Dystopian? Black comedy? Literary?
Mainstream, contemporary–what on earth do those terms really mean?
CommWealth describes a society in which
all forms of property have been banned so a deeper sharing can take place
between citizens, CommWealth isn’t science fiction but is simply as bizarre.
The CommWealth system has outlawed
private property. Any object from your house to the clothes you’re wearing can
be demanded by anyone, to be enjoyed for thirty days before anyone else can
request it.
Playwright Allan Larson, Forensic Squad
actor and playwright, has adjusted well to this new society, easily claiming umbrellas,
mansions, and Porsches from fellow citizens. Still obsessed with his
ex-girlfriend Lisa, Allan invokes the laws of CommWealth to demand ownership of
her. When bicycle mechanic and fledgling actor Richard Stapke discloses that
he’s secretly been writing novels and plays for years, Allan incautiously
spreads the word that Richard’s a genius, with the result that an official
CommWealth claim is made of Richard’s entire literary output. The resulting
five-volume Stapke Intimacies brings to light a twisted history of betrayals,
double agents, and murder that propel members of the Forensic Squad theatrical
troupe into a suicidal revolution.
Excerpt:
“Mr. Stapke,” Hardy said, tapping
something ominous into his laptop, “let’s assume that your entire last
statement was hypothetical. In that hypothetical case, in which you are a mere
bicycle mechanic, of course you owe no Writer’s Tax. But, since you do have
writing, and since you are a writer, you owe seventeen percent.”
Richard opened his mouth and shut it.
“Seventeen percent? Hypothetically speaking, seventeen percent of what?”
“Of your output, of course. Let’s say
you produce two hundred pages per month, maybe fifty-thousand words, as you do
seem quite prolific. Of that, seventeen percent, or thirty-four pages, or
eighty-five hundred words, would be sent to the CommWealth Central Tax
Assessor’s Office.”
“What?” Richard and Allan both cried.
“If you produce more than say, five
hundred pages a month—if you’re a real barn burner, that is, it goes up to
fifty percent. So, of course, it’s best to stay around two to three hundred. We
know that nobody wants to lose half his writing.”
“What?” Richard repeated. “You
send—actual writing—to…to…”
“To the CCTA’s Office. On the last day
of the month you simply upload your entire month’s output to the CCTA web site,
which in turn sends it to the CommWealth Cultural Redistribution Office. That
office determines the seventeen percent tax and distributes it to needy writers
all over the country, then refunds the remaining eighty-three percent back to
you.”
“My—God!”
“You see, there are many unfortunate
writers who would like to be able to create, but who are, for some reason or
another, blocked from doing so. It’s a most distressful situation. I’m sure you
can relate to that, Mr. Stapke. You know how difficult it is to produce great
writing, and how easily it is to get blocked or
sidetracked.
Richard frowned. “No, I don’t know
that.”
Hardy cleared his throat. “It hardly
needs to be stated that there are vast quantities of unpublished material in
this country that are hidden away. People tend to Hoard their writing like dark
secrets. Well, what we’re doing with the Writer’s Tax Program is to bring those
dark secrets out into the open, and get them into the hands of needy writers
who can then have them published under their own names.”
“I don’t believe this! Are you saying
this only applies to unpublished material?”
“Of course—although anything a writer
produces on a given day is by definition unpublished. It doesn’t even matter if
a writer has a contract to write that particular work—it’s still considered
taxable by the CCTA. As soon as it’s produced, seventeen percent—or whatever
the percentage comes out to be—is ours. And, I should add, you must surrender all
your copies of those taxable pages for CCTA inspection—paper, CD, flash drive,
or whatever—because they officially cease to be yours in any way.”
Richard shook his head. “Forget
it…forget it…”
“And it has to be the best seventeen
percent of your writing—no low quality toss-offs and then shuffling that to the
CCTA. The Cultural Redistribution Office uses the CommLit program, which has
all sorts of fascinating algorithms for comparing the quality of different
sections of your writing—and it always gets your best seventeen percent.”
About the Author:
Michael D. Smith was raised in
the Northeast and the Chicago area, before moving to Texas to attend Rice
University, where he began developing as a writer and visual artist. In
addition to exhibiting and selling paintings and drawings, he’s completed fifteen novels.
Smith’s writing
in both mainstream and science fiction
genres uses humor to investigate psychological themes. On his
blog, he explores art and writing processes, and his web site contains further
examples of his writing and art. He is currently Technology Librarian for
McKinney Public Library in McKinney, Texas.
CommWealth is his first novel published
by Class Act Books.
Find out more about Michael at:
Website: www.sortmind.com
Blog: www. http://blog.sortmind.com/wordpress/
CommWealth
is available at:
Publisher’s
website: http://www.classactbooks.com/index.php/component/virtuemart/dystopian/commwealth-6022015-08-14-23-29-50-detail?Itemid=0
Barnes
& Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/commwealth-michael-d-smith/1122537291?ean=2940152097313
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