Isaac Asimov to Comet, Jul 1941

Asimov to Brown

Dear Mr. Tremaine:

Mr. Sylvester Brown, Jr., of Cambridge, Massachusetts, is hereby warned in a spirit of utter kindliness that the last three people who addressed me by that foul epithet "Asenion" met horrible deaths. The police are still searching for the bodies, because they don't know I used my own patent atomic disintegrator. The good thing about the disintegrator is that it leaves no corpus delicti and without that they can't touch me. That is just a reminder, Mr. Brown.

Also, I am gradually becoming enraged competing with myself, by writing letters better than my stories. I don't mind having people say "Asimov is good, but Eugene O'Neill is better!" I am essentially a modest person and disparaging comparisons with Sinclair Lewis are met with humble mien and downcast brow. I smile bravely through my tears and admit with a sigh, "Yes, perhaps Joseph Steinbeck does surpass me slightly—so far."

But, damn it, when I have to go around competing with myself, by writing letters which people claim are better than my stories (not so much intending to compliment my letters either), I balk. Flesh and Hood are flesh and blood and too much is too much.

I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to start writing punk letters. I shall misspell my words. I shall split infinitives. I shall dangle my participles. I shall perform prodigies of grammatical horrors. And then people will write in to editors and say: "Dear Sir, I have just read Mr. Asimov's 'Planet of Putrescence' and must say that although it is easily the worst story in the issue, it is far better than the letter by him that appears in the same issue."

What more can an author ask? (At that I can think of a few more things—such as myriads of sales and fat bonuses, but can one have everything?)

Well, as long as I'm here at my typewriter I ought to say a few words about the fourth issue of. The story I liked best in the issue was Binder's "We Are One." It's a curious coincidence but in three of the first four issues of a Binder story appeared, and each time I stamped it as most enjoyable in the issue. That's pretty good. In fact, that's damned good.

Also, I am panting heavily with excitement while waiting for E. E. Smith's novelet in the next issue. I order you to see to it that future stories of the series be printed in consecutive issues for an indefinite period. If Smith refuses to write that fast, give him a shot of adrenalin, or argue his boss into firing him—so that he can have more time to write.