A Fire Risk Survey Confirms I'm Unlikely to Self-combust

Fire Risk Survey: all writers should have one.  You can spoon your words into a bucket from the moment the lark rises until some fool shoots it with a Colt 45, and that is fine.  Unfortunately, your harmless, imaginary eavesdropping of your fictional characters' conversations and your stroll into their landscapes will soon overstep into the boundaries and frontiers of the real hardnuts.  You start to write smiles in the wrinkles of your publisher.  You picture taking the editor's jowls in both hands and shaking them like crazy.  And, heaven forfend, you begin to see yourself living by direct debit.  But that's the outposts of reality, John.  That's not your desk, your biro and your post-its.  That's the parallel, bleached universe of colourless bottom lines.  You're just a maker of stuff.

Now the lyrics are homeless and contractual etiquette and guys with big hands insist that they stay that way. Shame!  Self-combustion, it seems, is not an option.