Grumbles From The Grave Part 1

GRUMBLES FROM THE GRAVE.

Robert A. Heinlein.

FOREWORD.

This book does not contain the polished prose one normally a.s.sociates with the Heinlein stories and articles of later years. It has been taken from the day-to-day correspondence between the author and his agent, and from letters from several others, many of which have been excerpted. s Such cutting eliminates a great deal of tedious back-and-forth correspondence concerning details of contracts, discussions about royalty rates, and other items which would hold up the flow of information about the writing business (and other things). This book has been abstracted from enormous files, which run millions of words long, much of it boring to those not concerned with the daily business of writing and selling.

Many people have asked me to consider writing Robert's biography, or a joint one-his and mine-but I am not ready to do that yet. Perhaps, one day.

Meanwhile, this correspondence covers mostly the years from the time when Robert first began writing until the period 1969-1970, at which time he found that his writing time was effectively cut down to zero by the continuing details of his business and subsequently, grave illness . . . Over the years, I had taken over record keeping, information on sales, taxes, and some of the corre- spondence. In 1970, Robert was very sick for the entire year, and it was then essential that I keep the business running. It was fortunate that I had begun doing so the previous year.

In order to follow the various subjects, I have excerpted these letters to put together as many as possible of the remarks and ideas on those subjects. Each letter did have a number of topics in it, these have been separated where possible. Some of the topics are: juveniles, adult novels, publishers, travel, fan mail, time wasters, Robert's writing methods, and so forth.

Some names have been left out for legal reasons.

There are places where there are only notes on telephone conversations. It wpuld be impossible to reconstruct those. They have been omitted.

There are a few spa.r.s.e excerpts from letters which were written after I took over running the business end of Robert's writing . . . most of those letters written by Robert. He talked to Lurton Bla.s.singame, his agent, now and then, but mostly he spent his time reading for his work, or writing. During the last eighteen years of his life, he had many illnesses. But, in between, he continued working.

I was his "first reader"-the person who read each work first and made suggestions for cutting, revisions, and so on. It was a great responsibility. When Robert came down with peritonitis in 1970, / Will Fear No Evil needed more cutting, but it was obvious that he was (and would be for a long time) in no condition to do that. And his publisher was calling for the ma.n.u.script, so I had it Xeroxed and sent it in. I take full responsibility for that. With further cutting, it might perhaps have been a better story. In spite of this, it has sold more than a million copies in U.S. paperback alone, and has been translated into more than half-a-dozen languages, and is still in print in all of those, including English.

At one time, Robert wrote to his agent about the pos- sibility of writing a memoir-autobiography: Grumbles From The Grave by Robert A. Heinlein (deceased).

This is that book. It covers many years, many subjects, and some personal comments-taken mostly from letters between Robert and his agent, Lurton Bla.s.singame.

Virginia Heinlein Carmel, California 1988 *

A SHORT BIOGRAPHY OF.

ROBERT A. HEINLEIN BY.

VIRGINIA HEINLEIN.

Robert Anson Heinlein was born July 7, 1907, the third of seven children of Bam Lyle Heinlein and Rex Ivar Heinlein, in Butler, Missouri. The growing family moved to Kansas City during his childhood.

When Robert learned to read, he read everything he could lay his hands on. He did, in fact, read on his way to school, going along the street, up and down curbs, up to the schoolhouse. He attended junior high school, Central High School in Kansas City, arid spent one year at a local junior college. His next older brother had gone before him to the United States Naval Academy, and Robert set his sights on going there. He collected many letters of recommendation from people and gained the appointment from Senator James Reed to enter the Naval Academy in 1925.

Following his graduation and commissioning in 1929, he served aboard the Lexington under Captain E. J. King, who later became commander in chief of the U.S. Navy during World War II. When his tour of duty on the Lexington was about to end, Captain King asked that he be retained as a gunnery specialist. However, Robert was given duty as gunnery officer on the Roper, a destroyer.

Destroyer duty was difficult because of the rolling of the s.h.i.+p, and seasickness was a way of life for him. He lost weight and came down with tuberculosis. After he was cured, the Navy retired him from active duty.

