The Publishing House was grand. So glamorous that for a moment SusuPetal hesitated. Could she really just enter through those dark, wooden doors? Could she just walk in and announce herself? What if nobody paid attention to her?
Could they do that?
No, they couldn’t. There was no need to worry and SusuPetal braced herself and entered the building.
The Publisher looked at her when she came to the room. The Publisher didn’t look surprised and she knew that the House had been waiting for her..
The Publisher smiled.
-So, finally, the Publisher inhaled and a quiet whistle blurt out of the red nose. –You decided to come out, eh? You want to be known all over the world, eh?
-Well, I presume you are the SusuPetal?
-Yes, I am.
-Also known as PusuPedaali, the woman who’s kissing the pedals or something, eh?
-It’s merely a nickname. I’m not into kissing.
The Publisher snorted out a sound which could’ve been considered a laugh. SusuPetal winced and hoped that the Publisher would start to speak business. She didn’t fancy this kind of chit-chat, se hadn’t that kind of humour. In fact, she hadn’t any kind of humour at all.
She wasn’t into humour.
-We’ve got it all made, the Publisher declared. –It’s all here: the publishing contract, the manuscripts for three series on TV, lasting ten seasons. Each. The merry-go-round in various happenings, several interviews, both the press and TV, the covers for your cook-book are also ready and…
-My cook-book? Eh?
-You can cook?
-No buts. Everything is in order, you just sign here. And here. And here.
-Here. You just sign and the world is yours.
SusuPetal took the pen the Publisher was offering and started to write her name. The Publisher exploded.
-What the heck, you dumb-wit of a woman. Not that name. Your real name, of course, you moron.
-My real name? But…I can’t use my real name.
-Sign it, woman! What are you? Dumb or something?
-No, I can’t. I can’t use my real name!
-And why is that, you lousy creature, eh?
-I…I don’t remember my real name!
-Yeah. This is bad.
Or was it bad, SusuPetal thought when she came out and stood on the pavement. Maybe not. There would be no glorious future, but did it matter?
She could always continue to write to her blog. All her blogs.
She was into blogs.