Harold looked over his raised coffee cup to Jake and asked if he was ready for CEO Goodall. Jake nodded emphatically. Jake had a new idea that was a sure winner. He would not say what it was until he could pitch it to CEO Goodall. Harold put his coffee cup down and wished Jake the best. Harold stared down at his desk, Jake took the hint and went out to his place in the open office. The others shuffled in.

At 8:30 Harold addressed the office, coffee in hand. He raised his cup and cups raised all over the room. “We knew he was coming here three weeks ago and there is nothing to worry about. Just do what we always do. The company put us and typewriters in the same room. The joke was one hundred monkeys, but budget restraints...” He smiled. Laughter rippled through the basement office.

Harold's big eyes roamed over the assembly. “Many trade paperbacks have started in this room and many more will swing out of here. Remember 'Every Word Makes Cents.' The e-book market is expanding and we know how to put out books that sell. We can shoot for great literature, but a good trade paperback or e-book keeps our paychecks coming!” Inspirational speeches that early in the morning had to be kept short. The caffeine flow hadn't kicked in quite yet. Jake looked up at the movie poster and sighed.

Harold began to walk through the rows to rally the troops. Jane, a white-fronted Capuchin, quietly keyed in on her laptop. She was a senior writer and specialized in women oriented story lines.

“How's your idea going about putting all those apes in a tree and see who stays in it the longest?” Harold thumped her desk playfully. She looked up and chuckled.

Harold moved to Raymond, who went by the name Jay. Harold had all his writers quirks filed away in his head. Jay was a Rhesus Macaque, a small guy. He did mysteries and occasional rain forest ape opera. Harold looked over Jay's shoulder to his tablet, and smiled. “Pretty monkey marm falls for the lead monkey. That will keep the older monkeys reading.” Jay wistfully looked up and winked. Harold glanced to the back at the sound of clacking typewriters, “They just like to hear themselves think.”

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