Quote:
Originally Posted by GrannyGrump
So, Hitch. Ya gonna tell us about this one? My curiosity bump is itching like mad!
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Y'know, I know that I told this one, but, here we go:
Once upon a time...a certain bookmaker had an actual office. (This is before I realized that nobody, ever, came to the office. Not once, except...well...). Anyway, this was early, early days. The halcyon days of self-publishing, when everyone and their brother had manuscripts in their desk drawers, dying to
escape, er, see the light of day.
We get in a manuscript, entitled something LIKE "I am Satan." Now...you know, guys, I tend to assume that people are using creative license. I look at it, it's in Word, no major issues, I issue a quote, and we make the books. The gentleman in question has an unusual name, so I think, for some reason, that he might be residing in Europe.
Anyway...we send him aforementioned books. And kids, the mascara hits the fan, as they say in politer circles than those I inhabit.
The man emails,
shrieking IN ALL CAPS. We've altered his book. We've changed the text. This isn't what he wrote; we are clearly
persecuting him, for the circumstances of his birth--
as the AntiChrist. Yes, I know that the AntiChrist and Satan are NOT the same person/entity/whatever. I'm just telling the story, folks, not the creator thereof.
Now, in hindsight, I know what you 20/20s are thinking..."but, Hitch, when you read the manuscript, didn't it strike you that..." and the answer to that is, NO. I didn't, because
I didn't bl**dy read the thing. We never do. I mean, for what we charge, who the Hades has time to
read them?
I try to reason with him. He calls me, and now he's shrieking, furreal. Not in all caps, in decibels. I send him screenshots, of his manuscript, and the book, pointing out that
if he'll just check the file he sent us...
Nothing works. So...in retribution, he decides to take the only course of action that he feels will get him the resolution that he wants--he decides to drive, across three states, to "come and get [me]" for altering his sacred words.
Now, by this time, genius that I am, in making the screenshots, etc., I've read some of the, er, writing, and I realize that perhaps, just
perhaps, yon Satan
might be stark raving bonkers. I know more, now, of course, but at the time, all I had was his apparently real name (we get a LOT of pen names, and don't even know the real names until payment is tendered), an email address, and his threats.
And Satan did, indeed, drive across three states. Fortunately, I called the Sheriff, relayed the story, provided the evidence (that I had in writing), and Beelzebub's email address. The Sheriff was, finally, able to intercept him (n.b.: about
one-half mile, mind you, from my office...).
As it turned out, the old Prince of Darkness was, well, off his meds. Literally. He was a severely bipolar individual, with some other mental challenge thrown in, and he'd stopped taking his meds,
about two weeks, IIRC, before he sent us the manuscript. By the time we'd finished the books and sent them to him, he'd had a full psychotic break, and unfortunately, we were in the line of fire. His unmedicated brain didn't like what his medicated brain had written, even though, ahem, apparently, he still thought he was The Morning Star. Or the AntiChrist. One of those guys.
The following day, I got a PO box, and changed all our mailing addresses, on everything, to that. I even used it as the "physical address" for Yahoo, the Goog, etc., even though you are
NOT supposed to, but my attitude was, screw 'em if they raised hell about it. I mean, I don't think that
they run around unprotected on
their campuses!
And that, my friends, is the story of how
The Devil Went Down To Phoenix.
Hitch