‘Jim Harding and the Steam Shovel’
The meeting was the secretest of secret. Only the truly elite, the Don Corleones and Jabba the Hutts of the publishing world were present. The CEOs of Random House, Harper Collins, Double Day, and others, shuttled and bundled into the top of an enormous skyscraper with blinds drawn and security posted, peered down the long table toward the white coated madman and his invention.
‘Gentleman, I would like to thank you for inviting me to speak here today.’ Dr. Sverson licked his lips. ‘What I have invented will revolutionize the publishing industry.’
‘Get on with it Svernson!’ growled Joe Viottala, head of Random House. His big, red, whiskered, cheeks shook as he spit the words out between lips pursed around a fat cigar. ‘Say whatever it is you came to say; I gotta busy day and my time is worth a lot more than yours,’ he spat, each explosion of air reeking of gin.
Svernson, eye twitching uncontrollably, drew his breath. With a great effort to control his irritation, he began again.
‘Gentleman, the cotton gin to textile factory, the assembly line to the motor car, those were all great inventions, and I have created the same for the publishing industry!’ and with a flourish worthy of a cheap magician, he pulled the cover off the trolley to his right to reveal a small laptop computer.
‘Have you ever pondered the future of writing? Have you ever stopped to think who will be the Arthur Conan Doyles and Charles Dickens of our time? I have,’ Svernson licked his lips again in evident relish. ‘I have here, gentleman, a list of the greatest and most prolific writers of our time. Agatha Christy, Stephen King, Tom Clancy, Michael Crichton, and R.L. Stine; each name on this list has produced over twenty titles which grossed a million or more sales. What I am offering you gentleman is a way to produce, in one afternoon, twenty new works from authors whose style in every way mimics the style and device of these writers.’
‘This computer program is fully versed in all known rhetorical devices, as well as over 2000 major and minor plot devices. He can produce works varying on thirty major themes or so, and he can mimic every genre and sub genre ever produced in the history of humankind. And he can do it all while you’re having lunch.’
‘You there’ Sverson pointed at Mickey O’Malley, CEO of Tor Fantasy, who had momentarily removed his attention from the speaker to enjoy a bite of his gigantic horseradish and pickled herring sandwich. ‘Your company employs authors like Terry Goodkind and Robert Jordan, doesn’t it? Well how would you like to own the rights, with no royalty payments, to a completely new series borrowing only the best aspects of both those writers, and best of all how would you like to produce a book in that series every month? Here you go.’ He whirled the wireless mouse like a baton and plunked a few keys on the computer then paused. In a second the computer began to hum and the printer underneath it began to vomit pages at a tremendous rate.
‘You!’ Svernson pointed at Griffen Halbern, CEO of Del Ray books. ‘You own the rights to the Star Wars books series, correct? Want the next twenty installments?’ He was furiously typing and the printer was whirring and pages were beginning to spill out of the tray.
‘New Tom Clancy spy novel!’ click. Whirr. Svernson was red in the face and sweating and still pages were flying from the printer. One of the pages fell and landed at Joe Viottola’s feet. He leaned over and picked it up. The others watched him.
‘Good,’ he said after a minute. ‘Really good. A little formulaic, but….’
Jim harding sat as his desk typing.
Luke turned to the young jedi alien. ‘No Hyack’ he said ‘the force must flow through the object, not around it.’
‘Master, I can’t use these new force-power enhancers’ Hyack said, crestfallen.
Luke shook his head gravely. ‘You must clear your mind, with these new power-enhancers we will command ten times the amount of force we can normally; the Sith will use them. We must be ready.’
With the last sentence he slumped back in his chair, exhausted. His eyes hurt. He had been typing for an uninterrupted seven hours. He flexed his wrists, then leaned in his chair and brushed his tousled brown hair back from his roguishly handsome face. He then tilted his back and closed his eyes, trying to forget the various plot designs which still tugged and seethed inside his head.
He heard a knock on the door, and then the soft turning of the knob. Keeping his eyes closed, he waited. He was rewarded when he felt the soft arms and breath of his wife Janet as she draped herself over his chair. He rubbed her arms reflexively.
‘All done for today, Honey?’ she said.
‘Yeah, I think so. I’m almost through chapter 5. This one is going to be tough.’
‘Aww, I’m sorry, Dear. Tell you what, Gracy’s at school, why don’t you just sit right here and I’ll get you a snack and a beer.’ She began to get up, but he grabbed her by the waist.
‘Well, if Gracy’s gone…’
They made love furiously.
When they were finished they sat together at the kitchen table, him drinking an ice cold beer and eating fresh ritz crackers with peanut butter, making small chat.
‘Gracy wants a pair of skies’ Janet told him, mouth full of peanut butter.
He sighed. ‘I don’t know if we can afford it right now,’ he said carefully. ‘We’re already cutting pretty hard into the advance for this book as is.’
‘I know dear’ Janet said, ‘but all her friends are going on the skiing trip and we promised her last year. It would mean so much to her, and I just know we’ll make ends meet.’
He sighed again. ‘Okay I guess we can do it. Say, did any mail come today?’ he got up and started walking to the door.
‘O yeah, I put it on the stereo.’
He walked over to the stereo and began pawing through the stack of envelopes. A letter from Del Ray Books caught his eye and he slit it open carelessly with the end of his thumb. He extracted the letter and glanced over it casually, then with a quickening intensity. Then he stopped and stared at the letter, a look of shock and horror on his face.
‘What’s the matter honey?’ said Janet.
(to be continued)
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