At the switchboard:

 "Thank you for calling Lofty Publishers, Incorporated. How may I direct your call?"

 "Put me on to Ray Flacker."

 "Thank you." Click.

 "Mr. Flacker's office. Billie speaking."

 "Billie, where is my royalty check? It's two months overdue!"

 "Oh, Mr. Vetzer. Hold on, please." She depressed the hold button and turned in exasperation to another secretary standing nearby with a cup of coffee. "It's that pain Vetzer, whining about his royalty check again."

 The other sipped her coffee and smiled. "Why don't you transfer him to that new girl in Editorial?"

 Billie pursed her lips. "You mean the little dear who expects me to take messages for her? She doesn't have anything to do with royalties." The other arched a meaningful brow and Billie depressed the hold button again. "Mr. Vetzer? I'm transferring you."

 "It's about time," he muttered. Click.

 "Editorial; Heather speaking."

 "This is Herman Vetzer. I've been waiting two solid months for my overdue royalty check. I am so sick and tired of you Christian publishers making promises and then reneging on them. My book sold over a hundred thousand copies for you people and I haven't seen a dime since my advance!"

 "Mr. Vetzer, I--"

 "You get off your duff and cut me a check today. Do you understand?"

 "Let me try to find out what the problem is and get back to you--"

 "Ha! I've heard that before! You get me a check in the mail today or you'll be hearing from my lawyer!"

In the marketing department:

 "Did you hear the news?" a copywriter asked, leaning in the door.

 "How could I not hear the news?" muttered Mark. "It's all over the radio." Another executive looked up from his desk with a look of alarm. Mark told him, "Our best-selling author of Making Your Christian Marriage Work ran off with the executive vice-president last week. We just got a call about it this morning from her seminar sponsor."

 "What? Janet? Ran off with Paul? But--they're both married!" exclaimed the man at the desk.

 "Duh," Mark noted glumly.

 "That's impossible. She's got a new book on commitment coming out in September."

 "Not anymore. It's dead in the water. We're halting production and pulling a plug on all her advertising," Mark said.

 "But--her Smiling Through Your Tears sold half a million copies alone! And what about her film series?"

 "Kaput--fini," Mark said. "She's made us the laughingstock of the industry. You'd think she could learn from her own books and hold her marriage together for the sake of her career but no, she chose to throw it all away. We're a Christian firm and we're not supporting unchristian behavior in any fashion. Debbie's on the phone right now telling her all bets are off."

 "But--do you realize how much that's going to cost us?" the executive asked, blanching.

 "Money's not the issue here. It's the principle of the thing," Mark insisted. He looked up as Debbie entered.

 "I just got off the phone with Janet," she began.

 "How did she take it?" Mark asked.

 "She said to stuff it. She's got a new contract with a major east coast publisher and three television appearances lined up."

In the editorial offices:

 "Mr. Flacker, I have some real problems with this new fiction manuscript," said a woman as she sat, manuscript in hand.

 "Well, now, Heather, what is it?" he asked condescendingly from behind his desk.

 "It's the storyline, ending with a murder-suicide by the Christian protagonist. I just don't see how we can pass this off as a Christian novel--"

 "Well, now, Heather, what is not helpful to you may be helpful to someone else. This manuscript raises some very complex issues."

 "Yes, but the whole point of Christianity is that there is always hope, and I don't see any of that here. This is a very depressing book."

 "Perhaps it's a little beyond you. We'll assign another editor to work on it," he said.

 "Fine," she said, rising to leave.

In the publicity department:

 "Sales on the Reverend's new book are going through the roof! It topped the Publisher's Weekly list again!" exclaimed Kathy.

 Jerrod, reading, stirred and handed her a sheet. "Good. Read this review of it. Second paragraph."

 Kathy took the sheet and read aloud, "'Curiously, the book is not written in the same style as the Reverend's previous books. As a matter of fact, it does not sound like the Reverend at all.' So?"

 "Do you think the reviewer knows that our senior editor actually wrote that book?" Jerrod wondered.

 "No, but what difference does it make? The Reverend approved the manuscript. And the people buying it won't know the difference, so who cares?" Kathy dropped the review in the trash can on her way out.

At a publication committee meeting:

 "We need to publish this manuscript. It's strong, it's moving, it's clean--it needs only some minor points addressed. I haven't read anything so good in a long while," Dana argued.

 An executive glanced through it. "No can do. It's science fiction. Too tough to sell."

 "I know it would appear to be science fiction, set on another planet, but it's really more mainstream because of the universal issues of faith it addresses. It really can't be pigeon-holed as genre fiction," Dana replied.

 "Where are we going to put it on the shelf? I never heard of this author. Is it a man or a woman?" the executive continued, disinterested.

 "A woman," Dana answered. "Sure, she's unknown, but it's quality work, and--"

 "Now, what we need," said another marketing executive, thrusting the manuscript aside, "is a novel with some action. Some drugs and the occult. Maybe a Tom Clancy-type techo-thriller. This kind of 'soft' science fiction isn't going to appeal to men or women."

 "What am I, chopped liver? I liked it!" Dana protested.

 "Nix on that one. What's next?"

At the author's home:

 An eight-year-old girl knelt to say her nighttime prayers. "Thank you, Father, for this day. Thank you for my mommy and my daddy and bubba. Thank you for the fun we had at the pool today, and please help Grandma's knee get better. And Lord, please help Mommy find a publisher who will be honest and who will sell her books for a long, long time because they tell people about You. In Jesus' name, Amen."

 "Thank you, honey," her mother murmured, kissing her forehead. "Goodnight."

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