"Robert Mills - Best from Fantasy and Science Fiction 11th" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mills Robert)

said, "the South won the Civil War. At least, it's not up to Us to tell Them
differently. It might annoy Them. The North doesn't care. But write another
story for us. The Aunt Carrie Hour is always on the lookout for new dramatic
material."

"Like for instance?" Bob Rosen asked.

"What the great cheese-eating American public wants is a story of resolved
conflict concerning young contemporary American couples earning over ten
thousand dollars a year. But nothing sordid, controversial, outre, or passe."

Rosen was pleased to be able to see Joseph Tressling, who was the J.
Oscar Rutherford Company's man in charge of scripts for the Aunt Carrie
Hour. The Mene Mene of the short story was said that year to be on the
wall, the magazines were dying like May flies, and the sensible thing for
anyone to do who hoped to make a living writing (he told himself) was to
get into television. But he really didn't expect he was going to make the
transition, and the realization that he didn't really know any contemporary
Americans—young, old, married, single—who were earning over ten
thousand dollars a year seemed to prophesy that he was never going to
earn it himself.

"And nothing avant-garde," said Tressling.

The young woman returned and smiled a tall, cool smile at them. Tressling
got up. So did Bob. "Mr. Martens is still outside," she murmured.

"Oh, I'm afraid I won't be able to see him today," said Joe Tressling. "Mr.
Rosen has been so fascinating that the time seems to have run over, and
then some ... Great old boy," he said, smiling at Bob and shaking his hand.
"Really one of the veterans of advertising, you know. Used to write copy for
Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup. Tells some fascinating yarns. Too bad I
haven't the time to listen. I expect to see you back here soon, Mr. Rosen,"
he said, still holding Bob's hand as they walked to the door, "with another
one of your lovely stories. One that we can feel delighted to buy. No
costume dramas, no foreign settings, nothing outre, passe, or avant-garde,
and above all—nothing controversial or sordid. You're not going to be one
of those hungry writers, are you?"

Even before he answered, Rosen observed Tressling's eyes dismiss him;
and he resolved to start work immediately on an outre, controversial, sordid
costume drama with a foreign setting, etc., if it killed him.

He made the wrong turn for the elevator and on coming back he came face
to face with the old man. " 'Demography of the Jackson Whites'," the old
man said, feigning amazement. "What do you care about those poor
suckers for? They don't buy, they don't sell, they don't start fashion, they
don't follow fashion. Just poach, fornicate, and produce oh-point-four
hydrocephalic albinos per hundred. Or something."