Grumbles from the Grave (4 page)

(5)

Heinlein's story, "If This Goes On,"
Astounding
, February 1940. Art by Hubert Rogers.

* * *

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 Lensman" finishes, so I'd like more stuff in between whiles.

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Heinlein at his desk with plate from "If This Goes On."

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 authors. Some of his hobbies 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 "Analytical 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.

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"Blowups Happen,"
Astounding
September 1940. Art by Charles Schneeman.

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 assumption 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 attitude. 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 MacDonald 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 long 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 ungratefulness, 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 friendship. I don't want it to reach a point where you would view the reception of one of my manuscripts 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 manuscripts in my mailbox with a feeling of, "Good God, 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 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. 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, short-winded, 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 lust 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.