Confessions of a Dangerous Blogger:

Frank Blackwood sat at his desk. Only the tapping of his pencil on the desk marked his increasing annoyance. After a few more taps, it broke and he threw the pieces aside. His thick finger stabbed at an intercom on his desk.
“Sarah?”
“Yes sir?” came the reply at once.
“Get Tina.”
With that the conversation ended and he relaxed back in his large leather chair. Ah, he felt better at once. Yes, it was much easier to have other people come and be worried for him. Now feeling more relaxed, he took the time to stare out of his ninth story window at the city before him. Well, the back of the city before him. Sure, it wasn’t the best address in town, but they did alright. The Books and Stuff Publishing Company had been doing well in the two years since he had taken over as Managing Director. That is, it was still running and the Board of Directors hadn’t fired him yet. Yes, all in all a pretty good year, he thought. Until now, that is.

Tina Merry rushed in to the room, flustered but not bothered. She had a calm air about her but a demeanor which indicated that she had too much to do and not enough time to do it in.
“Is something wrong sir?” she said, just emphasizing enough her utter lack of interest in whatever that ‘something’ was. She did this by simultaneously juggling a pile of papers in one arm, a phone in the other combined deftly with a small raise of her left eyebrow. Frank noticed this and proceeded to take absolutely no notice of it.
“We’re out of money” he replied, throwing a pile of paper containing what looked like figures at her. Damn, she thought, she knew she should have been carrying two stacks of papers.
“How can we be out of money?” she asked, heaving one of the stacks for effect. “I thought it was all set out at the last general meeting.” The Director’s look indicated that if things were set out then, they were definitely not set out now.
“Well what about the Emergency Funds?” she suggested.
“Ah..” was the Director’s reply.
“Frank, please don’t tell me that they are gone too.”
“Ok.”
“Ok what?”
“Ok I won’t tell you.”

She took a moment to put her piles down and terminate the call that she was trying to have. She picked up the papers of figures from the floor. This was not good. She had hoped to hold the piles at least until she sat down. Now she had no defense. She felt herself beginning to care and she hated it. She examined the sheet of figures. They were out of money.

Tina Merry was the editor in chief of the Books and Stuff Publishing Company. She was, in fact, the only editor at this particular publishing house. The company newsletter had interviewed her a few weeks earlier and the first question had been, ‘What do you do in your spare time?’ She replied that she wasn’t familiar with the term but if she ever found any of it she would be sure to let them know what she did with it. It was, needless to say, a short interview. Had the interview progressed, they might have touched upon her eight-year history at the publishing house, her early studies at the Institute of Robotics, her famous actor father and her marital status. This last was the main reason for the interview in the first place, as most of the men working at the publishing house had at one time or the other, failed at securing a date. She was indeed a picture of elegance as striking as was her ability to cut down any potential Don Juan within earshot. It was not intentional; she just didn’t have the time. During times of extreme stress, she closed her eyes and tried to believe that the world was no longer there. It usually helped until the Director started tapping her forehead.

Now was such a time.
“Tina, this is no time for sleeping.” She opened her eyes. Damn, it was still there.
“Sorry sir.” she decided to forge on through the wreckage to see if there were any survivors. “Sir, I don’t understand how this could happen. Last month when we prepared this budget there were adequate funds to fulfill all of our proposed projects. Currently, those projects are well underway and within their budgets. Where has the money gone?”
“It’s those damn authors!” the Director replied rubbing his hands through his hair. “Unbelievable! Every damn page is costing me a fortune!”
“The authors?” she gasped. “What do they want now?”
“Oh the demands! They are always having this writer’s block thing and claim that their hotel room is not conducive to the delicate craft of writing and that there are not nearly enough pretty girls in the hotel bar. And since we gave E.P.Graham a laptop and a personal gym, now all of the authors are demanding it. It’s killing us, Tina! Normally I wouldn’t have a bar of it and tell them to go back to their seedy bungalow with a pen and paper and tell them to start writing or else. But we haven’t had a bestseller in over five months and the Directors are getting testy. It’s only a matter of time before heads start to roll.”
Tina knew what this meant. Surely she wasn’t about to lose her job, but some of the most promising new sides of the company would be severed, such as the Technology department and the Developing World series which publishes the most promising works written by writers from less fortunate countries. These were about the only two reasons why she got up in the morning. That, and the phone call from Frank asking if she knew where is glasses were.
“I swear these writers are the worst we have ever had. Are they any closer to finishing?” She asked it merely for effect, she knew the answer.
The Director shrugged. “Who knows? Hobbes said that he has one chapter left, but is having some problems with one of his characters. He seems to think that none of his characters like him and that their words mock him.”
“Hmm, and Schrober?”
“Well Schrober is writing pages and pages, but unfortunately none of them are from the same story. At last count he has written the first page of 172 novels. They all seem quite interesting and when they’re done they should be great, but this may take some time.”
“What about..? Oh don’t bother. I don’t want to hear it. I wish we just had robots who could do our writing. No costs, no demands, no writer’s block. Self-editing. Oh!”
The Director stared at her for a long time. She saw a gleam in his eye.
“Oh no. That was a joke. Sir…”
“Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! We could have a fleet of writers, all writing as fast as their processors would let them, writing twenty-four hours a day, needing only a plug in the wall and a squirt of oil from time to time.”
“Sir, the concept is an impossibility. Robots are not creative beings, but rather logi…” she didn’t get to finish. The Director was on a roll.
“They’ll make us rich, richer than any other publishing company in the world! We’ll have fifty, no, a hundred bestsellers a year… from each writer!” He was really getting carried away now. “I knew I could depend on you, Tina. See that it is done. Get me a robot immediately and set him to work.” the Director sat triumphantly in his chair.
“Sir, I have to explain…”
“And get that boy from the Techno gizmo department on to it as well. Two heads are better than one wouldn’t you say? I think we proved that little bit of advice here today don’t you?”
“Sir, I…”
“That will be all for now, Tina”.

And with that the meeting was over. As she walked back to her office with her pile of papers and battered pride, she wondered how on Earth she was going to get out of this one.

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