At twenty-seven years of age, he found himself permanently ash.o.r.e, with a small pension. It was necessary for him to find some way to augment that money. He tried silver mining, politics, selling real estate, and further study in engineering. One day, he found an ad in a science fiction magazine for a contest. So he sat down and wrote a story ("Life-Line"). He felt it was too good for the magazine he had written it for, so he sent it to the top magazine in the field-Astounding Science Fiction. John W. Campbell, Jr. bought the story, The next several stories he wrote were less salable, and it was only on his fifth or sixth try that Campbell again purchased one. The second and following stories eventually sold, but Robert was hooked for life on writing. Originally, his purpose in writing was to pay off a mortgage on a house which he and his wife of a few years had purchased. After that mortgage was paid off, he found that when he tried to give up writing, he felt vaguely uncomfortable, and it was only when he returned to his typewriter that he felt fulfilled.

During World War II, Robert left his writing to do engineering work for the U.S. Navy. For three years he did such work in Philadelphia. The war over, he returned to his writing. By this time, he was looking for wider horizons. He was persuaded to begin the juvenile line, and he sold stories to the Sat.u.r.day Evening Post. His second juvenile was picked up by television, in a series that ran for five years. He also wrote the cla.s.sic film, Destination Moon, and he began to think about writing serious adult novels to open up that market to science fiction.

Robert thought that the possibilities of mankind going into s.p.a.ce were sufficiently important and feasible that before he left Philadelphia, he wrote two letters urging that the Navy begin s.p.a.ce exploration. One letter went through channels as far as the head of the Philadelphia Naval Air Experimental Station, who killed the proposal. The second went (also through channels), via a friend, through Naval Operations, and got as far as a Cabinet meeting. It was reported that then-President Truman took it seriously enough to ask whether such a rocket could be launched from the deck of a s.h.i.+p. No, the President was told. And that killed the project. In 1947 Robert was divorced from his wife, and when he received his decree nisi, he married me. During World War II, I had gone into the Navy, as a WAVE, and my second tour of duty was in Philadelphia, where I met Robert; we worked in the same section.

One day Robert spent hours searching for some tear sheets for an anthology. In an effort to help, I decided that his files needed to be organized. So I set about that, setting up a system which I still use today. This began my involvement in the literary business.

By the time Robert found himself too busy to do more than overhead work (keeping up correspondence with his agents, keeping records, answering fan mail, and all the other ch.o.r.es attendant on being a literary figure), I was well enough acquainted with his business that I could take over those ch.o.r.es for him. We worked together as a team, discussing what to do about offers, and I would answer the letters for him.

With the juvenile series well launched, and selling many copies primarily to libraries, Robert became the darling of librarians. He was asked to give endless speeches, and when his annual books for boys came out, he did a special program for general radio distribution on each new book.

But he still yearned to do serious writing for adults, rather than for the specialized science fiction market. So, in 1960, he finished writing Stranger in a Strange Land. That book became his best known work. When the boys who originally read his juveniles grew up, they kept looking for more of the science fiction which Robert had made so popular. So he set out to write adult novels for them. For some years, he regularly wrote two books a year, one adult and one juvenile. In addition, there were always requests for other things in the way of nonfiction. Many of those requests had to be turned down for lack of time.

Between books, we did a good deal of foreign travel. We went around the world four times, spent time in Europe. One of the most interesting, but not to be repeated trips, was to the Soviet Union. In 1960, we saw the May Day parade, then took off for Kazakhstan. Soon after our arrival in Alma-Ata, we were told of the U-2 incident. Things turned frosty for us, but there was no way out, so we continued the trip, going on to Samarkand, which was the real reason we went all that way into the USSR. While we were in Vilno, just before a summit conference between Khrushchev and President Eisenhower, the Soviet Union sent up a rocket which to this day we cannot be certain was unmanned. On the way down from seeing some castle in Vilno, we encountered a group of Red Army cadets, who were extremely excited about it and had to tell us. We were heartsick about the development and returned to our hotel.

In 1970, there was a serious illness, from which it took him two years to recover his health. Then, he sat down at his typewriter and turned out Time Enough for Love.

