In my nineteenth year I returned to Oakland and started at the High School, which ran the usual school magazine.This publication was a weekly--no, I guess a monthly--one, and I wrote stories for it, very little imaginary, just recitals of my sea and tramping experiences.I remained there a year, doing janitor work as a means of livelihood, and leaving eventually because the strain was more than I could bear.At this time my socialistic utterances had attracted considerable attention, and I was known as the "Boy Socialist," adistinction that brought about my arrestfor street-talking.After leaving the High School, in three months cramming by myself, I took the three years' work for that time and entered the University of California.I hated to give up the hope of a University education and worked in a laundry and with my pen to help me keep on.This was the only time I worked because I loved it, but the task was too much, and when half-way through my Freshman year I had to quit.
I worked away ironing shirts and other things in the laundry, and wrote in all my spare time.I tried to keep on at both, but often fell asleep with the pen in my hand.Then I left the laundry andwrote all the time, and lived and dreamed again.After three months' trial I gave up writing, having decided that I was a failure, and left for the Klondike to prospect for gold.At the end of the year, owing to the outbreak of scurvy, I was compelled to come out, and on the homeward journey of 1,900 miles in an open boat made the only notes of the trip.It was in the Klondike I found myself.There nobody talks.Everybody thinks.You get your trueperspective. I got mine.
While I was in the Klondike my father died, and the burden of the family fell on my shoulders.Times were bad in California, and I could get no work.While trying for it I wrote "Down the River," which was rejected.During the wait for this rejection I wrote a twenty-thousand word serial for a news company, which was also rejected.Pending each rejection I still kept on writing fresh stuff.I did not know what an editor looked like.I did not know a soul who had ever published anything.Finally a story was accepted by a Californian magazine, for which I received five dollars.Soon afterwards "The Black Cat" offered me forty dollars for a story.
Then things took a turn, and I shall probably not have to shovel coal for a living for some time to come, although I have done it, and could do it again.
My first book was published in 1900.I could have made a good deal at newspaper work; but I had sufficient sense to refuse to be a slave to that man-killing machine, for such I held a newspaper to be to a young man in his forming period.Not until I was well on myfeet as amagazine-writer did I do much work for newspapers.I am abeliever in regular work, and never wait for an inspiration.Temperamentally I am not only careless and irregular, but melancholy; still I have fought both down.The discipline I had as a sailor had full effect on me.Perhaps my old sea days are also responsible for the regularity and limitations of my sleep.Five and a half hours is the precise average I allow myself, and no circumstance has yet arisen in my life that could keep me awake whenthe time comes to "turn in."I am very fond of sport, and delight in boxing, fencing, swimming, riding, yachting, and even kite-flying.Although primarily of the city, I like to be near it rather than in it.The country, though, is the best, the only natural life.In my grown-up years the writers who have influenced me most are Karl Marx in a particular, and Spencer in a general, way. In the days of my barren boyhood, ifI had had a chance, I would have gone in for music; now, in what are more genuinely the days of my youth, if I had a million or two I would devote myself to writing poetry and pamphlets.I think the best work I have done is in the "League of the Old Men," and parts of "The Kempton-Wace Letters." Other people don't like the former.They prefer brighter and more cheerful things.Perhaps I shall feel like that, too, when the days of my youth are behind me.
Footnotes:
{1}Malahini--new-comer.
