So just imagine it's 2028 and there are no more publishers now that the Everest Corp. and its Cradle Direct Publishing program has eliminated the need for traditional publishers. Okay, I know what you're thinking. "That sounds a lot like...." Sometimes fiction mirrors reality, even in cyberpunk world. But imagine the editors and book production pros who will be out of a job?
That's exactly the position my female, 1st person, protagonist, Tanya Teal finds herself in...
I give you, Chapter 1 of Primary Termination....
1
21 hours earlier
Nobody
likes asking their parents for money. I’m the first to admit it. Especially
when you’re over forty and you were once considered one of the hottest up-and-coming
acquisitions editors in all of New York City. You know, the one with all street
creds: Stanford English grad, Columbia MFA in Writing, one of the first under
twenty-five year olds to be selected for The Best American Short Stories
anthology, the high-powered editorial job at Penguin Publishing, the corner
office on the 23rd floor of the Bertelsmann building, the long legs,
the tight Donna Karan skirts, the long dark hair, the big brown eyes, and the
brains to match. Did I mention I have a Black Belt in Budakai Karate and can
shoot out the bullseye with my 9mm semi-automatic at thirty yards?
So
having to admit to my folks I had no choice but to give up my Park Avenue
apartment for my old bedroom up in Albany because I’m not only broke, but
severely in Everest credit card debt, is more humiliating than farting on a
first date. Actually, I take that back. I would most definitely take passing
gas on a first date over having to ask the folks for money and a place to crash
while I put all the broken Humpty Dumpty pieces of my life back together.
The
reason? Money and credits means freedom and most guys are assholes anyway.
So
now, I sit on the edge of my bed with my head in my hands--the very bed I slept
in while in high school (Class of 2006, Go Lions!!!!), the very bed I had my
first sexual experience in with Tony Smart, the very bed I cried my eyes out on
when Tony dumped me--knowing that I have no choice but to head back downstairs
and, like the teenager I once was, face the music from both my overly concerned
‘rents.
God
help me. Or should I say, Everest.com help me?
Forgive
me for blaspheming, but then I’m not sure equating the Everest Corporation with
God is seen as blaspheming anymore. In most circles, it’s seen as the new
reality.
But then where are
my manners. My name is Tanya. Tanya Teal. I’m not good with names, unless
you’re one of my authors (correction, were
one of my authors), so half the time I don’t even offer mine up. Ever since
smartphones and micro body cams came up with face recognition apps, who needs
to memorize names anyway? I’m normally a go getter type of girl who lives for
her work. But the work has become a relic of the past now that authors don’t
need publishers anymore.
I’m
not old yet, not by any stretch of the imagination (or so I keep telling
myself), but I can still remember the days before I graduated from writing
school (remember MFA in Writing programs?), when there was still four big
publishers in New York City, and all the fiction writers who were hoping to be
the next James Patterson, Lee Child, or Stephen King wanted a book deal so bad
they would gladly sell theirs and their mother’s souls to get one. I read so
many great manuscripts back then as a college intern one summer at one of those
big four publishing houses, but sadly, 99.9% of them would have to be rejected.
Getting a book deal back then was like winning the lottery.
But
it wasn’t until I was in grad school and the invention of the Everest
Corporation’s Cradle electronic reading device came into being (eBooks), and
along with it, Cradle Direct Publishing, that quite suddenly writers, both big
and small, talented or untalented, no longer required the services of a
traditional publisher to see their book in digital print. Allow me to repeat
that precisely because it’s of vital importance…With the introduction of the
Cradle and Everest’s Direct Publishing program, publishers were no longer
needed. Although it took a few years to actually happen, we all knew back then
that our careers were doomed.
Oh
Lord, now I’m info dumping…something I always warn my authors against. In any
case, here I am, exactly twenty years after the eBook device first hit the
markets, forty-something years old, broke, in debt, and back to living with my
parents. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Put up a billboard on the street
that reads, “New York City Acquisitions Editor for Hire! Slightly Used!”
Standing, I take a
quick look at myself in my old dresser mirror. It’s weird because I feel like
I’m not looking at me, but just someone who resembles me. Someone dressed like
me in snug fitting, faded Levis, brown cowboy boots, loose gabardine button
down, silver angel pendent resting against my cleavage and matching silver
bracelets on my left wrist. Finger combing my dark shoulder-length hair with
both hands, I say aloud, “Freelance editor for hire.”
