Fine. That was my resolution. I still had to find a storyidea to do it with, as I was between stories just then.Now, I do not know how other people do it, but there isa certain receptive state of mind that I switch on whenI am looking for a short story notion. This faculty isdulled when I am working on a novel, as I Usually amthese days, so that if I want it now it generally takes mea full day to set up the proper mental climate. It comesfaster if I am between books. Whatever, in those days Ikept it turned on almost all the time.
The government wanted everyone in my class to havea physical examination. They gave me the forms and Idrove up to Euclid over a weekend to see the closestthing we had to a family doctor, to have him completethem. When I sat down in his waiting room, I pickedup a copy of Life and began looking through it. Partwayalong, I came upon a photospread dealing with the deathof the racing driver Wolfgang von Tripps. Somethingclicked as soon as I saw it, and just then the doctor calledme in for the checkup. While I was breathing for himand coughing and faking knee jerks and so forth, I sawthe entire incident that was to be this short short. I couldhave written it right then. My typewriter was in Dayton,though, and I'd the long drive ahead of me. The storyjust boiled somewhere at the back of my mind on theway down, and when I reached my apartment I headedstraight for the typewriter and wrote it through. I evenwalked three blocks to a mailbox in the middle of thenight, to get it sent right away.
Cele's letter of acceptance was dated March 28, almosta month after I'd begun writing. Strangely, the day thatit arrived I had gotten the idea for what was to be mynext sale ("Horseman!", Fantastic Stories, August, 1962).