Searchlight, Nevada

When unhappy with his press release, Ralph rewrote it and sent changes to Northwest. When dissatisfied with Northwest’s marketing, he wrote demanding that they comply with the terms of their agreement.

By letter dated January 22, 1996, Northwest’s account executive told Ralph that 6,800 copies of Searchlight, Nevada had been ordered and shipped. It didn’t say who placed the orders or where they shipped them, but said that another 2,500 copies had been ordered by the chain Books A Million. Northwest promised royalty statements in about three weeks.

On his 1996 Form 1040, Ralph reported $2,600 in gross royalties from his writing activity.

In late 1993, after signing with Northwest for Searchlight, Nevada, Ralph began researching Nevada Nights, San Joaquin Dawn. He wanted to document the difficulties that women face when attempting a break from prostitution. “The story’s never been done before to any degree of authenticity,” he said, explaining that he thought it was commercially viable.

Ralph, however, had learned that rooms at brothels were equipped with listening devices. Therefore he met prostitutes at other locations on “out calls,” paying by credit card. In 1994, during January, February, April, May, June, and July, he spent from one to six days a month in Nevada on “out calls.” He successfully encouraged ten prostitutes to leave their profession. As of his trial, he hadn’t finished Nevada Nights, San Joaquin Dawn.

Some time after signing with Northwest on Searchlight, Nevada, Ralph submitted the 450-page Lightning at Dawn. He thought that Northwest only required a joint venture payment for first novels, and so if Northwest agreed to publish Lightning at Dawn, he’d not have to pay anything. He also tried marketing Boys and Girls Together, but stopped when he was told that there was no need or market for that type of short stories at the time.

Silly Sarah

Consider Sarah Lesher, who had had a couple of appalling encounters with the IRS, partly because she didn’t adequately prepare.


From 1976 to 1980, Sarah worked for Yale as a research associate and computer programmer. When she learned of a publisher of travel guides in need of information for a revised edition of an African travel guide, she contacted the publisher and received information regarding the submission of articles.

Sarah traveled to Africa in October 1980 and then to Israel in January 1981. While in Israel, apparently to gather information for writing, the Weizmann Institute employed her as a computer programmer. During 1981 she bought a typewriter and wrote at least one draft of a fictional work based on her adventures while in Africa and Israel. She didn’t keep any type of business accounting records of her writing activities. Nope, Sarah thought she could get by without debits or credits or other financial or non-financial records.

My friend Doug, longing to deduct the costs of going to Vietnam to get photographs of unique motorcycle use to create a picture book, might want to pay attention to this case as an example of what not to do.

In September 1981, Sarah left Israel for Europe and then returned to the United States at the end of November. During 1981 she incurred a total of $9,847.13 in expenses connected with her travels. She deducted this amount on Schedule C of her 1981 Federal income tax return.

Again in 1982, Sarah traveled to Africa, possibly for writing materials, and there resumed working as a computer programmer. In April 1983, she returned to the United States where she continued her education and again worked as a computer programmer.

Sarah lacked experience writing any type of literary work prior to her trip. Further, she didn’t publish or sell anything she wrote with respect to her travels before her Tax Court trial. By then she still hadn’t engaged a literary agent to help her to publish. (It doesn’t appear that the Tax Court knows how difficult it is to get a literary agent.)

Silly Sarah didn’t ever show the court that she had traveled to Africa, Israel, and Europe to write, or that she had remained in Israel in 1981 to author works that could make money. The court said that Sarah used her fiction manuscript as a pretext to claim her travel as a tax deduction. Essentially, the court said that Sarah’s fiction was a fiction.

While Sarah introduced several hundred exhibits, including a copy of a draft of her novel—it makes one wonder how that impacted her copyright—correspondence and information concerning the accomplishments of her ancestors, friends, and acquaintances, her personal life, her activities for many years before and after the years in issue, and even the backgrounds of various authors, the court still said that Sarah used her draft novel as window-dressing to support claims for travel expense deductions.

“Preparation precedes power.” Remember that axiom. Prepare to be a better artisan and to address every IRS concern by studying your expression activity’s accepted business, economic, and scientific practices, or by consulting its experts.