Always a man of fragile health, illnesses became more frequent, and there was less time for writing. We both had a taste for travel, and we saw a good deal of the world; anywhere there was transportation, we went. We visited Antarctica and went through the Northwest Pa.s.sage to j.a.pan. When China opened up to travel, we went there, among other parts of the East. To Sail Beyond the Sunset was eventually published on Robert's 80th birthday. Questions began to come in-Was this to be the final book from his typewriter? (But by this time it was a computer.) He had intended to write more, but again illness intervened, and To Sail did become his final story.

I will leave it to others to evaluate the influence of Robert's work, but I have been told many times that he was the "Father of Modern Science Fiction." Those books have been published in many languages, in many lands, and some of them seem to have been landmark stories.

During his lifetime, Robert received many honors, including four Hugo awards for the best novel of the year. The books so honored were: Double Star (1956), Star-s.h.i.+p Troopers (1959), Stranger in a Strange Land (1962), and The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress (1966). He was also the recipient of the first Grand Master Nebula Award from the Science Fiction Writers of America. There were also many other awards: The Sequoyah Award, given by the Children of Oklahoma for the best children's novel of the year (Have s.p.a.ce Suit-Will Travel); many awards for the blood drives we did; Tomorrow Starts Here, given by Delta Vee, Inc.; Robert perennially won first rank among popular writers in the Locus inquiries. But the thing which pleased him most, it seemed, was being invited to be a Forrestal Lecturer at his alma mater in 1972.

In October 1988, I was asked to come to Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., to receive, on Robert's behalf, the Distinguished Public Service Medal. My greatest regret is that he could not have known of that.

CHAPTER I.

IN THE BEGINNING.

April 10, 1939: Robert A. Heinlein to John W. Campbell, Jr.

I am submitting the enclosed short story "Life-Line" for either Astounding or Unknown, because I am not sure which policy it fits the better.

EDITOR'S NOTE: Robert always told the following story when asked how he began writing. He had seen an ad in one of the pulp science fiction magazines, offering $50.00 for the best story by a beginning writer. He wrote ' 'Life-Line, " then decided that it was too good for that particular magazine. So he sent it to John W. Campbell, Jr., who had been editing Astounding for approximately two years at that time. Campbell was always looking for new talent and apparently recognized it in Robert's first work. Robert claimed that he took a look at the check for ' 'Life-Line" and said, "How long has this racket been going on?" His second story was also accepted, after some revisions. Thereafter it was some months before Campbell accepted another story.

Robert was one of a group of writers whose work is now called ."The Golden Age of Science Fiction. " John Campbell helped his writers along with suggestions and brought them along to make Astounding the foremost science fiction pulp magazine of the time.

April 19, 1939: John W. Campbell, Jr. to Robert A. Heinlein ... I Jike your story, "Life-Line," and plan to take it at our regular rate of 1 cent a word, or $70.00 for your ma.n.u.script.

August 25, 1939: John W. Campbell, Jr. to Robert A. Heinlein At about this time you should receive our check for $310.00 for "-Vine and Fig Tree-" ("If This Goes On-")-which t.i.tle will have to be changed to give it more umph. The story, by practically all that's good and holy, deserves our usual unusually-good-story 25% bonus. It's a corking good yarn; may you send us many more as capably handled.

But-for the love of Heaven-don't send us any more on the theme of this one. The bonus misfires because this yarn is going to be a headache and a shaker-in-the-boots; it's going to take a lot of careful rewording and s.h.i.+fting of emphasis.

I genuinely got a great kick out of the consistency and logic of the piece. You can, and will, I'm sure, earn that 25 % bonus for unusually good stuff frequently. I 'm very much in the market for short stories and novelettes. This piece can't appear until after E. E. Smith's "Gray Lens-man" finishes, so I'd like more stuff in between whiles.

December 15, 1939: John W. Campbell, Jr. to Robert A. Heinlein I was wrong, evidently, in believing you had difficulty working out "Lost Legacy" [published in Super Science Stories as "Lost Legion" by Lyle Monroe], but you are definitely wrong in suggesting that "If This Goes On-" is, or has any tendency to be, hack. It has flavor, a roundness of background that makes it lovely.

EDITOR'S NOTE: John W. Campbell, Jr. started writing pulp science fiction stories while still in college. He was a large, tall man who threw off ideas like a sparkler and was addicted to various hobbies and hospitality to au- thors. Some of his hobbles were photography, ham radio, and dianetics.