Just
the sound of those words coming from my mouth offers a spark of hope. Now that
anyone can publish a book, there’s something like ten times the amount of
published authors that existed even a decade ago. That’s a hell of a lot of
writers.
“Jacquie,”
I say aloud, “what are the chances of me starting my own freelance editing
business for fiction authors?”
“You
mean, Cradle Direct Publishing authors, I assume, Tanya?”
“Is
there anything else?” I respond to the Everest Corp. Artificial Intelligence
service.
For
those of you who have been living under rock (or still somehow off grid up in
the mountains), Jacquie has become like the universal digital Big Sister of us
all. Years ago, she started out as a cute little, blue-light illuminated, high-tech
box you could install in your living room maybe next to your Blue Tooth device.
You might ask her to choose a song for you on the Pandora music app. But since
those ancient times she’s blossomed into cloud AI tech, capable of doing
everything from reminding you to buy shampoo to reciting your Everest.com
credit balance, to giving you advice on relationships, or to just be a sort of an
electronic pal and advisor.
She
also rules the roost.
By
that I mean, she knows when to lock your house down, or turn up the heat or
turn it down. She can sniff out fire or a carbon dioxide leak, or even call the
police on your behalf should she suspect a prowler approaching. Fact is, there
isn’t a whole lot Jacquie doesn’t know about anyone of us living not just in
the U.S., but the world over.
“There
were some eBook publishers who were trying to compete with Everest dot com,”
Jacquie says. “But like your publisher, they are all gone now. Everest and
Cradle Direct Publishing is all that remains. But then, why would a writer wish
to go anywhere else to publish his or her books? It’s quite easy. Does that
satisfactorily answer your query?”
For
some reason I’m still staring at myself in my dresser mirror. I guess I do this
because Jacquie is just a voice that resonates in whichever room you happen to
be in, and not an actual physical presence, even if at times, she feels like
one.
“So
then, it makes sense that all of those writers out there are going to require an
editor, am I right, Jacquie?”
“Yes
you are, Tanya,” she says. “But of the approximately nine million published
authors currently utilizing CDP, almost all of them already utilize the
services of a professional editor who has already had the good fortune of
working at a traditional publishing house. In other words, Tanya, the market is
flooded if not saturated with professionals of your skill set. A second
overriding problem is that human editors are no longer required while computer
based programming provides for a more creative developmental edit, and a more
accurate line edit. I hope this is a satisfactory answer.”
My
ego, hopes, and dreams suddenly deflated.
“So
what you’re telling me, Jacquie, is that human beings are being phased out and I
am just plain shit out of luck.”
For
some stupid reason I’m waiting for a giggle. Something I might get from one of
my girlfriends like Kate, who used to live in the apartment above me down in
the city, and who used to work publicity for our publishing house, but who was
laid off months ago (she’s already landed on her feet at Everest Corp. in their
ever expanding PR division).
“In
recognition of that rather barnyard term, Tanya,” Jacquie says, “my suggestion
to you is to think of setting your sights on a new line of work. Something
perhaps related to your skills as an editor and former writer. Have you thought
about applying to Everest dot com’s Public Relations division? It pays two-hundred
thousand dollars per year or the equivalent in Everest dot com credits. It’s
always expanding. Plus, as you are already aware, the U.S. dollar and the
European Euro are slowly being phased out while the Everest Credit block chain
replaces them. Employment with Everest only makes sense. I hope this answers
your question satisfactorily.”
There,
she said it. Exactly what I knew she’d say. And like any red blooded fiction
editor out there worth his or her salt, I’d rather hang from the ceiling by my
nipples than go into public relations. It’s like selling one’s soul to the
devil. Or in this case, Everest.com (thank God Jacquie still can’t read minds,
but I’m sure that’s coming one day soon).
I
roll my eyes at myself.
“Yes,
Jacquie,” I say, “very…fucking…satisfactory.”
“If
you wouldn’t mind refraining from the use of crude language, Tanya,” Jacquie
says.
Pulling
my eyes away from the mirror.
“Sorry.”