Don’t muck things up

John R. McCarthy —I’ll call him Johnny—retired from Rocketdyne, Inc. He’d worked as a scientist and engineer for 35 years writing technical and scientific proposals. Thereafter, he still worked, but was self-employed, utilizing his prior experience.


On various Schedules C, Johnny listed his “principal business or profession” as writing, investing, job shopping, art, engineering, science, consulting, teaching, photography, and research. (A bit unfocused, eh?) Johnny stuck some royalties, interest income, and lecture fees characterized as business income on the Schedule C pertaining to writing. Despite asserting that he used those resources to pay for writing expenses, such income didn’t derive from any writing he had done. Johnny should have reported these royalties and fees as “other income” and the interest income on the interest-income line on his tax return.

The court said that Johnny’s expenses which truly related to writing couldn’t offset such income which didn’t come from writing. Everything Johnny did made it look like he was confused and undecided. To use a cliché, Johnny was a jack of all trades and a master of none. The expenses he listed on various Schedules C related to his writing activity all right. Writing was the only activity he really engaged in with regularity. Concluding that he should have reported everything on a single Schedule C pertaining only to writing, I’ll bet you’re not surprised to hear that the court concluded that he lacked a profit motive. He hadn’t generated any writing revenue. While aspects of his activity were managed in a businesslike manner, Johnny couldn’t explain how he expected to recoup his substantial losses. A sound, focused business plan and accurate and complete financial and non-financial records could have helped—both in making his business profitable and in convincing the IRS he had a “profit motive.”

Don’t muck things up. Forget trying to disguise income from other sources as income for expression activities. That’d be crazy. Keep records—business and non-business—that present operations clearly, completely, and succinctly. Remember the bard’s advice: brevity is the soul of wit. Mind your debits and credits if you use them. If not, don’t scrimp on accuracy, meticulousness, and using the data germane to and used in conjunction with a vibrant, viable and compelling business plan. Make it crystal clear that you have a plan to succeed as a writer—that your goals show that you plan to be as successful as J. K. Rowling or Dave Barry. If you’re convincing enough, you’ll never have to worry about convincing the IRS that you’ll recoup your losses.


Non-financial records should include databases of contacts, customers, and consultants, along with their pertinent information. If you’re a writer, you should keep track of the hours of your writing, researching, and editing. You should have a database to show details about your submissions, including the title of the work, where you submitted it, the date, follow-ups, responses, sales, etc.
One further thing: keep your expression activity records separate from personal records and other business records. Have separate expression activity credit cards, debit cards, checking and savings accounts, and accounts at your favorite vendors. If you have more than a single proprietorship, don’t ever intermingle them. Doing so may subject you to ridicule.

Richard Stasewich (I’ll call him Richie) of Chicago attended Northern Illinois University between 1971 and 1977, majoring in art and minoring in accounting. Richie didn’t graduate. By 1978 he was registered as a CPA and by 1983 Illinois had licensed him as a public accountant. Between 1978 and 1984 Richie worked in various positions utilizing his accounting background.

From 1992 to 1995 Richie operated both his accounting and artistic activities out of the building where he worked and lived. Beginning in 1984, he treated his artist and accounting activities as sole proprietorships for Federal income tax purposes. He reported net profits and losses for his two separate Schedule C activities as follows:

Richie’s income from artist activities without expenses for 1992 to 1995 was only $770, $320, $266, and $357, respectively. Needless to say, he didn’t support himself from this expression activity, and his accounting-activity income came in handy for his sustenance. Not only did he support himself with such work, but he kept good financial records and was able to show the IRS substantiation for all of the expenses he claimed on his returns.

Richie had a Certificate of Registration from Illinois that permitted him to engage in business, selling tangible personal property at retail. He filed state sales and use tax returns and completed Forms W-2 for the art students he employed.

What Richie didn’t keep were records of a budget or financial projections for his artist activity, or records of costs he might incur in attempting to develop his artist activity. That is, he didn’t plan well.

