his writing schedule in the slightest manner. For he had his daily
writing stint of five hundred words to write and it must all be
thoroughly checked. Jim never wrote more than five hundred words a day,
for he felt that writing beyond that limit would tend to make his work
slighty. In the afternoon, however, his duties were more numerous. The
first part of the afternoon was devoted to the dictating of letters and
to all general business that might be at hand. Then and only then would
those people who wished to see him and ask him questions be admitted to
his private study.
One of Jim’s greatest enjoyments was in the many letters he received
daily from small children; letters that asked about only those things
which small children could possibly want to know. He loved every one of
those scrawled letters, for it not only showed him that people were
reading his books, but that even small children loved his stories of his
beloved northland.
Many were the times that great numbers of small children from Owosso
would come and visit with the man from God’s Country. On these visits,
Jim always saw to it that there was a treat for them on hand. He would
take each in turn upon his knee and always managed to tell wonderful
stories. Many residents of Owosso of the present time were among that
group. They like to recall those days when they had the honor of sitting
upon the knee of one of America’s most famous writers. The citizens of
Owosso loved him immensely. For his undying love for humanity and his
unquenchable love for all nature had indeed made Jim Curwood a patient,
kindly and loving personality.
Many of the questions that Jim received in his morning mail ranged from
the “ridiculous to the sublime.” “How shall I begin on my writing
career?” “How do I construct or build a plot?” “Ought I to go to college
for four years?” “How much education is needed to become a successful
writer?” These and countless more just like them were Jim’s daily
plight. Perhaps the most frequent question found in those letters was:
“Will you sell my story for me?”
Many are the times that Jim’s laughter echoed throughout the walls of
Curwood Castle as he pored over the amusing letters.
One of the principal reasons Jim Curwood received so many letters was
the desire for the author’s signature. But there were those who, Jim
realized, were struggling up that long, hard and difficult trail over
which he had traveled, and so to these he always sent forth some kind
and encouraging words. For the young man who is embarking upon a
literary career, Jim’s advice was always this:
“Hard work and steady work for years, with a fixed purpose is most
important.” He also said that an author trains himself for his life’s
work just as a farmer learns to use the plough or hoe, or in the same
manner that a surgeon studies to use his scalpel.
“Most authors are but ordinary men and women who have trained themselves
to earn a livelihood with the pen.”
Perhaps the wisest and most important advice that James Oliver Curwood
ever gave anyone was the importance of good physical condition at all
times.
Jim’s advice to a young writer with plenty of ambition was to get plenty
of sleep and always to arise early. By this he meant about four-thirty
or five o’clock in the morning. Then to snap through a vigorous
limbering-up exercise, followed by two or three glasses of good, cold
water. The latter is a truly important factor. What with going to bed
early and rising early of a morning along with the many different type
exercises, James Oliver Curwood often voiced his opinion that he himself
would live to be one hundred years old.
“After a bath, which includes the use of cold water, I have a breakfast
which consists of half a bowl of bran with creamy milk. Dinner is at
noon. There are many excellent reasons why a heavy meal should not be
eaten at night. My dinner is largely composed of vegetables, though not
infrequently we have fish or fowl. Meat once a week is quite enough for
a man who wants a long life.
“After breakfast I walk vigorously for ten minutes, and as I have eaten
lightly I do not thus disturb my digestive tract. I walk rapidly, for
slow walking is no exercise at all, and am at my studio by half-past
seven, vibrantly alive and eager to get to work for the sheer pleasure
of it. My brain is clear and my body healthy because I have started the
day right by taking the opportunity which Nature intended all men should
have.”
The very first thing which he always did upon arriving at his studio of
a morning was to have a fifteen-minute conference with his secretary,
during which he gave out his daily instructions and explained just what
was most important for her to do during the course of the day. Then into
the tower study he went where he immediately disconnected the telephone
and locked the door. This was a precaution he used so that he would not
be disturbed. Here Jim buried himself until eleven-thirty in the
morning. Under no consideration could anybody get in to see him unless
it was the most urgent business which could not possibly wait. All
morning hours were devoted entirely to his writing and he disliked very
much being disturbed during those hours.
