The plane bumped over the tarmac and Evil Editor closed his eyes and lay back against the first class leather seat. In his mind he traced the sleek lines of Evil Editor I, his new yacht, currently at rest on the velvet lawn outside Evil Editor Towers. He wanted his neighbors to have a good look at the spoils of Novel Deviations before he sullied her pristine whiteness with water. He hiccupped. Perhaps a fourth glass of champagne. He raised his finger to the flight attendant, careful to show her the size of his signet ring, etched with his handsome profile. She was at his side in an instant. Perhaps she might like to see the size of his other handsome profile later on?
Back to his yacht. In his mind he was able to erase the unsightly mountain of waiting manuscripts next to it. He would dispose of them when he returned from California with his bride. Kate Thornton was waiting for him, and if she were as pretty as she was witty, the vacancy for the eleventh Mrs. Editor would be filled. He hiccupped again. Time for a fifth glass. He raised a lazy finger.
It wasn't the fifth glass that did it, or the sixth, or the seventh. It was the eighth that led to the unpleasant misunderstanding with the flight attendant. Ejected from the plane before it even took off, he had little choice but to return home--where he found only a pile of ashes; the mountain of manuscripts had mysteriously self-combusted (that was the good news), taking Evil Editor I and Evil Editor Towers with it.
Evil Editor took only a moment to despair. Upwards and onwards with Novel Deviations II and this time the yacht would be even bigger.