Donald laughed. "Now I've heard everything!" he said. "You mean to tell me you could write a book humans would buy?"
"No, you would write the book. I would merely furnish the idea, the research data, the plot, and the general story outline. In your popular fiction," I continued, "there are four basic elements and a plot that can be varied about twenty-five ways. There is small need for philosophy and little need for abstract thought. In fact, there is no need at all for anything but glandular excitation. All that is really necessary is plenty of action, enough understanding of the locale and events to avoid anachronism—and the basics."
"What are these basics?" Donald said. "As a writer I'd like to know them."
"There are four," I ticked them off on my digits. "First, violation of the ethical or moral code of your race; second, adequate amounts of cohabitation between the characters; third, brutality; and fourth—murderous assault."
"Hmm. Sin, sex, sadism and slaughter," Donald commented. "You know, you might have something there."
"I have prepared an outline and a synopsis of such a book," I said. "It is a historical novel. It should sell. Most historical novels do."
"You've done what?" Donald gasped. Then he laughed. "Of all the insufferable egoists I've ever seen!"
"Listen," I said, ordering him to silence while I outlined the opening chapter.
"I can't stop you," Donald said. "But why should this happen to me? Isn't it bad enough to be bossed around by you lizards without having to be forced to ghost-write your amateur literary efforts?"