Once inside his study, Jim always looked over the previous day’s
correspondence, checked it and then carefully filed it away. Upon
completing this he would pick up his notes and yesterday’s planning for
today’s work and study it carefully for several minutes. Then he would
clear his desk of all unnecessary materials and begin the work which did
not let up until four-thirty in the afternoon, except for a brief lunch
period.
Some days Jim’s work would come easily, clearly and distinctly; but on
other days he would feverishly wrack his brain in order to drag forth
words one by one.
For the most part, the majority of authors hurriedly write the first
draft of their story, check it thoroughly and then carefully write the
second draft. Finally the third and final draft is written and then the
yarn is ready for the publisher. Such a procedure was against Jim
Curwood’s policy, for he did not believe in writing a story too
hurriedly, checking it and later revising it. He was a slow, deliberate
worker and never averaged more than five hundred words per day, or only
two full-sized manuscript pages. He slowly and methodically built every
sentence and every paragraph as he went along. He never returned to
rebuild that which he had already constructed.
“I build every line and page of my manuscript to the best of my ability,
with the result that I am a very slow worker, as compared with many. I
average only about five hundred words per day. Often I have spent an
entire forenoon on one paragraph of a dozen lines. I stay with a
difficult passage until it is done satisfactorily. I never put off until
to-morrow what I find hard today, for to-morrow rarely brings the needed
skill.”
At noontime Jim would always lay off from his work for a half an hour.
This always afforded him ample time to look over his gardens, which
consisted mainly of onions and radishes. The raising of onions and
radishes was his hobby and one of which he was indeed proud. He always
took particular pride in his ability to raise the finest of these
vegetables in the surrounding territory.
Promptly at four-thirty of an afternoon, Jim was up and away from the
studio, unless he had a story which he felt must be completed, or else
some important business matter that must have his personal attention.
And when he did leave his studio, he immediately looked for recreation,
which as a whole was not very hard to find. He was very fond of a brisk
walk, a swim, golf, or a horseback ride. His two favorite sports,
however, above all others, were horseback-riding and handball. On many
of his trips into the wilds he would take along a few horseshoes and a
handball outfit to help keep trim as well as to provide relaxation. Jim
played handball with a vengeance and could never quite get enough of it.
Regardless of what sport he participated in, he always played hard,
industriously and squarely. As it was with his writing, Jim never knew
quite when to call a halt to his recreational activities.
As twilight would begin to break forth Jim always liked to sit out on
the terrace that he loved so well or else take a long walk or a drive in
his auto. Twilight would lengthen into dusk and unless he had something
else more important to do he would spend the evening with his wife and
children before retiring. But Jim did not retire to rest and to sleep as
most men do. Instead he went to bed to think and meditate and ponder
over his problems.
On one particular occasion, Ray Long visited Jim at his home in Owosso.
The two men sat up late one night in order to develop a plot for the new
novel Jim had in mind. It had to be something different from anything
previously written, and so for many hours Ray and Jim studied earnestly
and tirelessly over the possibilities. The new work Jim had in mind was
to be entitled “Nomads of the North.” Mr. Long eventually suggested a
situation that appealed to Jim’s vivid imagination and so together the
two of them developed their idea for all it was worth. That night both
men went to bed elated and highly satisfied over the prospects of the
new story. Mr. Long later explained how surprised he was the next
morning when Jim appeared at the breakfast table and informed him that
the plot would not do. Obviously he had gone to bed the night before and
had laid awake for most of the night turning the plot and situation over
and over in his mind. Then at last he had come to the conclusion that
the animals involved would not be likely to do the things that he had
planned for them to do.
The very popular and famous Ray Long, who published numerous James
Oliver Curwood stories serially in his magazine, once spoke of Jim:
“James Oliver Curwood is a writing man because he has something to say,
and he writes only of those things which he knows best. His novels are
set in the far North region of Canada because he not only knows but
actually loves that country.”
