"Mr. Eliot, I believe this story will surely be refreshing."
Clare babbled happily beside him. Eliot directly waved for him to shut up and settled down to flip through the story.
After reading, Eliot had an inexplicable hunch that the story had potential, but Clare's revisions were far from satisfying him. He would have to do it himself.
Eliot glanced at Clare.
"Your work has been decent lately. Write to the author and have him sell us the copyright. See if he wants a lump sum or royalties."
Clare agreed with flattery. He thought that typically, for unknown authors, the editor would directly negotiate a buyout, and the author had no right to demand royalties from the publisher.
Once bought out, whether the book lost money or made a fortune was the publisher's business, no longer related to the author.
Many small authors had no choice but to accept such contracts.
Now the editor proactively offered royalties, giving him an extra option.
This meant the editor valued the author's talent, believing he would go further, and showed respect.
Clare found Jenny and ordered her to write a letter notifying the author to come to the company tomorrow to discuss the price, asking him to consider whether he wanted royalties or not.
"Alright, I'll write to him now."
Jenny replied, looking up from her desk. After speaking, she paused, suppressing her joy, and added:
"Mr. Clare, I remember there were two other good submissions today. Were those stories accepted?"
Clare, seeing how much she wanted to recommend them, suspected she might have promised something to those authors or even taken bribes. Now she would fail.
"That was Mr. Eliot's decision. He didn't favor those two." His tone was regretful.
Jenny pursed her lips, looking a bit embarrassed.
"I see."
"Can't help it. Mr. Eliot's taste is unique."
Clare felt pleased at Jenny's frustration. He shrugged helplessly and turned away.
Jenny silently lowered her head, pulled out letter paper, and began filling in the address, all while laughing heartily inside.
In this era, being an editor required accumulating author resources. As long as she could deliver on her promises, she would gradually build credibility.
With credibility among authors, new writers would come to her for help. Then, with effort, she could achieve results and get promotions and raises.
Jenny wrote a letter to Sean, inviting him to meet Eliot tomorrow afternoon. If Sean agreed to a buyout, given the length, he could generally get between two hundred and four hundred dollars. If he chose royalties, he wouldn't get a penny now, only about ten percent of sales after the book was published.
Jenny thought, though she sympathized with him, she couldn't control that. After all, she was just a worker.
Only full editors had bargaining power.
After sending the letter, Jenny left work on time in the afternoon.
She took Tori's several-hundred-page fairy tales from her drawer and stuffed them into her leather bag, which bulged.
Jenny figured that if she stayed in the office working on these manuscripts, she might attract attention from those colleagues, and the dorm had no space for her to operate.
These two hundred pages of scattered manuscripts needed to be copied from the originals first, then revised and polished.
The footnotes for revisions also needed separate copies. The whole process would take at least ten days to half a month.
She mingled with the crowd clocking out and left the building, walking two blocks along South Street toward City Hall.
Jenny searched for a while and found a coffee shop on the roadside that looked expensive, so it was nearly empty.
Unlike the cheap cafes with crowded tables, this one was grand, with a spacious hall, wide spacing between indoor seats, many empty tables, and even screen partitions.
Jenny liked the environment at once. She thought to make a good start today, organize the manuscripts, and then revise them in batches.
She entered the shop. The waiter sized her up, knowing she was a female clerk from a nearby publishing house—not particularly wealthy but with some spare change—so he led her to a corner seat.
Even the corner table had a fine white cloth, a table runner, and fresh flowers, with ample light.
The waiter handed her the menu. Jenny calmly ordered the cheapest espresso and a croissant, asking the waiter to remove the vase and candlestick from the table to avoid breaking them.
Then she took out the contents of her bag and spread them on the table. After placing some scrap paper underneath, she opened the ink bottle, dipped her pen, and began creating a table of contents from the originals.
The original author, Mr. Tori, had started supporting his family early, writing these in his spare time. His handwriting was hasty, with many wrong words and missing sentences. Many pages were even blank forms from restaurants, used on both sides, and the page order was all mixed up.
After sorting them, Jenny clipped each complete story with a paperclip, organizing over forty short stories.
After eating, she buried herself in writing, making copies of the originals. The copies were only for annotations and marking deletions.
No revisions could be made directly on the originals, as the publishing company or the author needed to keep them. That's why editors needed so many assistants—copying took up a large part of the miscellaneous work.
Jenny was working enthusiastically when she didn't notice someone watching her from outside the window.
It wasn't until the waiter took away her empty cup and replaced it with another drink that Jenny looked up.
"Hey, I didn't order this?"
The waiter pointed to the seat behind her.
"That gentleman invited you."
Jenny turned around and saw Frank sitting behind her, waving.
She smiled.