At trial Richie explained that before 1992 he had decided to create a commercially viable product from nude drawings. He tried fashion illustrations and spent a lot of money on materials and props, but never secured a large client and never earned anything from it. Around 1992, his artist activities changed from nude drawings and fashion illustrations to portraitures and installation art displays. For $1,200, he placed two advertisements in his local newspaper to solicit work as a commissioned artist of portraits. He painted two portraitures between 1992 and 1995 that generated about $850 in revenue. From 1992 to 1995 he created four displays of installation art consisting of peppers, dolls, pumpkins, and cucumbers. These he displayed in front of his residence. The exhibition of dolls received media attention, was the subject of two newspaper articles in 1994, and was mentioned in another newspaper article in 1995. (I guess journalists passed on reporting about the exhibitions of peppers, pumpkins, and cucumbers.)

Richie's income from the installation displays totaled a measly $88.04 . . . of donations.

The IRS audited Richie first for 1988-1991. The dispute ended up in the Tax Court, where he lost. This didn’t deter Richie from claiming his expression activity losses from 1992-1995 and again taking the matter to court. We'll talk more about this in the next posting, too.

Is My Expression Activity a Trade or Business?

Guess what? Federal income tax law and related regulations don’t define what “trade or business” means. Surprised? You shouldn’t be. I told you there was plenty of mystery in taxation. Ambiguity, it seems, is intentional. Some wit compared an income tax return to a girdle. You put the wrong figure in it and you can get pinched.


Tests to check if a trade or business exists stem mostly from court opinions (primarily from the United States Tax Court or from appeals made from those decisions ). Courts have developed two key definitional elements, one for “profit motive” and the other relating to the “scope” of the activities.

Finding out the motive is a key element in figuring out a mystery, right? A trade or business doesn’t exist unless a taxpayer “enters into and carries on” an activity with a good faith intention to make a profit or in the belief that a profit can be made from the activity. Money is the motive—bottom-line profit. That means you have cash left after all expenses are paid. Faith that an activity will generate a profit doesn’t need to be reasonable. However, simply hoping and wishing it will be profitable absent specific plans suggests that you lack good faith.

Remember the cold-fusion fiasco? The notion that oodles of cheap atomic energy could be produced cheaply and “coldly”? Too good to be true, right? Well, one Burnet Outten, Jr.—I’ll call him Bernie—representing himself without an attorney, took his tax controversy concerning cold fusion and graces relative to it to the U.S. Tax Court in 1984.

Bernie seemed a bit “unusual.”

He didn’t file federal tax returns from 1972 to 1979, for one thing. He had an interest in Western Metal Products Company (Western), a manufacturing concern. Besides manufacturing, according to Bernie, Western conducted atomic energy research. Yet Bernie was the only company participant in such research. Ostensibly, an experiment in 1951 resulted in nuclear fusion. Bernie, however, didn’t “realize” that nuclear fusion had occurred in 1951 until 1961, while doing further research. Bernie purported that Western repeated the 1951 experiment in 1971. Neither Bernie nor Western ever patented any such process.

Bernie believed that the world was created by cold fusion. He seized upon the alleged religious significance of the creation of the world by such process. His legal briefs contained extensive arguments about scientific experimentation and religious freedom. They explored history from Thomas Jefferson to Ronald Reagan and from the Bible to reports of the Atomic Energy Commission.

Over the years Bernie often attempted to inform scientists and government officials of his miraculous “discovery,” asserting that it was never duplicated. Some commentators expressed polite interest; others found it . . . well, a joke.

Neither Bernie nor Western received any filthy lucre, let alone profit, from said nuclear fusion “process.” No income relative to it was reported. Western’s income, if any, came only from manufacturing. Nonetheless, by 1978 Western established a $50,000,000 book value for this fusion “process.” On 1977 through 1979 tax returns, Western listed net operating losses of $100,000, $10,000,000, and $5,000,000, respectively. The preparer of the return described these losses as a “write-off of capitalized research work.” Bernie concluded that a grace was justified because government officials ignored him and his “discovery.” It was strange. Sort of like the President of the United States releasing his tax returns which listed the economy as a liability and write-off.