That Curwood’s God is Nature and that in his books he preaches
constantly the beauty and glory of his creed the reading public quite
generally knows. He is a writing man because he has something important
to talk about.
James Oliver Curwood loved the North as few men have ever loved a
country in which they have not been registered citizens. Even long
before he was employed by the Canadian government as an exploratory
writer on the Northlands, Jim had already grown to love that land, for
many trips already lay behind him. He knew many of the Mounties, he had
trapped and prospected in the Yukon and in and around Hudson’s Bay; he
knew his North as few men ever could know it. But the element which made
him so popular was that he loved the country about which he wrote. Ray
Long, then editor of _Redbook Magazine_, knew the author quite well and
told many wonderful things about him.
“When Jim Curwood described the coming of spring in the northern
mountains, he saw and wrote of beauty which brought a lump to my throat.
He wrote melodrama, yes; there was action and vigor and at times
brutality in his stories; he was far from being the greatest
psychologist who ever wrote: but he was sincere, he loved nature, he
made you love nature. And that’s not a bad epitaph for a writer, is it?”
For two full years Curwood was an employee of the Dominion and it was
during those years that he gathered much of the material about which he
has written. Also, during that time, Jim lived among the Eskimos and the
Indians. Few people, if any, realize that the trips before and after his
government contract had expired were entirely at his own expense, so
sincere was he about that which he wrote. Many were the times that Jim
formed his own expeditions and went farther north than most men have
ever dared penetrate, save those internationally famous explorers who
have reached and discovered the North Pole.
He has actually been up as far as the Arctic sea and has oft times gone
out upon it in search of adventure and material for his stories. He has
braved every type of danger and adventure practically known to mankind,
as far as the North goes, to bring back thrill-packed stories for the
world at large to enjoy. A. J. Donovan, of Owosso, who was a school-mate
of Jim’s, often said this of him in later life:
“Jim passed on just when he was doing his home town, his state and his
country the most good.”
By that Mr. Donovan meant that Jim Curwood’s work in conservation was at
last being heeded and that wild life was beginning to be conserved. He
also had in mind that Jim was doing his people more good by his
inspirational and courageous writings than few men of his time have ever
done.
Many, many times Jim had openly declared that he simply could not write
in his fine, new home.
“I just cannot write in my own home. Something is missing there that
gives me the inspiration that I do so need.”
Jim’s home is one of the most beautiful and stately ones in all of
Owosso. But because he was a wilderness man, a true disciple of the
wilds, and because of the Indian blood flowing in his veins, he found it
difficult to write inside four walls. He found it difficult even to do
so inside the walls of Curwood Castle, his own especially-built writing
studio. His great-grandmother was a full blooded Mohawk Indian princess,
and his famous ancestor, Captain Frederick A. Marrayat, was a great
seaman and world renowned novelist. It is therefore easy to see how the
adventure blood must have been surging through Jim’s veins.
Jim loved the great open spaces where all was silent and peaceful so
much, that when he was away from it for a long period of time, he was
quite hard to get along with. That was one of the reasons for building
his Castle so he could decorate it to his own satisfaction and still
feel the tang of the wilds about him. That was why he built it along the
shores of the Shiawassee, “Sparkling Waters.” It had that ancient and
wild look about it that gave him inspiration.
Jim lived and died an outdoorsman, believing in “the fundamental rights
to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” for all creatures of the
wilderness. And so during his climb to the top rung of the ladder of
success he had acquired several thousands of acres of forest land in
northern Michigan, just a short way from the little city of Roscommon.
There in the very center of “his own wilderness,” Jim Curwood built
himself what was almost a baronial castle done in logs. Each log was
from a tree which he had selected himself, making sure that his
“out-of-the-way retreat” was constructed with the finest the forests had
to offer.