Robert did not admire his writing style and objected strenuously to the various changes JWC made in Robert's stories. Despite their differences in personality and style, the two men became good friends after Robert began writing for Astounding. John turned down a number of Robert's stories after the first one had been published. Those were changed slightly and later sold to other pulp magazines. Whenever John considered a story particularly good, he was allowed by the higher-ups at Street and Smith to give the writer a bonus. Rates, in those days, were very low, and the bonus added nicely to the writer's income.

Each month Astounding carried a reader poll, which rated the stories which had appeared in an earlier issue. Those stories vied against each other for placement in the "a.n.a.lytical Laboratory." Robert's first story, "Life-Line, '' was second in the reader poll three months following publication.

During the three years Robert wrote mainly for Astounding, he often placed first and second (using his own name and a pseudonym) with his stories. He quickly became John's leading writer.

The stories which appeared in Astounding had blurbs written by the editor, both on the contents page and at the beginning of the story. Robert complained that John often gave away the point of the story in these blurbs.

However, Robert learned much about the art of writing from John.

January 23, 1940: John W. Campbell, Jr. to Robert A. Heinlein Now, the idea I'd like to have you mull over a while before giving me a definite answer. I think you're one of the writers who can work up someone else's ideas into a logical story with enthusiasm. Some can, you know, and some definitely can't. You are in a position to know, and that's why I'd like to have your own reaction to this.

February 23, 1940: Robert A. Heinlein to John W. Campbell, Jr.

Here is the story about the atomic engineers and the uranium power plant ["Blowups Happen"]. I had intended to send it to my friend in Lawrence's radiation laboratory at Berkeley for a final technical check-over, but decided to send it to you promptly instead. As you pointed out, things are happening fast in this field. The quicker a story laid in it sees print, the better the chance that some a.s.sumption in the story will not already have been invalidated.

I presume that this story herewith will give you some idea as to whether or not I can work out another man's ideas. If you decide that I can, then I would be interested in taking a crack at your idea of scientists going insane over the uncertainty of truth in the "sub-etheric" field. But not just at present, not before fall. It does not seem to me to be a good idea for me to do another story about scientists going crazy too soon- neither for me as a writer trying to build a commercial reputation, nor for the magazine.

Furthermore, it is a big idea; I would want to use not less than fifty thousand words. I have a serial on the stands now; I don't suppose that you want to publish another serial by me for a year, at least-or have I incorrectly estimated the commercial restrictions.

EDITOR 's NOTE: During the summer of 1940, Robert visited John Campbell in the east, the two became fast friends. Letters went back and forth, at great length.

November 2, 1940: Robert A. Heinlein to John W. Campbell, Jr.

... I turned it down, stating that the rate for my own name was higher than that. (I may let them publish "Lost Legacy" under a pseudonym, as it is one that I really want to see published. I am going to give a slight amount of rewriting to make it science fiction rather than fantasy, but still let it say the things I want it to say.) Having touched on my personal policy to that extent, I feel obliged to be more specific, since it concerns you, too. I am going up, or out, in this business-never down. I don't want to write pulp bad enough to slip back into a lower word rate, and a hack att.i.tude. As long as you are editing, at Street and Smith or elsewhere, you can have my stuff, if you want it, at a cent and a quarter a word, or more if you see fit and the business office permits. I won't use an agent in dealing with you, although I now have one. Neither my name nor the name of Anson Mac-Donald will be made available to any other book at the rate at which you buy from me, and, if I get an offer of a better rate, I will let you know and give you refusal, as it were, before switching. I write for money and will sell elsewhere for a materially higher word rate, but I feel a strong obligation to you. No other editor will get the two names you have advertised and built up at the rates you pay.

I seem to have drifted a long way from stating my own policy and intentions. I will probably go on writing, at least part time, indefinitely. If you someday find it necessary to start rejecting my stuff, I expect to take a crack at some other forms, slick perhaps, and book-form novels, and in particular a nonfiction book on finance and money theory which I have wanted to do for a tong time, also some articles on various economic and social problems. I have an outlet for such things, but it would be largely a labor of love-maybe ten dollars for an article into which has gone a week of research, and slim royalties on books in that field. Howsomever, I might crack the high word rates on general fiction at the same time. One never knows-I never expected to be writing pulp, or fiction of any sort, but it has paid me well ... to my surprise!

