Authors: Tim Tingle
“That is amazing. I have never heard of creativity defined in such a way. The fact that you could write
better
if you have less time.”
“I don’t know that to be the case, because I have never had a full day to devote to my writing. You see, even when I have an off day from work, I have six children, so there are demands on my time from them as well. I peck out a page or two per day, and that seems to be my ‘niche’.”
“Well, you seem to get the most out of every minute.”
“Yes, I literally have to. So, I suppose what you are wondering is, if you make a commitment to me, to be my primary publisher, can I deliver finished manuscripts to you on a regular basis as a writer?”
“Yes, that is basically what I was getting at.”
“Knowing that I have a publisher ready to take my every work, I could easily turn out a finished manuscript every eight to twelve months, at my present rate of production. Now for
my
question, . . . would you be willing to accept all of my works, sight unseen?”
“If all of your works are as well written, and as intriguing as your first two manuscripts, the answer is yes. However, as a publisher, I would retain the right to refuse any manuscript you present to me, should it not fit our guidelines, or not be quite up to speed. I can’t give you a blank check, in other words.”
“But as my primary publisher, I would first be required to submit my manuscripts to you, and you would accept or reject them. If you reject a manuscript, I could then take that manuscript to another publisher, if I wish?”
“Yes, as long as I get first shot, at acceptance or refusal, that would be the deal. If I do not like a manuscript, for whatever reason, I can pass on it, and you will have written permission to go to another publisher with it. But if all your works are as good as your first two, I would be a fool to pass on them. I would hate to pass on one of your works, and then have one of my competitors gets a best seller! That would just kill me!”
“Well, we are getting the cart before the horse. I have not even agreed to give you my second novel yet, other than to just look it over. Accepting Jester Books as my primary publisher, is something I will have to carefully consider.”
“That’s right, we must work out a lot of details before we arrive at that decision, but I want you to know that I am very impressed with your work. And I especially appreciate your agreeing to do these book signings as you have. You have been very gracious with your time.”
“Well, it is in
my
interest to make a name for myself as a writer, even if I get no royalties off this book. It should certainly benefit me on the second one.”
“Oh yes. Indeed. And I would love to be the publisher of your second book as well. You see, ‘The Relic’ is the very first book we have ever published to reach the #1 spot in sales, so this is a first for us as well.”
“Are you a big enough publisher to handle a #1 best-seller?”
“Absolutely! We are a well established company, and have been for over thirty years. We have had ninety-two books on the British Best-Sellers list over the years, but never in the number one spot! That is why I am so impressed with your work. Do you have any idea what caused its phenomenal rise?”
“As a matter of fact, yes I do.” He reached into the bag he brought with him, and pulled out a copy of ‘Whisperings’ magazine, and opened it to the article about his book, and allowed Aaron to read the headline.
“Is this a tabloid?”
“Yes sir.”
“A man was scared to death by your book?”
“Not really, but it made a good headline for my book. I got thousands of orders for ‘The Relic’ because of this tabloid story. I was told by my publisher to ‘be creative’ in my advertising, and this was the result.”
“So a gimmick was responsible for your initial success!”
“Yes, it was.”
“I like it! It shows ingenuity!”
“It was almost all for naught, because Maple Leaf had no intention of supplying me with books. But when they saw the thousands of orders, they filed for bankruptcy, and sold my book to you.”
“That Ronald Fallon was a blight on the entire publishing industry. I should never have dealt with him!”
“Well, he’s gone now, and we move on. We make the best, of a bad situation.”
“I have recently learned that in addition to selling your book to me, he also violated the terms of the contract with me, by apparently publishing and distributing ‘The Relic’ in a pirated version. And so, he not only stiffed you, but he has also crossed me!”
(Travis knew he had to be referring to the pirated version of ‘The Relic’ that
he
had come out with, in his secret agreement with Iota Press. But he certainly didn’t want Bagley to know that it was
his
doing.)
“So it was
Fallon
who has been putting out those black and white copies of ‘The Relic’?” Travis asked.
“I do not know who else could possibly be responsible for it! Either Ronald Fallon, before he was killed, or perhaps his brother Curtis, who is still trying to resurrect their company in Quebec, under another name! So you know of, or have seen those pirated copies?”
“Yes I have, but like you, I had no idea where they had come from.” Travis lied.
“I hear that the cover is not only black and white, but it is a different cover design as well.”
“So you haven’t seen them?”
“Actually, no, but I have certainly heard a lot about them. They are flooding the North American market, which is in clear violation of Fallon’s contract with Jester Books!”
“Then take a look at this.” Travis reached into his bag and pulled out his pirated copy of ‘The Relic’, and handed it to Mr. Bagley.
“Where did you get this?”
“In the States. One of my fans sent it to me, to have it autographed. I was shocked to see it. I brought it with me to ask
you
about it! I have signed literally dozens of them, and mailed them back to their owners.”
“Do you know where your fans are getting these books, and where they are being distributed from?”
“No, that’s why I brought this copy with me, to show it to you. But like you said, it most likely was authorized by Fallon before he was killed, or by his brother. Check it out. There is no valid publisher listed on the copyright page. I have tried to do some detective work on my own, but I came up with nothing.”
“It says: ‘Printed on the high seas by Jolly Roger Press’. Have you ever heard of such! It is like, they are gloating over the fact that they are thumbing their noses at us!”
“So it is definitely a pirated copy?”
“Yes, no doubt about it! If I can find who has been publishing and distributing these copies, I will sue them into oblivion! Piracy of a copyrighted work, is the lowest form of treachery that any publisher could possibly sink to! It is common in China, and the Far East, but we civilized peoples of the West must honor copyright laws, or else there will be chaos, and collapse of our whole society!”
