“They’re goddamnit; ‘t-h-e-y-’-r-e’…for the love of God!” he said throwing the manuscript down on the sofa beside him.
“Bad day in fiction land?”
“The proper use of their/they’re/there is what separates us from the apes. This draft is going to make me burst a blood vessel. This needs a disclaimer,” he said, tapping on the manuscript, “will cause people with perfect grammar to foam at the mouth and hunt down the writer and cut his hands off to keep it from happening again.”
“September 7, 1983.”
“That is completely unfair! That grammar mistake was a fluke, a regional accent. One mistake and you hold it over me for years!”
“All I’m saying is, be gentle on him. Novelists like him keep editors like you in orange cappuccinos and opera subscriptions. He pays you for your anal retentively.”
“It’s my curse, I tell you, perfection is a burden!”