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind Read Online Free PDF Page B

investing in an unknown author, Latham shamelessly bolstered her resume, claiming she was an editor at the Atlanta Journal , had written for magazines, and was counted as a figure of importance in the Southern literary world. He predicted this book would certainly make her. 63 Mitchell would have been horrified by Latham’s exaggerations. A stickler for the truth, she had no pretensions about her literary qualifications. She had worked as a reporter, not an editor. While she had plenty of friends in Georgia literary circles and remained a member of the Atlanta Women’s Press Club, her name carried no more weight than that of any other ex-reporter/ aspiring novelist. But puffery aside, Latham was correct about what mattered—this book would be the making of Margaret Mitchell.
    How did Latham know this? He didn’t. Public taste cannot be predicted with any accuracy. Editors take risks on every title they go after. The best they can do is hope that what interests or entertains them will interest or entertain a mass audience. Having been in the publishing business for nearly twenty-five years, Latham was an experienced gambler. He thought Mitchell had written an intriguing story and was sufficiently confident of his own taste—and that of Cole and Everett—to think the average reader would agree. Brett, also a gambler, trusted Latham’s judgment. He gave the editor permission to offer the Atlanta author a contract. Latham wired Mitchell that same day with the news that the Macmillan advisers shared his enthusiasm for her book and had high hopes for its success. The firm offered her a royalty deal under which she would earn a percentage of the book’s profits, with a guaranteed up-front advance payment of five hundred dollars. He directed the author to wire him her approval so he could send the specific terms immediately. 64 And so began negotiations on one of the most successful contracts in publishing history.

    Mitchell was stunned to receive Latham’s telegram, plus an ebullient one from Cole, adding her congratulations. She replied to Cole, “Do you really mean they like it? You wouldn’t fox an old friend, would you?” 65 She also wrote Latham, thanking him for the offer and his kind words, admitting that his telegram put her “in to a happiness that can best be described as a ‘state’—a ‘state’ which necessitated a luminal tablet, a cold towel on the forehead and a nice, quiet nap.” 66 Despite her excitement, Mitchell did not get carried away. She well knew that when it came to contracts, the devil was in the details, so she told Latham she could not wire back an immediate acceptance. She had a list of questions that had to be answered first. She wanted to know if there would be a specific delivery date for the revised manuscript and, if so, what would happen if she broke her neck or came down with “the Bubonic plague.” Would she have access to the comments the Macmillan readers had made about the manuscript? She wanted to see their suggestions to make sure she would be willing to accept them. She hoped her comments were not overly “brusque,” but she did not plan on accepting any contract, “no matter how nice,” without reviewing the terms.
    If Latham was amused or offended by Mitchell’s forthrightness, he did not let on. He assured her there would be nothing in the contract about a delivery date; the submission date would be entirely up to her. He suggested only that he hoped she would finish in time for it to be published in 1936. 67 As for the specifics of the contract, it would be Macmillan’s standard form, and he took the liberty of suggesting it contained nothing objectionable. He enclosed for her consideration the comments Everett had made on the manuscript and called her attention to his proposed title. “Another Day” worked well, Latham thought, and Macmillan was entirely content with