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The Alchemist, v. 1, issue 5, February 1941
Page 22
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22 ----- ALCHEMIST ----- so I can't write under my own name without being riddled with ink wads every time I walk down Main Street." "And just think," I leered, "how Mr. Bloch must feel, being mentioned in the same breath with you!" "Oh, that Bloch guy don't fool me none," Bradbury admitted in a soft bellow. "He does the same as me. He's got a big Roget's Thesaurus on his desk and when he writes he just reaches in and steals a word here and there. I'm wise to him." Bradbury smiled. "Say, did you see my name in Astounding? I finally broke Campbell down and he had to print my letter. I've been sending him the same one now for the past year, every day, and I'll keep sending 'em too." "No body loves you," I told myself. I nodded in agreement. "What you need Ray," I said, "is to sell a story. Got any on hand?" Bradbury turned and pointed to the dining room. He opened the door and a towering holocaustic wave of typewritten sheets hurtled out and for a few minutes we both had trouble breathing. "I keep the rejection slips in this other room over here," he said. He opened another door and a sickly-blue torrent crammed out of the gaping orifice. Bradbury was thrown for a loss. He leaned over and picked up a small box. "This," he said, "came in the mail this morning. It's from the entire Science Fiction League just for me. As a token of their undying disgust. Listen. Hear it ticking? Must be a clock. He sat down; his plumpish, tall body settling to
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22 ----- ALCHEMIST ----- so I can't write under my own name without being riddled with ink wads every time I walk down Main Street." "And just think," I leered, "how Mr. Bloch must feel, being mentioned in the same breath with you!" "Oh, that Bloch guy don't fool me none," Bradbury admitted in a soft bellow. "He does the same as me. He's got a big Roget's Thesaurus on his desk and when he writes he just reaches in and steals a word here and there. I'm wise to him." Bradbury smiled. "Say, did you see my name in Astounding? I finally broke Campbell down and he had to print my letter. I've been sending him the same one now for the past year, every day, and I'll keep sending 'em too." "No body loves you," I told myself. I nodded in agreement. "What you need Ray," I said, "is to sell a story. Got any on hand?" Bradbury turned and pointed to the dining room. He opened the door and a towering holocaustic wave of typewritten sheets hurtled out and for a few minutes we both had trouble breathing. "I keep the rejection slips in this other room over here," he said. He opened another door and a sickly-blue torrent crammed out of the gaping orifice. Bradbury was thrown for a loss. He leaned over and picked up a small box. "This," he said, "came in the mail this morning. It's from the entire Science Fiction League just for me. As a token of their undying disgust. Listen. Hear it ticking? Must be a clock. He sat down; his plumpish, tall body settling to
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