Fantasy Writers 1860

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An unexpected guest is arriving at the editorial office of the Britannian Literary Gazette.

She was a petite girl of short stature with a healthy, alluring wheat-colored complexion, a rarity in today's trend of valuing fair skin.

She wore a flamboyant velvet top adorned with a bright, slightly disheveled collar, sparkling jewelry rings on her fingers, and a white top hat on her head. Her brown hair was loosely styled, and her eyes were deep, bright, and sparkling with vitality.

Her extremely daring and thunderous outfit left everyone feeling wild and shocked.

"Who is this person?"

"Never seen her before, is she the editor-in-chief's new mistress?"

"Impossible! Look at her flashy, jewel-encrusted outfit, how could our club president possibly be worthy of her?"

"Could they be here to discuss business?"

"That's also possible..."

Ignoring the whispers of the people, the girl headed straight for a room with a sign that read "President's Office".

The door to that room opened at just the right moment, as if the person inside had been waiting for a long time.

"They're definitely here to discuss business!"

"Exactly, I bet it's some big shot."

"This important person certainly has a unique sense of aesthetics..."

The girl, who was already uninterested in their whispers, could no longer hear them after entering the house.

"To be honest, Miss Dickins, I've been quite surprised ever since I heard you were planning to collaborate with us," the editor-in-chief of the *Britannia Literary Gazette* said, looking at the petite young woman opposite him. "Haven't you been collaborating with Chapman & Hall Publishing, publishing your novels volume by volume? Why the sudden urge to serialize your work in a newspaper?"

"I want to try something new, is that not allowed?" The girl named Dickinson said righteously, as if she were the boss here.

"The manuscript you submitted earlier..." The president rummaged through his desk and found a stack of neatly written manuscript paper in a pile of papers.

"To be honest, I didn't watch it."

He then turned the stack of manuscript papers upside down on the table.

"I have faith in your abilities, but newspaper serials and magazine serials are different. Although they have many similarities, there are also differences..."

"I write very quickly, don't worry, I can keep up with the weekly updates, quality and quantity guaranteed." Dickinse puffed out her thin chest slightly, full of confidence.

Currently, most of Lentinion's magazines are published monthly, so there is a month to write articles. Newspapers, on the other hand, are mostly published weekly, so the pace of newspaper serialization is faster and the requirements for writing speed are also higher.

People in this era cannot even imagine that one day in the future, humanity will have a daily update system.

Moreover, there is an unwritten hierarchy of contempt in the publishing industry: works serialized in literary magazines are considered more prestigious than those serialized in newspapers. Newspaper serializations are considered vulgar reading material, while only magazine serializations are considered high-class literature.

How could a great author who collaborates with a publishing house, publishes independently on a monthly basis, and doesn't even have to share a page with others, suddenly become interested in things at the bottom of the social hierarchy?

"As far as I know, you also have a work called 'Dombey and Sons' currently being serialized by Chapman & Hall, right? Are you really so free that you can try a new field, or is there some other reason?" The president smiled wickedly.

Because he knew that the other party wasn't just doing this out of boredom, but had a real reason for it.

"I heard you've gone back to Bentley Weekly as editor-in-chief?"

Dickinson was startled. Although she tried her best to control her expression, her hands, gripping the hem of her clothes, betrayed her.

How did he even know?

Dickinson has indeed encountered some difficulties recently.

Simply put, they're out of money.

Her good-for-nothing father was imprisoned again for owing money, and to make matters worse, she had signed some of the receipts, so she also had a share in this large debt.

Thanks to the royalties from Chapman and Hall Publishing, she was no longer struggling financially; in fact, she was quite wealthy, and she had gained some fame in the literary world of Lentinion.

She had previously used this fame to her advantage and accepted an invitation from Bentley Weekly to become its editor-in-chief, with a monthly salary of £1 and 18 denarii.

That's equivalent to two and a half months' salary for a skilled worker.

She later discovered that Bentley Weekly never intended for her to be a proper editor-in-chief or to have the power that an editor-in-chief should have. Instead, they restricted her in every way and only wanted to use her as a mascot to attract fame for their magazine.

In fact, many people don't see anything wrong with this; they can earn so much money without doing any work.

But in the eyes of Miss Dickinson, who had achieved fame at a young age and was proud and arrogant, this was an insult to her. The two had different ideas and could not communicate effectively, so they parted on bad terms.