Addendum to remarks about my own policy: You may possibly feel that my wish to get out of the field of science fiction and into something else smacks of ungrate- fulness, in view of the way you have treated me. That is the very reason why I am looking forward to another field. I dislike very much to have business relations with a close personal friend. The present condition in which you like and buy everything I write may go on for years. If so-fine! Everybody is happy. But it would be no pleasure to you to have to reject my stuff, and certainly no pleasure to me. And it can happen at any time-your editorial policy may change, or my style or approach may change, or I may simply go stale. When it does occur, I want to cut it off short without giving it a chance to place a strain on our friends.h.i.+p. I don't want it to reach a point where you would view the reception of one of my ma.n.u.scripts with a feeling of, "For Christ's sake, why doesn't he peddle his tripe somewhere else. He knows I hate to turn him down." And I don't want to greet a series of returned ma.n.u.scripts in my mailbox with a feeling of, "Good G.o.d, what does he expect for a cent and a quarter a word? The New Testament?'' Nor do I want you taking borderline stories from me simply because you hate to bounce them. I suspected that might be the case with the tesseract story ["-And He Built a Crooked House"].

Right now I know I am a profit-making commercial property, because the cash customers keep saying so in the a.n.a.lytical Laboratory, but I don't intend to hang on while slipping down into fourth or fifth place. No, when I quit, I'll quit at the top, in order to insure that our business relations will never become unpleasant or disappointing to either of us. Which is a long and verbose way of saying that I value your friends.h.i.+p very highly indeed and intend to keep it if I can.

February 13, 1941: John W. Campbell, Jr. to Robert A. Heinlein . . . We'll pay you l'/2 cents a word for your stories. Your guarantee that your name will not appear in other science fiction or fantasy magazines. And, naturally, your keeping the said arrangement strictly under the lid. Since "Anson MacDonald" is as much your name now as "Robert Heinlein," built up in and by Astounding, that goes, too. If you get an offer at 13A or 2 cents a word-grab it. It will promptly dispose of compet.i.tion, or it will fade out very quickly. That's steeper than any modern scf. book can economically pay for anybody.

February 17, 1941: Robert A. Heinlein to John W. Campbell, Jr.

... One exception to the above that might amuse you- I have a phony name [Lyle Monroe] and a phony address, fully divorced from the RAH persona, under which and from which I am trying to peddle the three remaining stinkeroos which are left over from my earliest writing. For such purpose I prefer editors whom I do not like. It would tickle me to sell off the shoddy in that fas.h.i.+on. I don't think it is dishonest-they examine what they buy and get what they pay for-but I 'm d.a.m.ned if I '11 let my own name even appear on one of their checks.

... I think my meaning is clear, and I will, as I believe you know, live up to it. Let me add this: If the going gets tough and the business office tells you to cut rates, I will go back to a cent and a quarter a word without murmur, provided it is the highest rate you pay anyone. As long as you pay anyone a cent and a half, I want it. If my stuff starts slipping and is no longer worth top rates, I prefer to quit rather than start the downgrade. Same thing I had to say once before with respect to rejections-I don't like 'em and will quit the racket when they start coming in. I know this can't go on forever but, so help me, having reached top, in one sense, I'll retire gracefully rather than slide downhill.

September 6, 1941: Robert A. Heinlein to John W. Campbell, Jr.

From your last two letters I am forced to conclude that you and I are talking somewhat at cross-purposes-you are apparently under the impression that I am still writ- ing. To be sure, I did not drop you a card saying, "I retired today." I could not-under the circ.u.mstances it would have seemed like a childish piece of petulance. Nevertheless, I knew that I would retire and exactly when and why, and I sent a letter to you a number of months back in which I set forth my intention and my reasons. Surely you recall it? I know you received it, for you commented on it. The gist of the matter was that I intended to continue to make the writing of science fiction my princ.i.p.al occupation until I received a rejection slip, whereupon I would retire. I told you about it ahead of time so that you would know it was not pique, but a thought-out plan, which motivated me.