The
room goes silent for a long beat. I’m perfectly aware that Jacquie is still
monitoring me, but I’m suddenly feeling very much alone.
“If
I might be so bold as to suggest an alternative option for you, Tanya.”
“By
all means,” I say. “Shoot, Jacquie. What the hell do I have to lose that I
haven’t already lost?”
Again,
she pauses for a moment, as though taking her own sweet time to load up her
information.
Then,
“Have you heard about Everest Primary Membership?”
Her
question gives me pause. I’ve heard of Everest Primary Membership before. It
was one of those rumors that ran through our publishing house that everyone
pretended had no basis in reality. We only pretended it was just gossip. Just
like when the Cradle was said to be coming and along with it, Cradle Direct
Publishing.
“Yes,
Jacquie,” I say, after a long pause, my mouth suddenly going dry and my pulse
picking up. “I’ve heard of the Primary program.”
“Wonderful,
Tanya,” she says. “Then you know that, if accepted into the exclusive program, you
can not only change your life for the better. You can, in fact, never worry
about money ever again. For the first time ever, you will truly enjoy a worry
free lifestyle.”
“Never
worry about money,” I repeat, as though listening to myself say it will help me
believe it. Which it doesn’t.
“Would
you love never having to work another day in your life again, Tanya?” Jacquie
goes on. She’s really digging into her sales pitch now, the words no doubt
coming from a brilliant Everest Corp. mind of someone like Kate. “Wouldn’t you
love to do what you want to do every day without worry? Don’t you want to pick
up and go wherever you wish to go? Or spend your day doing nothing if you so
choose? Don’t you want to sleep late every day, Tanya?”
I have to admit, the sleeping late part is
enticing. But the signing up for life part doesn’t. You heard me right. If I
were accepted into the program, and from what I understand, anyone who applies
pretty much gets in, you are expected to remain in it for life. No one leaves
Everest Primary. They do so at their own risk. Did I mention the part of me
that is noncommittal when it comes to something that can last a lifetime? I’m
thinking marriage, children, and now, the Everest Corporation Primary Program.
“It
certainly sounds lovely,” I say.
I’m
not sure I want to piss off Jacquie here. That is, she has the ability to get
pissed off. But I’m not about to risk it one way or another.
“Here’s
what I will do for you Tanya,” the AI program, goes on. “I am presently
downloading a form for you to fill out at your leisure and send back as an
attachment to Everest dot com support. Once the file is processed, I’m sure it
will just be a matter of your following the proper protocols, the most
important of which, is closing out your bank account, and transferring all cash
into Everest Credits. Since all credit cards besides those sponsored by Everest
are now a thing of the past, those will not be an issue. See, Tanya, easy
peasy.”
“Easy
peasy,” I say. “Thanks for thinking of me, Jacquie.”
But
really what I want to say is, I hope you melt the fuck down. Pardon my French.
On the other hand, how wonderful would it be to never have to worry about money
again? Maybe it’s me who should melt down.
“The
application form is downloaded. Please fill it out at your convenience, Tanya.
Has our session been satisfactory?”
“Yes,
Jacquie,” I say, my eyes now focused on my laptop which sits dormant on my
nightstand. “Very satisfactory.”
“Great,
Tanya. By the way, your mother is standing at the bottom of the stairs. She is
about to call for you.”
Before
I can get another “Thank you” out, I hear my mom calling my name.
“Tanya,
dinner!” she barks.
“Oh
my God, can things get any more like they were twenty-five years ago around
here?” I say aloud. But then, we’d have to get rid of Jacquie and Everest for
that to happen.
“Be
nice to your mother, Tanya,” Jacquie says. “She’s happy to have you home again.
So is your father.”
A
roll of my eyes.
“Thanks,
Jacquie,” I say, as I go for the door.
“You’re
welcome, Tanya,” Jacquie says. “Oh and Tanya.”
I
stop in the doorway, turn as if Jacquie is a real live woman standing inside my
bedroom.
“Yes,
Jacquie?”
“You
don’t have to roll your eyes.”
A
wave of ice cold water shoots up my backbone.
Jacquie can’t see…She can’t read
minds...or can she?
“My
bad, Jacquie,” I say.
“I
hope this conversation has been a satisfactory one.”
“Of
course,” I lie.
I
head on down to dinner, just like I did when I was a child.
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