During the audit Bernie listed various actual expenditures—small amounts—that he made during the years involved. He gave the list to IRS. These included mostly expenses for his home office and for his move. IRS attorneys acknowledged that the expenditures were made by Bernie, but scoffed at them falling within any acceptable grace. The Tax Court concurred, saying that Western faced “a multitude of obstacles.” The court focused on just one: profit motive. It said that no income was generated nor was any likely to ever be generated from the fusion activity.

Well, let’s face it. Bernie’s circumstances were “singular.” His mistakes cost him more taxes. He was like a conservative president deducting right-to-lifers as dependency exemptions, accepting his election as a gift, and trying to write off the losses in Iraq. Nonetheless, something can be learned from Bernie’s case. As a man of religion once said, “If you make a mistake, all is not lost. You can always be used as a bad example.” So let’s use Bernie’s case as a bad example. It can teach us what not to do. I’ll summarize some points below and expand upon them in chapters to follow.

First and foremost, figure out how to make money from your expression activity. Have a profit. Bernie didn’t make any money from cold fusion. Make a written plan setting forth how you plan to make a profit from your expression activity. Follow it. If it doesn’t make money, change your plan so you think it will after the change. Keep following the plan and revamping until you make money or decide you can’t make money. If it comes to that, your expression activity becomes increasingly difficult to sell as a trade or business. Eventually, it becomes almost impossible to convince the cynics at IRS.

Second, keep complete and accurate records, both of a financial nature (you know, dollars and cents, checkbooks, receipts, debits and credits, etc.) and non-financial records (like submission databases, contracts, business plans, correspondence with agents, diaries or journals, etc.). From the opinion of the Tax Court in Outten v. Commissioner, it doesn’t appear that Bernie kept very good records of his activities, does it?

Make certain that your expression activity has substance. Don’t be naïve like Bernie was by boasting it hadn’t been duplicated when duplication was the very thing that may have given it some scientific credence. Know the ins and outs of your activity and know how to communicate them.

Another thing; don’t try to hide your expression activity results for tax purposes within some other, perhaps more viable enterprise on your tax return. For instance, it looks as if Bernie tried to make his cold fusion activity transparent by burying it in the Western partnership operations. If you write fiction part time and work as a lawyer most of the time, don’t bury the profit-and-loss statement of your fiction-writing activity within the profit-and-loss of your law practice. Doing so makes you look like a cheat and a ditz. Don’t do it. It’s not savvy. They are separate activities, for pity’s sake.

To be or not to be; that’s the question. To be a trade or business there has to be enough business activity and profit objective. Get them and you’re home free. Such are measured objectively . . . well, that’s what the laws and courts say, anyway. Tax shelters, for example, often have neither sufficient business activity nor profit objective. Many therefore receive no graces. To be certain, a trade or business can exist with no profits in the early years (and sometimes none are earned for many years and yet a court approves), provided there’s a prospective profit sufficient to cover the losses. You don’t have to expect that profits from your expression activity will come immediately or within a short time, but your aim to profit must be genuine. If challenged, you have to be able to persuade the IRS or a court. If you’ve stacked up $100,000 or more of losses over multiple years, you have to be able to convince the IRS (and if not the IRS, then a judge) that your expression activity will earn enough not only to make an annual profit but to recoup your prior losses.

Blood From A Turnip

Our prospective Vietnam traveler, Doug, who was mentioned in prior postings, works as an administrator for wages (“W-2” income ). His employer pays him what’s left over after withholding federal employment and withholding taxes, among other amounts. Law requires his employer to withhold and pay over taxes on behalf of Doug. Almost everyone is acquainted with working for wages and has complained about withholdings. It’s not that the government doesn’t trust us, but it’s a pay-as-you-go system. And of course, they don’t trust you.


So Doug has income. The critical question now, though, is whether Doug’s prospective costs in traveling to Vietnam to get pictures to use in a potential picture book relate to activities that generate his wages. The answer is no, the two activities don’t relate. At most his wage income facilitates Doug’s going, but that’s all. There’s no link between his administrative job and his potential trip to gather photographs. Any income related to a picture book is only speculative.

