Robert Heinlein: Grumbles From the Grave

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 anticipated 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 If one of the latter two makes the grade in slicks, it will be withdrawn from pulp entirely, but that is still a remote possibility.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 assumed 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 knowledge of science would not enable those fish to harm me. I am indifferent to them and invulnerable.

I used a working title 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 title 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 ship 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 vanishing 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 circumstances. But look-when you don't have to, writing's a lot of fun. When you have to fill magazines, as I do, good manuscripts are godsends. Be god for a little while more, and send more, willya?

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