Nine Tomorrows

Rejection Slips

a - Learned

Dear Asimov, all mental lawsProve orthodoxy has its flaws.Consider that eclectic clauseIn Kant's philosophy that gnawsWith ceaseless anti-logic jawsAt all outworn and useless sawsThat stick in modern mutant craws.So here's your tale (with faint applause).The words above show ample cause.

b - Gruff

Dear Ike, I was prepared(And, boy, I really cared)To swallow almost anything you wrote.But, Ike, you're just plain shot,Your writing's gone to pot,There's nothing left but hack and mental bloat.Take back this piece of junk;It smelled; it reeked; it stunk;Just glancing through it once was deadly rough.But Ike, boy, by and by,Just try another try. I need some yarns and, kid, I love your stuff.

c - Kindly

Dear Isaac, friend of mine,I thought your tale was fine.Just frightful-Ly delightfulAnd with merits all a-shine.It meant a quite fullNight, full,Friend, of tensionThen reliefAnd attendedWith full measureOf the pleasureOf suspendedDisbelief.It is triteful,Scarcely rightful,Almost spitefulTo declareThat some tiny faults are there.Nothing much,Perhaps a touch,And over suchYou shouldn't pine.So let me sayWithout delay,My pal, my friend,Your story's endHas left me gayAnd joyfully composed.

P. S.

Oh, yes,I must confess(With some distress)Your story is regretfully enclosed.