You will remember that in 1940 I was already looking forward to retiring in a few months. Well, the time came when I should have retired, but I couldn't-I couldn't afford to; you were buying everything I wrote at nice fat rates. A day's work paid me at least thirty dollars and usually more. I couldn't enjoy loafing; if I stayed away from the mill it had to be for some reason I could justify to my residual puritan bias. So I took myself to one side and said, "Look here, Robert, this has got to stop. You haven't any need for more money; the possession of more money simply leads you into expensive tastes which in no way increase your happiness. In the meantime you are getting fat, shortwinded, and soft, and ruining your digestion to boot." To which Robert replied, "Yeah, boss, I know. But look-it's the money machine. Just punch it, and the dollars fall out. Money, money, money, money!" So I had to speak to him sternly, "Money! Sure, money is nice stuff, but you don't need much of it. We settled that when we entered the navy, and we proved it the time you got stung buying that silver mine." To which he answered, "Yeah, but look-you could buy the GE Home Workshop. You could put it right over there-and it costs only $110." "Another gadget! You know what I think of gadgets. When would you use it, anyhow?" "Don't give me that stuff! You know you like gadgets." "Well, within moderation, but the l.u.s.t for them is a vice." "It is, eh? You've got it pretty bad then." "I have not," I answered with dignity. "I can take them or leave them alone. Besides, I would rather make them than buy them." The argument went on and on. He pointed out to me that money did not have to be spent; it could be loaned or given away. (We were both agreed that it should never be saved, except for specific short-term purposes.) I said, "When did you ever give or loan money that the deal didn't turn sour?" He mentioned a couple of times, and I was forced to admit he was right; "-besides, we could be more careful about it,'' he added hopefully.

The upshot of the matter was a compromise. I agreed to let him continue to punch the alphabetical slot machine just as long as he hit the jackpot every time; the first time he failed to get his nickel back we would quit.

So-at long last came the envelope I had been looking for, a rejection instead of a check [for "Creation Took Eight Days," later published as "Goldfish Bowl"]. I had a quick pang of regret over the money I didn't get, which was washed away by the pleasant knowledge that school was out at last. I spent the whole day taking pictures. I spent the next day starting the excavation for a swimming pool, a project which I have had in mind for five years, which I have been ready to commence for some months, but which takes time, lots of it. I could hire it done by staying at the typewriter, but that was not the idea-I wanted the heavy physical exercise [that] a pick, shovel, and wheelbarrow provide.

Besides that, I have had a number of typewriter projects in mind which have been indefinitely postponed because I was busy with S-F. In particular a short book on monetary theory which should have been written eighteen months ago. That is a "must" and will probably be finished this winter. I expect it to be published but I probably won't make any money out of it. Besides that, I have been urged to tackle a primer of semantics and general semantics. I am moderately well prepared for the task, having had five seminars in the subject; nevertheless there is a lot of research to be done and a monumental task of devising lucid pedagogical methods in a most difficult field, involving as it does a very nearly complete reorientation in methods of thinking even for the "educated" reader. I estimate that it may take from two to five years to complete. Incidentally, if you are interested, I would be willing to do a popular article or two on the subject for Astounding. I offered to do so once before, you may recall, but you made no answer.

Besides the above, I am going to try to do at least one novel for book publication and will probably try a flyer in slicks, most likely through Virginia Perdue's agent. I haven't had much luck with agents up to now, and it seems to be agreed that a good agent is almost a sine qua non for such endeavor.

The above plans, although numerous and involved, are leisurely in their nature-which is what I have been wanting. I want to be able to stop, sit down, and "invite my soul" for an hour, a day, or a week, if I feel the need for it. I don't know yet what my princ.i.p.al task in this world is, if I have one, but I do know that I won't find it through too much hurrying and striving ...

... I have gone on, wordily, because it is important to me that you should understand my motives-I want your approval. Let me pose a rhetorical question: What incentive is there for me to remain a full-time writer of science fiction? At the present time I am the most popular writer for the most popular magazine in the field and command (I believe) the highest word rate. Where is there for me to go but down? I can't go up in this field; there is no place to go ... Frankly, the strain is wearing on me. I can still write, but it is a terrific grind to try each week to be more clever than I was the week before. And if I do, to what purpose. First is the highest I can stand; a cent and a half a word is the most I can hope to be paid.

