Grumbles from the Grave Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Robert A. Heinlein
Tags: General, Science-Fiction, Biography & Autobiography, Literary Criticism, Science Fiction & Fantasy, 20th Century, American, Authorship, Language Arts & Disciplines, Authors; American, Literary Collections, Letters, Correspondence, Authors; American - 20th century - Correspondence, Heinlein; Robert A - Correspondence, Science fiction - Authorship
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 Analytical 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 friendship 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 1-1/2 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 1-3/4 or 2 cents a word—grab it. It will promptly dispose of competition, 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 fashion. I don't think it is dishonest—they examine what they buy and get what they pay for—but I'm damned if I'll 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 writing. To be sure, I did not drop you a card saying, "I retired today." I could not—under the circumstances 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 principal 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.
Right now I know I am a profit-making commercial property, because the cash customers keep saying so in the Analytical 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 friendship 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 1-1/2 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 1-3/4 or 2 cents a word—grab it. It will promptly dispose of competition, 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 fashion. I don't think it is dishonest—they examine what they buy and get what they pay for—but I'm damned if I'll 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 writing. To be sure, I did not drop you a card saying, "I retired today." I could not—under the circumstances 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 principal 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.