The contract she and Chapman had previously signed with Hall Publishing was a fixed-fee contract with no sales commission. Even though she's somewhat famous now, she doesn't yet have the influence to persuade a publisher to sign a sales commission contract with her.

So she accepted a higher-priced fixed-fee contract, 2 Denali and 3 Florin per print.

Now, with his work even more successful than he had initially anticipated, Chapman and Hall Publishing have made a fortune.

The recent changes that happened to Dickinson's father made her grit her teeth and go to the publisher to negotiate, to see if she could amend the contract or get an advance on the royalties.

However, the publisher said that the sales of your work have declined sharply recently. The recent hit novel "The Million Pound Note" has attracted most of the subscribers, and now the publisher is also operating at a loss, struggling to make ends meet, and has no spare money.

Dickinson also investigated privately and found that they were just lying to people, and the sales of her works were not affected at all.

Even if I am a well-known author, and even if my work is the most profitable product of their publishing house, I still have no bargaining power and can only passively accept whatever they say.

I must open my own newspaper in the future; only then can I truly be free.

Of course, she had read the work herself, and it was indeed excellent, with themes closely resembling her own. However, the story itself was rather thin, and the writing too casual; ultimately, it was a beautiful story rather than a profound masterpiece.

However, the target audiences on both sides should not overlap.

The work was serialized in the newspaper "Lentinian Weekly," and was inexpensive and poorly printed, with its main audience being the general public.

The books published by our own publishing house are priced higher, beautifully bound, and easy to collect, mainly targeting wealthy groups such as nobles, the middle class, and rich businessmen.

The two sides are completely separate tracks, so how could they affect each other?

In short, now that she is short of money, she has once again accepted an invitation from Bentley Weekly to return as its editor-in-chief.

Having learned from the unpleasant experience last time, both sides learned to compromise this time. Considering the high salary, Dickinson agreed.

"Yes, so what?" Dickinson retorted, feigning assertiveness.

She had probably already guessed what the other person was thinking.

"As far as I know, you recently returned to Bentley Weekly due to financial problems. I feel sorry for you..." The president's compassionate tone made Dickinson very uncomfortable.

Finally, the president stopped pretending and laid his cards on the table:

"Therefore, we are willing to pay you a certain advance payment to help you get out of your financial crisis as soon as possible. However, as a condition for the advance payment, we need to reduce the royalty fee to a certain extent... However, this will allow you to receive a sum of cash immediately, which should still be a good deal."

Just as Dickinson had predicted, he somehow found out about her current financial situation and planned to use it to manipulate her and acquire her work and fame at a lower cost.

She sighed almost imperceptibly.

If the price reduction is reasonable, it could be a good deal.

Seeing that the other party did not express their opinion, the editor-in-chief assumed that she had tacitly agreed to this arrangement, and thus presented his own offer:

"One sheet costs 2 florins and 5 asterisks, with 60% prepayment. How about that?"

Dickinson: ?

Is he really that ruthless?

Are you trying to make fun of me like an Iris person?

……

Meanwhile, in the outdoor office area, a young editor who had recently joined the company had his desk piled high with all sorts of envelopes, some even stacked as tall as a person.

This place is full of submissions.

As a newly hired editor, the senior staff entrusted him with the task of "reviewing submitted manuscripts".

Most of the tasks assigned to a newcomer are unimportant, laborious, and thankless.

Reviewing manuscripts from new writers is one such task.

In this work, you will witness firsthand the diversity of human species. Reading these nonsensical articles all day long is a real test of your mental strength.

"What is this? Is this even Britannian script?" The young editor opened an envelope, glanced at it, found he couldn't understand it, stuffed it back in, and threw it into the discard pile.

"This is alright, at least the sentences are fluent..." He placed the envelope in a basket on the table. The manuscripts inside would be sent to other senior editors for review, and a final decision would be made on whether to publish them.

"You can't even explain this clearly..."

"It's all spelling mistakes; this person probably didn't even finish elementary school..."

"It's that religious indoctrination stuff again. Going to church and hearing a hymn will turn you into a new person, right? We secular newspapers don't accept that kind of thing..."

"This is alright..."

"Bringing politics again? If you like politics so much, go submit an editorial to Time magazine..."