“Absolutely!” Travis echoed, as though he agreed with him.
“May I keep this copy, Travis, so that I may study it, and determine it’s origin?”
“Actually, that book does not belong to me. Like I said, it was mailed to me by a woman in Boston, who wants me to autograph it and send it back to her.”
“Then you can send her an autographed
legitimate
copy
of ‘The Relic’, published by Jester Books! I will supply you with plenty of them. But when you send it back to her, try to find out where she got
this
copy! Step by step, we can backtrack and find the origins of these bastard copies, and take legal action against their publisher! Jolly Roger Press, indeed! I wager they will certainly not be so ‘jolly’ when my team of lawyers sink their teeth into them!”
“Aaron, I am glad to finally meet someone who feels the same way I do about this issue. I think if we work together, we can put a stop to it!”
“Absolutely! And speaking of sinking our teeth into something, are you ready to order dinner?”
“Sure.”
“We can continue our discussion of a publishing agreement after dinner.” He hailed the waiter.
(Travis knew what his first order of business would be after returning home. He would call Iota Press in Edmonton, Canada, and tell his friend Roger to stop production immediately. To complete and ship copies already in the works, but to produce no more, because Jester Books would have investigators trying to find him. Stop production, delete all files, and coach his employees into saying that they have never heard of ‘The Relic’. But it was a good run while it had lasted, and served them both well.)
During dinner, the conversation took an unexpected turn.
“Travis, what do you think about my daughter, Angel?”
“She seems very capable, in setting up my book signings. I an impressed with her professionalism.”
“Not too bad looking either,” Aaron said with a smile.
“She is actually very beautiful.”
“Yes, I have always thought so. But she can sometimes go a bit overboard when trying to impress our clients. Have you noticed that?”
“She does seem to have an aggressive, outgoing personality, but that is one of the things I like about her.”
“Really? Her personality can sometimes
repel
people, I have been told.”
“Different personalities, that is what makes the world go around. It would be a very boring world if everyone was the same.”
“So she does not repel or repulse you?”
“Why no, not at all.”
“That can only mean one thing, that she has persuaded you to sleep with her! Am I correct in assuming this?”
(Travis suspected that the ice he was treading on was getting thin. This was, after all, Angel’s father he was talking to.)
“She has certainly tried. However, I am a married man, and I told her that.”
“That doesn’t mean a whole lot to her, I am afraid.”
“So you do not approve of her ‘personal incentive program’?”
“Well I can hardly say anything to her. I was a bit of a ‘persuasive’ man in my younger days myself. In the early days of Jester Books, I only published books by aspiring
women
writers, who were desperate to get their writings into print. Aspiring women writers are willing to do just about anything to get a contract on their books. As a result, Jester Books was synonymous in its earlier years as a publisher of women’s books. And I published many books that were simply not worthy of publication, and it almost sank my business. I learned better over the years. I learned to persue only woman who had
publishable
manuscripts. Angel’s mother was one such woman writer. We were married only a short time before she died, however, and I never remarried. When Angel was twenty, I invited her to work for me, and she has done a good job. However, like father, like daughter, she seems to have inherited my earlier ways as well. But it is futile for me to say anything to her about it, because I would be perceived as a hypocrite.”
“Perhaps she will eventually amend her ways, like you did.”
“Perhaps, but not likely. She enjoys her job entirely too much.”
“Yes, she does.”
“At least now days she seems to focus on only on writers worthy of publication, which has been good for Jester Books, so I suppose I should be grateful for that.”
“Yes.”
“I did not mean to bore you with my soiled past, but I thought a bit of explanation might cause you to understand and overlook her behavior.”
“She and I have already worked past that. No problem.”
“Very good.”
* * *
That evening back in Alabama, the Lee family made preparations for the play at church. There would be no regular church service, just an abbreviated service, followed by the play about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. Cory played the part of Jesus, Chris was Lazurus, wrapped in mummy bandages. Joey and Calvin played shepherds. A half dozen other kids played the remaining parts. None of them really wanted to be there, because this was the same night that the large Presbyterian church from Arlington hosted a county-wide bon-fire, down on the Cahaba river, complete with roasted hot-dogs, marshmallows, and endless ghost stories. It was more appealing than a church play, but they had no choice, but to do the play.
The play went well, to have been thrown together as it was, and all the participants were glad to finally have it over with. After the play, the boys had secured permission from their parents to drive down to the Presbyterian retreat, to listen to ghost stories. They were going in Cory’s Dad’s truck, and Janice mandated that they were to be home by midnight. Before leaving the church, Janice gave Cory strict orders.
“Cory, I am only giving my boys permission to do this, because I trust you to drive really careful, and not do anything stupid.”
“Yes, Ma-am.”
“Do you know how to get down to the Presbyterian Retreat?”
“Oh, yes Ma-am. My dad and I went down there fishing just last weekend, so I know how to get there.”
“Joey, I want you boys home by midnight, and I mean
home
by midnight, not
on
the
way
home
by midnight! Do you understand?”
“Sure, Mom. Home my midnight, or Cory’s truck turns into a pumpkin.”
“No, home by midnight, or all three of you are grounded for three months! Got it?”
“Yes Ma-am. But what if something happens that is totally beyond our control, like Cory’s truck breaking down?”
“Grounded for three months!”
“Or what if a tree falls across the road, and blocks us in at the river?” Chris asked.
“I don’t care what happens,” Janice said, “Ride, walk, run or swim, you’d better be home by midnight! Are you going to bring that casket of your dad’s home before you go down there?”
All four boys were alarmed at that question, but Joey answered in a way that disarmed any suspicion. “No, it will be fine in the back of the truck. Besides, if we go home and unload it now, we will miss most of the story telling time, and that’s the best part of the Retreat. We can unload it when we get back home.”