I will not attempt to pep up my stories by introducing a greater degree of action-adventure. It is not my style.

It seems to me that the popularity of my stuff has been based largely on the fact that I have continually enlarged the field of S-F and changed it from gadget motivation to stories more subtle in their themes and more realistically motivated in terms of human psychology. In particular I introduced the regular use of high tragedy and completely abandoned the hero-and-villain formula. My last story, the one you bounced ["Goldfish Bowl"], does not represent a change in the sort of thing I have been doing, but a logical and (for my taste) artistic extension of the theme. I don't blame you for bouncing it; if you did not see the point of the story, you have no reason to think that your customers would. Nevertheless, the story had a point, a most important point, a most powerful and tragic one. Apparently I expressed the point too subtly, but you and I have rather widely divergent views about the degree of subtlety a story can stand. For my money you have damaged a great many excellent stories you have printed by telegraphing the point of the story on the contents page, in the blurb under the t.i.tle, and in the subt.i.tles under the ill.u.s.trations. And you d.a.m.n near ruined "Requiem" by adding four lines to the end which led the reader up a blind alley, clear away from the real point of the story.

Anyhow-I'm not trying to sell you that last story; I'm just trying to say that it was not a pointless story, but one of the most daring themes I have ever tackled, and, so far as I know, never before attempted in science fiction.

Returning to our muttons: I am extremely grateful to you for the help you have been to me in every way during this two-year try at commercial writing. And I don't want you to feel that I have taken what I wanted and walked out. One of my reasons for the continual scouting I have done for Astounding and Unknown has been that I antic.i.p.ated my own retirement and wanted to be able to say, "Okay, John, I'm quitting, but here are half a dozen other writers, my proteges, who take my place several times over." I expect to continue that scouting indefinitely.

Besides that, I have laid down no hard and fast ultimatum to myself that I won't write science fiction at all. If I get an idea that really intrigues me, I'll write a story about it and submit it. Naturally, I don't expect you to maintain the former financial arrangement. I won't take a rate cut, but you are welcome to buy at a cent a word under the Lyle Monroe name, a cent and a quarter for Caleb Saunders, or, if you think a story merits it, a cent and a half for Heinlein or MacDonald. If one of the latter two makes the grade in slicks, it will be withdrawn from pulp entirely, but that is still a remote possibility.

SIXTH COLUMN.

September 16, 1941: Robert A. Heinlein to John W. Campbell, Jr.

My own work-I am taking you at your word that "Creation Took Eight Days" ["Goldfish Bowl"] can be fixed up to sell to you in either one of two ways, by changing the ending or by changing the earlier part to make the ending less of a surprise. Of the two I prefer to change the earlier part; otherwise it is a completely different story and not my kind of a story. I have never written a World-Saver story of the usual formula, because I don't believe in them. Even in "Sixth Column" I was careful to point out that the job was just started and never would be finished. This particular story was intended to give an entirely fresh angle on the invasion-by-alien-intelligence theme. So far as I know, every such story has alien intelligences which treat humans as approximate equals, either as friends or as foes. It is a.s.sumed that A-I will either be friends, anxious to communicate and trade, or enemies who will fight and kill, or possibly enslave, the human race. There is another and much more humiliating possibility-alien intelligences so superior to us and so indifferent to us as to be almost unaware of us. They do not even covet the surface of the planet where we live-they live in the stratosphere. We do not know whether they evolved here or elsewhere-will never know. Our mightiest engineering structures they regard as we regard coral formations, i.e., seldom noticed and considered of no importance. We aren't even nuisances to them. And they are no threat to us, except that their "engineering" might occasionally disturb our habitat, as the grading done for a highway disturbs gopher holes.