Although situated along the banks of the Au Sable River and just a short
way from the town of Roscommon, Jim would not consider having a
telephone in his cabin. Although within that same distance there were
electric light wires, Jim absolutely refused to have them in his
wilderness home. He insisted upon keeping his lodge absolutely
primitive, and that is exactly what he did.
The place cost him many thousands of dollars, but he would have no
modern plumbing of any sort installed. He maintained that it was
possible “to be luxuriously primitive—or primitively luxurious,” and in
the end it cost him his life.
Here in this “stag hiding place” were some of Jim’s very best friends.
Namely, they were the mink, the wildcat, the marten, squirrel and many
other creatures of the wilds. It was here at the cabin in upper Michigan
and the place in the upper part of Canada that Jim had a most contented
peace, and could note wildlife at its very best.
Bruce Otto, the noted timber country guide, made many trips with Jim
Curwood and helped him build several of his cabins which are scattered
all over the wilds of the Canadian Northlands, ranging from the
mountains of British Columbia to the wilds surrounding Hudson’s Bay.
Those two men have lived entirely off the land for months at a time,
securing whatever food was necessary when the time arrived. It was on
journeys as these that Jim secured material for such great novels of the
North as “River’s End,” “The Valley of Silent Men,” and “The Flaming
Forest.”
“I traveled three thousand miles up and down the mighty Saskatchewan
before I wrote ‘The River’s End,’ and if I had not gone down the
Athabaska, the Slave and the Mackenzie with the ‘Wild river brigades,’
of God’s Country, I could never have written ‘The Valley of Silent
Men.’”
Jim Curwood actually lived with those wonderful characters of his books.
He has lived with the strong men and brave women from such books as
“God’s Country and the Woman,” “The Honor of the Big Snows,” “Kazan” and
many others.
In Jim Curwood’s home are twenty-seven guns of all types and calibers.
Each of them has seen much service, and all of them have notches cut
into them recording the number of kills made. The entire place, from
attic to basement, is filled with pelts and mounted heads. These
trophies, denoting the days when he was known as a great hunter, are
regarded as martyrs. For, from that day when the “great light appeared,”
Jim Curwood ceased being the hunter, the trapper, the destroyer of
nature and wild life. For, in what he terms his religion, Jim believed
that the wild creatures understood him and believed in him as their
friend. This understanding and belief was eventually written into the
volume entitled “God’s Country—The Trail to Happiness.” This was James
Oliver Curwood’s worldly confession as a “killer.” At the time and for
years after, Jim vowed that he was far more happier writing this
particular book than any others he had ever penned.
“Nature is my religion; and my desire, my ambition, the great goal I
wish to achieve, is to take my readers with me into the heart of this
nature. I love it and I feel that they must love it—if only I can get
the two acquainted!”
In his article, “James Oliver Curwood and His Far North,” Ray Long gave
forth his ideas concerning Jim’s fame:
“My belief in Curwood’s accuracy was based on my knowledge of the man
and on my scant knowledge of wild animal life gained on short vacations.
To have a man like Thomas Linklader confirm him meant more to me than
the confirmation from a dozen Stepanssons, for Thomas really knew his
woods. Jim took me one day to the scene of a caribou battle, and from
the footprints in the gravel by the shore of a stream reconstructed the
entire fight. He could tell me with greater accuracy than any man I ever
met in the North, just where we would find any particular kind of fish.
He absolutely knew what he was talking about.
“I returned to my desk with still greater faith in Curwood, and from
then on published practically everything he wrote. I think I enjoy as
much as he possibly can, the announcement that 105,000 copies of his
latest novel, ‘The Valley of Silent Men,’ were sold before publication.
For Curwood had come into his own. He had won a vast audience among
novel readers as he long ago won a great number of magazine readers.”
This in itself shows the faith that millions of people had in Jim
Curwood. All who could purchased his books, for they knew that what he
wrote was accurate, authentic and realistic. They knew that he had
practically lived the stories about which he wrote. That accounts for
the great pre-publication sales of over two dozen or so of his novels.
