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1 " TREVATHAN RARELY REWROTE his short stories. At a nickel a word he could not afford to. Furthermore, he had acquired a facility over the years which enabled him to turn out acceptable copy in first draft. Now, however, he was trying something altogether new and different, and so he felt the need to take his time getting it precisely right. Time and again he yanked false starts from the typewriter, crumpled them, hurled them at the wastebasket. Until finally he had something he liked. He read it through for the fourth or fifth time, then took it from the typewriter and read it again. It did the job, he decided. It was concise and clear and very much to the point. He reached for the phone. When he’d gotten through to Jukes he said, “Warren? I’ve decided to take your advice.” “Wrote another story for us? Glad to hear it.” “No,” he said, “another piece of advice you gave me. I’m branching out in a new direction.” “Well, I think that’s terrific,” Jukes said. “I really mean it. Getting to work on something big? A novel?” “No, a short piece. "
― Lawrence Block , One Thousand Dollars A Word
2 " But in a more remunerative area?” “Definitely. I’m expecting to net a thousand dollars a word for what I’m doing this afternoon.” “A thousand—” Warren Jukes let out a laugh, making a sound similar to the yelp of a startled terrier. “Well, I don’t know what you’re up to, Jim, but let me wish you the best of luck with it. I’ll tell you one thing. I’m damned glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” Trevathan looked again at what he’d written. “I’ve got a gun. Please fill this paper sack with thirty thousand dollars in used tens and twenties and fifties or I’ll be forced to blow your stupid head off.” “Oh, I’ve still got my sense of humor,” he said. “Know what I’m going to do, Warren? I’m going to laugh all the way to the bank.” The End "