Some few of them might study us casually-or might not. Some odd duck among them might keep a few of us as pets. That was .what happened to my hero. He got too nosy around one of their activities, was captured, and by. pure luck was kept as a pet instead of being stepped on. In time he understood his predicament, except in one respect-he never did realize to its full bitterness that the human race could not even fight these creatures. He was simply a goldfish in a bowl-who cares about the opinions of a helpless goldfish? I have a fish pond in my patio. Perhaps those fish hate me bitterly and have sworn to destroy me. I won't even suspect it-I'll lose no sleep over it. And it seems to me that the most esoteric knowl- edge of science would not enable those fish to harm me. I am indifferent to them and invulnerable.

I used a working t.i.tle of "Goldfish Bowl" but changed it because, in my opinion, it tipped the story. Now it appears that you want the story tipped more quickly. Perhaps the working t.i.tle is almost the only change it needs. In any case, John, you habitually give the key idea of a story in the blurbs-sometimes, I think, to the detriment of the dramatic punch of a story. That was my reaction to the blurbing on "By His Bootstraps." (But you're the editor! I ain't complaining; I'm expressing an opinion.) I'll look the story over in a day or two and try to see where I can do some planting in the early part. If you have any specific ideas, please mention them right away; I am not quite sure what you want-the degree, at least. Maybe we'll have to s.h.i.+p this story back and forth a couple of times yet.

It will please me to sell this story for a reason that has developed since I last wrote to you. As you know, I have been gradually selling off the half-dozen stories you have rejected since I started writing. Last week I sold two in one day-the last two ["Pied Piper" and "My Object All Sublime," both under Lyle Monroe. Heinlein never permitted reprinting these]. Utter dogs they were, written in the spring of 1939. That leaves me with an absolutely clean sweep of having sold every word I have ever written from the first day I sat down to attempt commercial writing . . . So-a clean sweep right up to this last story. The opportunity to fix it up to sell is very pleasant.

September 17, 1941: John W. Campbell, Jr. to Robert A. Heinlein I had forgotten that little point of yours. And now, of course, the thing sticks me at a wonderfully tender spot. Item: We went to large size, with about a 70% increase in consumption. Item: We have, novelettes, but are atrociously short of short stories. Item: We've had one good author who could really produce wordage. And now- now of all times!-that one wants to retire! Just when, it so happens, we haven't a single thing of yours on hand. Your proteges, helpful as they are, can, together, produce about as much, but not the quality, that you can. So-we launch the large-size, large-consumption book with the loss of the top one-third of our authors-the one man with three names.

Look-how about at least making it a new year's resolution, or something? By that time, maybe we can get shaken down into a better order.

On that story-that-bounced: Science fiction is normally read as light, escape literature. The reader does not expect or seek heavy philosophy; particularly, he does not expect or prepare himself for heavy philosophy when he reads a story that shows every sign of being action-adventure. Bathyspheres-alien something-or-others-men vanis.h.i.+ng and men killed-heavy menace, with Navy personnel called in to look into it-something powerful and active under way here, with violent action ending in a solution- Or at least that seemed the setup. The answer you gave was utterly unexpected, the right answer to the wrong question, so to speak. Therein it was a seemingly pointless question-and-answer, and disappointing to the reader. At Heinlein-MacDonald l'/2 cent rates, I can't disappoint; alteration of either the answer-so it fitted the question the reader was asked-or of the question into a form that more evidently called for the type of answer provided, would make it click. The answer provided did make a highly interesting point, but a point overwhelmed in the rush of unfulfilled expectation of action-adventure.

In general, if you retire abruptly at this particular moment, Astounding is going to feel it in much the way one's tongue feels a missing tooth just after it's been yanked.

So far as going up goes, I'll agree you can't very well. I can agree with your desire to retire, under your circ.u.mstances. But look-when you don't have to, writing's a lot of fun. When you have to fill magazines, as I do, good ma.n.u.scripts are G.o.dsends. Be G.o.d for a little while more, and send more, w.i.l.l.ya?

I know one thing: I'm going to get some loud and angry howls from readers.

September 19, 1941: John W. Campbell, Jr. to Robert A. Heinlein In re your own stories. Novelettes are your meat-those and short serials, which will be, under the new setup, short novels complete in an issue. You need elbow room to develop the civilization background against which your characters act. I know that, and have suggested shorts to you mainly when I was kinda desperate for short stories that couldn't be smelled before opening the book.

September 25, 1941: Robert A. Heinlein to John W. Campbell, Jr.