The Owosso times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1897-1926, 1916-09-08
Among the
Alps
A Singular Story of the
Writing of a Pic.
ture Play

am considered literary woman
tbugh am really nothing more thar
aiterary hack. Real literary persons
uually go hungry. / have from the
Est made fair living and, consider
Is that am a woman. very good
Hing. The reason for this is that dc
~ part In supplying that perennial
DIV Of reading matter that Is quaffed
y the masses. whose literary taste Is
egligible. The readers of classic liter.
ture compared with consumers Of ev.
Iryday literary fodder are as one to a
million. That IS the reason why l, a
berson devoid Of genius. am enabled to
make a living.
My natural instincts are all for art,
but unfortunately art requires educa.
ton. and when l was thrown on my
own resources for living I had not
the means to obtain an education
There are no schools Of literature. ANY
one who possesses pen, ink and pa.
per may scribble, and the pecuniary re.
turn Of scribbling is not an index Of
the nature Of the production. So took
up my pen and went to work. What I
wrote seemed to interest Tom, Dick
and Harry, and since Tom. Dick and
Harry were I'm the market for some
thing to read began at once to make q
living.
While these preliminary remarks are
perhaps essential to my story, there is
In them but one statement that the
story is intended to bring out. have
said that my natural leanings are to-
ward art. know thing Of beauty
instinctively. and l can conceive a
thing Of beauty. But never having
been educated to produce anything
beautiful. am unable to do so. One
more element in which what l am go
ing to tell is essential. also have dra-
matte instinct.
Now for the story:
One winter, desiring tc take a vaca-
ton during the following summer, I
worked very hard In order to produce
the funds for trip abroad. The re-
suit was that my nerves broke down
under the strain. i took my vacation,
but instead of travelling for enjoyment
Travelled for my health Furthermore
instead Of improving I grew worse
Feeling that l needed quiet, went to
Interlaken, in Switzerland. hired
room with windows opening on several
of the most magnificent views | have
hnhalH nj oil Il .,
perate.
i had met during the ocenn voyage
young woman-Eilen TrowbriGg e-who
was trying to make an artist of her
SELF. She was on her way TO Switzer
land for the hot season, after which
she was going down into Italy to CON-
mence her studies. Being two lonely
American women, we agreed to travel
In company and took room In the
same house at Interlaken.
A few days after our arrival there
collapsed. Something seemed to give
way somewhere within me, and lost
From that time for two
months remained in an abnormal
A part of the time was in
bed and a part sitting up in an easy
chair by window looking out on one
of the many views spread before me-
From my bed / looked out upon that
beautiful mountain. the Jungfrau. as 1t
is seen from Interlaken rising out of a
valley made by two nearer mountains.
For months before my departure from
home had been creating stories, and
they were tumbling about I'm my brain
In confusion. After time they shaped
themselves in dreams. While lying in
my bed persons were enacring parts, 1t
seemed, on their own account, for /
had no power-at least was conscious
Of none-to compel them to do my bid
ding.
( And here let Inc say that I'm fiction
or plays, which are form of fiction
great mistake Is made in supposine
that the author controls his characters.
i is the characters that control the
author. He can force them to do his
bidding. but he will spoil his story
There are grooves for the emotions as
we'll as other things. and let him drag
a character out of its groove. and 1t
will balk at once. Then the author
must get him back where he belongs
or he will stand out from the natural.
ness Of the play like sore thumb.
During this abnormal period Of mine
I was conscious Of Ellen Trowbridge
being In the room, sometimes minister
ing to my wants, sometimes sitting at
a table writing, sometimes, at her
easel sketching. These were only
glimpses OF her, which would come
and go as figures in a dream. They
Were real enough at times for me to
have a dim consciousness Of the fact
that I was fortunate I'm having an
American companion to take an inter
est In me.
In the early part Of my illness ]
was trying to disentangle the many
stories I had written during long
period and keep all sorts of persons
from chasing one another through my
brain. Later several of my stories |
that had been favorites with me SEEM
ed to drive out the rest, and / found |
myself linking them together. It was
hard work. but better than having so |
many tumbling about my brain. Look
ing out on the Jungfrau, specks APP
peared on its side. Then these specks.