Merese rang his editor on the satellite phone today. I do not always with my editor get on well, so it was not as pleasant as one may expect of such a phone conversation.
After all, one would expect a lowly editor would of course be honoured to work for such a great genius as M. Muryce de Perfossor! Alas, it is not the case, mon ami. My editor, he is much annoyed with Merisse. Morase wonders if this is because he at him a chair threw last time we met. No, Merryse is convinced it is not this minor incident. Morrrise is the definition of composure at all times, and they were eventually able to rebuild their garden pagoda.
No, mes amis, it is simply that a person as mediocre can not with such a great mind, with such a genius as is Mariçe cope. No, it is beyond him and he is envious of my intellect and my fans most devoted. Maybe he is just of my red beret most wondeful envious.
Eh bien, when Meryße is off this island he will another publisher find. One who his great genius can appreciate. It will be them, not V. A. Nity Press that will publish Meryse's new messterpeice, the novel The Mouthwash of the Gods!
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