Taming the Author

1: Get the Job

For being the first to read and comment on this story, I dedicate this chapter to @rainbowbrook! ^ v ^

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"It's your lucky day", the ad read as it popped up on my screen in celebratory hues and sparkly confetti while I browsed through a job site and I cursed at it for being a big fat liar.

I took a peak at the office of my boss' boss which was just an isle of workstations away from me. The door was open, a sight only seen when an important one-on-one meeting was scheduled on that day.  Allan Murph sat there, his 6-foot height curled onto a burgundy leather swivel chair making the stoutness of his physique rounder and his frowning face less imposing as he read the morning paper through his tiny spectacles. It was the calm sunny Monday morning before the fatal storm - the end of my career as an editor and the demise of my dreams to catch a glimpse of my favorite author at the hallway of the publication office.

A loud ping echoed from my laptop, catching the attention of everyone in my immediate vicinity. I winced realizing I hadn't silenced my computer. I muted the audio and shut the pinging reminder before its message could nag me about what I should do.

I freaking knew  what was going to happen - drama, heartbreak, tragedy, Armageddon, the works. 

I glanced at Allan's office again, hoping he didn't hear the reminder like my colleagues did or that he was still busy with the intrigues of the morning paper to remember I was supposed to see him. Alas! He was smirking right at me - that infamous smirk that told everyone he was bound to make someone pee in his pants for pissing him off.

And that someone was me.

I took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in my throat, locked my screen as if I did it all the time, and trudged the short walk to his office pretending it was the usual skip-level meeting. The stare I received from everyone told me I didn't fool anyone.

I suddenly felt feverish as I approached the doorway. Cold sweat trickled down my neck, my throat felt painfully parched, and I wondered if I could run to the clinic instead of meeting him.

Allan waved his hand to me, urging me to close the door. I almost collapsed as my legs morphed into trembling jello. He took his spectacles off, sat them neatly in front of him, and clasped his hands over the polished wooden desk opening the shop for business.

I shakily closed the door of his lair behind me and took one of the seats in front of him. I bit my lip to keep a nervous laugh from escaping. The round spectacles glinting in the morning light of the office windows wasn't helping. The image of Allan, a plump giant who grew a white fluffy beard and a bald head wearing shiny cute little spectacles was making me snicker.

Allan loudly cleared his throat. I snapped back to reality and looked up at him. His ice cold face reminded me I was there for a death sentence.

A few days ago, I had a quarrel with one of the authors I was handling and it almost cost the publishing house a valuable asset. The book was about healthy living but instead of encouraging me to live a healthy life, it inspired me to drown myself in ice cream and pie to reach my ideal weight. 

As an editor - well, an assistant editor - I made some changes to the book assigned to me. And might I say I improved it!

...Not that the author appreciated my effort.

I scrapped a pile of his unnecessary side comments and nonsense life stories, and stripped the book down to essentials. The result was an easy-to-read book about health - a manuscript written like those interesting reads in health magazines.