The Singing Bell
The Talking Stone
Each an Explorer
Let’s Get Together
Pâté de Foie Gras
Galley Slave
Lenny
A Loint of Paw
A Statue for Father
Obituary
Copyright Information
Also by Isaac Asimov
About the Publisher
Introduction
In the first two volumes of my collected stories, I have almost fifty stories printed, and there are still plenty more for future volumes.
I must admit that it fills even me with a kind of awe. I say to myself, ‘Where did I find the time to write all these stories?’—considering that I have also written hundreds of books and thousands of nonfiction essays. The answer is that I’ve been at it for fifty-two years without pausing, so what all these stories mean is that I’ve now gotten to be a rather elderly person.
Another question is, ‘Where did I get all the ideas for these stories?’ I am asked that all the time.
The answer is that in the course of more than half a century of thinking up ideas, the process becomes automatic and, indeed, unstoppable.
I was in bed with my wife last night, and something or other spurred my imagination and I said to her, ‘I’ve just thought of a brand-new frustrated-wish story.’
‘What is it?’ said she.
‘Our hero, who is blessed with a plain wife, asks a genie to grant him a different, beautiful young woman in bed with him every night. He gets it on condition that at no time must he touch, caress, or even just casually bump the young lady’s backside. If he does, the young lady turns into his wife. Each night, in the course of lovemaking, he finds himself unable to stay away entirely from the backside, and the result is that every night he finds himself making love to his wife.’*
The point is that everything reminds me of a story.
For instance, I was going over a complex set of galley proofs of a book of mine when I received a call from an editor. He wanted a science fiction story in a hurry.
‘I can’t,’ I said, ‘I’m all wrapped up in galleys.’
‘Put them aside.’
‘No,’ I said, and hung up. Still, I couldn’t help but think, as I hung up, how convenient it would be if I owned a robot that could do my galleys for me. At once I did put them aside because I suddenly had a story. You’ll find it here as ‘Galley Slave.’
A fellow writer died young in 1958 and got a nice obituary in the New York Times. Those were early years and no one expected anyone to pay attention to science fiction writers in those days. I took to brooding. When I passed on to the great typewriter in the sky, would the New York Times make mention of that fact, too? Nowadays I know they will but in those days I didn’t. So after I had brooded sufficiently over the matter, I wrote ‘Obituary.’
I had an argument with an editor once, hot and heavy. He wanted me to make a specific change in a story of mine, and I did not want to make it—not out of laziness, but because I thought it would spoil the story. In the end, he had his way (editors usually do) but I got even by writing ‘The Monkey’s Finger,’ which is a good description of what went on.
Sometimes stories arise because other people make some casual remark. ‘Let’s Get Together’ is an example. I don’t feel guilty about lifting ideas from the statements of other people. They’re not going to do anything with them, so why shouldn’t I?
But the point is that stories arise out of anything. You just have to keep your ·eyes and ears open and your imagination working. Once during a train trip, my first wife asked me where I got my ideas from. I said, ‘From anywhere. I can write a story about this train trip.’ And I started writing it longhand. That story does not appear in this collection, however.
—Isaac Asimov
New York City
1991
* Since my dear wife, Janet, is to me the most beautiful woman in the world-and she knows it-she did not take umbrage at this story, aside from telling me that I had a sick mind.
Not Final!
Nicholas Orloff inserted a monocle in his left eye with all the incorruptible Briticism of a Russian educated at Oxford and said reproachfully, ‘But, my dear Mr Secretary! Half a billion dollars!’
Leo Bimam shrugged his shoulders wearily and allowed his lank body to cramp up stiU farther in the chair, ‘The appropriation must go through, commissioner. The Dominion government here at Ganymede is becoming desperate. So far, I’ve been holding them off, but as secretary of scientific affairs, my powers are small.’
‘I know, but – ‘ and Orloff spread his hands helplessly.
‘I suppose so,’ agreed Birnam. ‘The Empire government finds it easier to look the other way. They’ve done it consistently up to now. I’ve tried for a year now to have them understand the nature of the danger that hangs over the entire System, but it seems that it can’t be done. But I’m appealing to you, Mr Commissioner. You’re new in your post and can approach this Jovian affair with an unjaundiced eye.’