On many occasions Jim was asked just what a writer should write about,
and he always came forth with this reply:
“Authors should write only about those people, things and places which
they know. This should be self-evident; yet nearly every one of them has
almost a fatalistic passion to do otherwise. If you live in a
picturesque country village, don’t write about the city. On the other
hand, if your life is in the city, don’t try to write of the characters
and settings you know little or nothing about. There is no sufficient
reason why a Michigan author should write of Arizona. Nor is there any
excuse for a young woman who lives in a lovely cove by the sea with a
world of rich material about her, to write of what is happening at
Newport or Palm Beach. Stick to truth when you write fiction—truth as to
details, habits, and settings—even though the story be wholly imaginary.
No other books have a chance to live.”
Those few lines explain why Curwood’s works have been “best sellers,”
and are still in great use today. He possessed that “certain something”
that all writers of fiction pray for—that vivid imagination and
forseeable power behind them to keep driving constantly forward. Jim had
the courage to fight almost insurmountable odds and consequently he came
through. What Jim Curwood started he usually finished. Some advice which
came directly from his lips should be well to heed:
“Only those who are quite prepared to labor long and hard for little
pay, and without assurance of fame, should undertake to write for a
living. A few earn large sums—but only a few. The great majority eke out
a bare existence, living in anticipation of the great good fortune that
is just around the corner.”
Jim Curwood wrote for ten long years before he was ever able to place
and sell a story; at the end of that tenth year, Jim sold his first one
for $5.00. $5.00 for ten years of work! He merely overcame those fits of
despondency that attacked him through the hundreds and hundreds of
rejection slips that came to him. Jim learned to believe what each one
said. He kept at his work tirelessly throughout those ten long years.
With the arrival of 1926, the public saw the last of Jim’s historical
novels and the last book length work which he ever wrote. This one was
entitled “The Black Hunter.” Its sale was widespread.
Following the publication of “The Black Hunter” Curwood devoted himself
to shorter forms of fiction and several articles on the preservation of
natural resources. During this period Jim came closer to God in his love
of nature than ever before. His life thus far was a success. Upon many
occasions while relaxing in his studio, he would unconsciously pick up
his pen and write his feelings about God and mankind. A few of these
memorable writings have been preserved:
“The Great Master has opened to me the book wherein is written the
secret of a joyful life—a secret which he never intended to be hidden,
but which has been concealed for untold years because men will not read
what is spread upon the pages of the wonderful book, or having read,
will not believe. Their eyes are hidden so that they do not see the
glory of living and their ears do not hear the myriad sounds which blend
in life’s immortal melody.”
“I have found the great understanding heart of Nature, and the thrill of
its discovery has set the blood coursing faster in my veins. I have
learned to understand the voice of Nature, and in doing so have obtained
health, developed faith, and partaken of the glory of living. In that
voice there is inspiration, and it whispers to me the hope that all
shall soon understand.”
Jim lived a life wherein he had found the true joy of living and
consequently his habits were of the best type. Believing strongly that
there is good in every man and woman, he wrote and created his
characters in much the same manner:
“The world is filled with strong and good men, and with women who are
beautiful and virtuous, people who are the equals or superiors of those
who live in the pages of my books. It is about such folks that I choose
to write.
“I thank God that in only one of my books, and that an early one, have I
approached what would have evidently pleased that critic. Why should I
not write of wholesome men and women, of clean actions, of just and
upright conduct? Why should I not recount tales of people who cherished
ideals? Why should I refrain from telling of the things to which we all
aspire?
“I see no good reason why I should take a woman of the streets and
glorify her, though once, when I was a boy, one of them gave me a
glimpse of as unselfish a devotion to the finer things in life as I have
ever known in any woman. There are too many good women whom I may
glorify and clothe with ideals. Why should I make my women ugly in
character or in appearance when we all love beauty? We always choose the
most beautiful flowers of the entire garden for the bed chambers of our
guests.