Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
[circa 1986]. An uncharacteristically chiding missive in which the author takes his publisher to the woodshed: "Dear Herb [Yellin]: Hey, cut it out with all these imperial directives. Do this, sign this, send by Federal Express. Hip, Hip.
Like I said, I have no misprinted Earthworm cards. I thought I did, but can't find them. I have two Lovelorn Astronomers and don't want to part with them. I enclose your check, therefore. Also the other stuff, signed. What do you do with these things? I feel like a forger, somehow.
Thanks for the sheets of the drawings; how about returning my ms. and the photocopied originals? When you send them back, you can enclose a few books for me to sign, though it's a terrible nuisance unpacking them and then packing them again. Makes me feel like a millworker, even at $5 a crack."
Updike concludes in a conciliatory manner: "As to the Shillington piece; I'm delighted you like it. John." Fine.
[circa 1986]. An uncharacteristically chiding missive in which the author takes his publisher to the woodshed: "Dear Herb [Yellin]: Hey, cut it out with all these imperial directives. Do this, sign this, send by Federal Express. Hip, Hip.
Like I said, I have no misprinted Earthworm cards. I thought I did, but can't find them. I have two Lovelorn Astronomers and don't want to part with them. I enclose your check, therefore. Also the other stuff, signed. What do you do with these things? I feel like a forger, somehow.
Thanks for the sheets of the drawings; how about returning my ms. and the photocopied originals? When you send them back, you can enclose a few books for me to sign, though it's a terrible nuisance unpacking them and then packing them again. Makes me feel like a millworker, even at $5 a crack."
Updike concludes in a conciliatory manner: "As to the Shillington piece; I'm delighted you like it. John." Fine.