Ernest Hemingway Creates a Reading List for a Young Writer, 1. In the spring of 1. Florida to meet his idol, Ernest Hemingway. Arnold Samuelson was an adventurous 2. He had been born in a sod house in North Dakota to Norwegian immigrant parents.

He completed his coursework in journalism at the University of Minnesota, but refused to pay the $5 fee for a diploma. After college he wanted to see the country, so he packed his violin in a knapsack and thumbed rides out to California. He sold a few stories about his travels to the Sunday Minneapolis. Tribune. In April of '3. Samuelson was back in Minnesota when he read a story by Hemingway in Cosmopolitan, called . Samuelson was so impressed with the story that he decided to travel 2,0.

Hemingway and ask him for advice. He hitched his way to Florida and then hopped a freight train from the mainland to Key West. Riding on top of a boxcar, Samuelson could not see the railroad tracks underneath him- -only miles and miles of water as the train left the mainland. Most of the cigar factories had shut down and the fishing was poor. That night he went to sleep on the turtling dock, using his knapsack as a pillow.

The ocean breeze kept the mosquitos away. A few hours later a cop woke him up and invited him to sleep in the bull pen of the city jail.

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In 1959, a young journalist ventures to Havana, Cuba to meet his idol, the legendary Ernest Hemingway who helped him find his literary voice, while the Cuban. Gmail is email that's intuitive, efficient, and useful. GB of storage, less spam, and mobile access. Download Brave New Jersey (2017) For Free. Fifty years ago, in the early hours of Sunday 2 July, 1961, Ernest Hemingway, America's most celebrated writer and a titan of 20th-century letters, awoke in his house.

Ernest Miller Hemingway werd geboren om 8 uur 's morgens op 21 juli 1899 in Oak Park, Illinois, een voorstad van Chicago. Zijn vader, Clarence Edmonds Hemingway, was.

After his first night in the mosquito- infested jail, he went looking for the town's most famous resident. When I knocked on the front door of Ernest Hemingway's house in Key West, he came out and stood squarely in front of me, squinty with annoyance, waiting for me to speak. I had nothing to say. I couldn't recall a word of my prepared speech.

He was a big man, tall, narrow- hipped, wide- shouldered, and he stood with his feet spread apart, his arms hanging at his sides. He was crouched forward slightly with his weight on his toes, in the instinctive poise of a fighter ready to hit. After an awkward moment, Samuelson explained that he had bummed his way from Minneapolis just to see him. I liked it so much I came down to have a talk with you.

I thought you wanted to visit. He had a glass of whiskey and a copy of the New York Times. The two men began talking. Sitting there on the porch, Samuelson could sense that Hemingway was keeping him at a safe distance: . Almost like talking to a man out on a street. Hemingway offered some advice. Leave a little for the next day.

The main thing is to know when to stop. Don't wait till you've written yourself out. When you're still going good and you come to an interesting place and you know what's going to happen next, that's the time to stop. Then leave it alone and don't think about it; let your subconscious mind do the work. The next morning, when you've had a good sleep and you're feeling fresh, rewrite what you wrote the day before.

When you come to the interesting place and you know what is going to happen next, go on from there and stop at another high point of interest. That way, when you get through, your stuff is full of interesting places and when you write a novel you never get stuck and you make it interesting as you go along. Samuelson said he enjoyed Robert Louis Stevenson's Kidnapped and Henry David Thoreau's Walden. Samuelson said he had not. You ought to read it. We'll go up to my workshop and I'll make out a list you ought to read.

I followed him up an outside stairway into his workshop, a square room with a tile floor and shuttered windows on three sides and long shelves of books below the windows to the floor. In one corner was a big antique flat- topped desk and an antique chair with a high back. He found a pen and began writing on a piece of paper and during the silence I was very ill at ease. I realized I was taking up his time, and I wished I could entertain him with my hobo experiences but thought they would be too dull and kept my mouth shut.

I was there to take everything he would give and had nothing to return. Hemingway wrote down a list of two short stories and 1. Samuelson. Most of the texts you can find in our collection, 8. Free e. Books for i. Pad, Kindle & Other Devices. If the texts don't appear in our e.

Book collection itself, you'll find a link to the text directly below. Hemingway reached over to his shelf and picked up a collection of stories by Stephen Crane and gave it to Samuelson. He also handed him a copy of his own novel,  A Farewell to Arms. At one o'clock, I brought the books back to Hemingway's house. Let's sit down. What are you planning on now?

I'll have to go up to Miami Tuesday and run her down and then I'll have to have someone on board. There wouldn't be much work. If you want the job, you could keep her cleaned up in the mornings and still have time for your writing. And so began a year- long adventure as Hemingway's assistant. For a dollar a day, Samuelson slept aboard the 3. Pilar and kept it in good condition.

Whenever Hemingway went fishing or took the boat to Cuba, Samuelson went along. He wrote about his experiences- -including those quoted and paraphrased here- -in a remarkable memoir, With Hemingway: A Year in Key West and Cuba. During the course of that year, Samuelson and Hemingway talked at length about writing. Hemingway published an account of their discussions in a 1. Esquire article called . Samuelson remembered his feeling of triumph at returning with the famous author to get his things. They saw his Model A roadster outside waiting for me.

They saw me come out of it. They saw Ernest at the wheel waiting and they never said a word.