"It's just another example of high society fantasies from someone who's never experienced it, even using necklaces as a pretext..."

"This is interesting, let's keep it for now..."

This young editor was like an emotionless sorting machine, skimming through all the manuscripts. Having long since transformed into the Red Stone King, he could now judge the quality of a manuscript with just three lines, at most one page.

In the end, the box for discarded drafts naturally became fuller and fuller, while the basket on the table for basically acceptable drafts still had plenty of space.

At that moment, Dickinson also came out of the president's office with a long face.

In the end, they still couldn't reach an agreement.

This company president is ruthless in driving down prices; even profiteering during a crisis isn't done this way.

Dickinson silently vowed to remember this grudge and never come here again.

In the corridor, Dickinson kept replaying the negotiation process in her mind, and her determination to start her own newspaper in the future became even stronger. Only in this way could she gain true freedom and stop being manipulated by others like she was today.

After walking through the short corridor to the outdoor office area, she found an editor's desk piled high with envelopes, some even as tall as a person.

"Are these all letters from readers?" Dickinson asked casually.

"These are all new manuscripts from authors who haven't been registered with the newspaper before." The young editor didn't even look up, continuing to skim through the manuscripts he had just opened.

Dickins nodded, marveling at how the *Britanian Literary Gazette* truly was a major literary publication, with so many submissions. "Are all of these accepted?" she asked.

"They're all rejected drafts."

Are all of these drafts rejected?

So, the ones in that thin layer of baskets over there are the ones that have been approved?

Now that she's a somewhat well-known writer, the issue of getting her manuscripts accepted hasn't bothered her for a long time.

"It seems your standards are quite high," she said with a smile.

"It's not high, it's just that those unknown newcomers write garbage."

These words made Dickinson frown.

What do you mean by saying that all new writers write garbage? You wrote pretty well when you were a new writer yourself. Which writer didn't start as a new writer?

We should not be harsh on newcomers, but rather actively care for and train them.

She walked to the overflowing draft box, picked up a stack of manuscripts, and began to read them carefully.

Soon, it was thrown back.

Okay, he's right.

Any newcomer with no reputation writes garbage.

People can't even empathize with their past selves.

Dickinson has forgotten how she frantically submitted her work everywhere when she first started out.

Of course, what she wrote when she first started out was better than what we just read.

Just as Dickinson was about to leave, she suddenly realized that her movements had caused the box to be misaligned.

Unable to bear the mess, she half-squatted down and straightened the waste paper box.

At that moment, she noticed that there were several pieces of paper underneath one corner of the box that had been tilted earlier.

It must have fallen out from inside.

She picked up the papers and found that they were not handwritten, but neatly printed.

Was it typed on a typewriter?

She had heard of typewriters, but had never used one.

She even had to prepare special blue ink for writing; if the color wasn't right, she couldn't write, let alone use something as novel as a typewriter.

However, the typeface does look nice...

With this positive feeling in her heart, she casually glanced back twice.

Some women are born beautiful and charming, but due to the twists of fate, they are born into poor working-class families. She is one of them...

Strange, the writing is quite fluent, so why was it thrown directly into the draft box? Was it not given any chance at all?

This curiosity compelled her to continue reading; she wanted to see what had caused it to become a rejected draft.

Her husband suddenly exclaimed, "You're so slow! Go find your friend Mrs. Forester and borrow a few pieces of jewelry from her, then you'll have everything you need. You're on good terms with her; it's not difficult at all."

Borrow a necklace? That seems like something an Iris would do.

It is said that Rutasia is a place of constant revelry, with endless balls and salons every day.

Dickinson, who came from a humble background, instinctively resisted anything that portrayed or glorified the extravagance of "high society." This is one of the reasons why she didn't rate "The Million Pound Note" highly.

But seeing this made her even more confused. So far, this article was well-written and well-structured, a world apart from the manuscript she had just seen that was so poorly written.

Is something this outstanding not enough to get approved?

Still puzzled, Dickinson continued reading.

The novel, titled "The Necklace," was not long, and she finished reading it quickly.

After reading the last paragraph, she felt dizzy and astonished. A chill ran from her feet to her head, leaving her speechless with her mouth agape.

Now, she is absolutely certain that the only reason this article will be rejected is because the editor is blind!

The Britannian Literary Gazette is blind!