On the other hand, suppose Doug has previously written other things and sold them or won prize money for his writing. Maybe he uses those revenues to fund his trip. Now we begin to see a closer connection. Maybe Doug pitches his picture book idea to an agent or editor and he gets positive feedback, and he has a contract, implied or otherwise. His writing is an activity, separate and apart from administrating for an employer, and has a closer connection to his prospective picture book-making activity. So now, assuming Doug finances his trip to Vietnam from revenues from his writing activities, is he home free in deducting those expenses?

One of the IRS auditors who sent many taxpayers my way to appeal his extreme exactions (and extractions) of more tax had a morbid sense of humor. He’d say, “Invariably my taxpayer will pick the thing up and turn it over. You know, trying to figure it out. It looks sort of like a misshapen hourglass, don’t you think? And instead of sand it has that dark-red, almost purple, viscous fluid in it. The thing just sits there on my desk, across from me and close to them, while I go through their bank statements, receipts, and canceled checks. Taxpayers become bored. ‘What’s this?’ they eventually say, picking it up.”

“And what do you tell them?”

“Blood from a turnip.”

As you can imagine, timid taxpayers don’t laugh at such morbidity. Nevertheless, those engaged in expressive activities like you need to know that hidden traps can humor sinister auditors when all you want to do is to deduct the costs of creating a book design or a picture book trip.

Grace? No, not that girl!

Faced with the immensity of the IRC --- the Internal Revenue Code---, it’s no wonder that tax consulting and preparation businesses thrive. Most productive people, especially those in business for themselves, rely on CPAs, enrolled agents, public accountants, attorneys, and other professional tax preparation businesses and firms (and some not-so-professional). Everybody knows what H&R Block and J.K. Harris firms do. Many have relied on firms like KPMG, perhaps to their everlasting chagrin.


The U.S. Legislature and the Administration, no matter what party runs the government, promise tax simplification. Without equivocating, they have “simplified” income taxes and related forms beyond understanding . . . especially for those unwilling or unable to spend time and attention—significant time and considerable attention. Where do you fit in relative to this scheme? Let me give some scope to Doug’s quandary—or yours. Our tax system is premised upon a simple notion: income. All income, from whatever source derived, is taxable (IRC §61 ). If you find money hidden in the workings of the old piano you plunked on as a girl when you visited Aunt Betty and that she bequeathed to you, such money is income to you. Not only is the money in the piano income, but so is the value of the piano. And if you trade your knowledge of graphic design to a friend, promising to help with a brochure in exchange for him moving your inherited piano, guess what? You’ve got it. The value of the exchange is income . . . to you and him. It’s the old cliché; they’ve got you coming and going.

“Whoa,” I hear you saying, “that doesn’t sound right. I don’t think my folks paid any tax when they inherited that money from Gramps.”

Well, that’s where “grace” comes into it—not your old girlfriend, Grace, but grace, the disposition to be generous or helpful; goodwill. No matter who’s running the government, they want to be seen as generous and helpful. To be seen that way, but not necessarily to be so, that is. So when there’s a hurricane and consequent flooding, elected officials wander out hoping to be seen as bighearted and taking control. (The judiciary is a little different; they want to be perceived as erudite, fair and just.) In any event, the legislature grants some generosities to be helpful with the tax system and the administration also puts its stamp on them, grudgingly or not. It’s often nothing more than a sophisticated exercise in social engineering. Grace is often granted to the rich and powerful, a special interest group, or to some “special” situation. It all must have some semblance of equity and fairness.

All income is taxable, but by grace allowances are made. One grace eliminates the value of that inherited piano from taxation. Freelancers like Doug or you or me have lots to consider. First, do we have any income? If not, it’s moot; it is, after all, an income tax. We don’t need graces with no income. But if we have income, it’s important to consider its source. Why? Well, the graces generally relate back to the source of the income. That piano’s value is not taxable because lawmakers decided inheritances wouldn’t be taxed.

How about the money hidden in that piano? What does its taxation depend upon? I hope you’re saying, “Whether or not the legislature granted a grace.” Well, in this case there is no grace. The windfall is taxable.

Dizziness, Nausea, Regurgitation, and Loss of Consciousness

The novice, new to a sustained expression activity, is reminiscent of the neophyte writer who enters an IRS taxpayer service site to get help with a federal tax question. In the foyer she sees a small sign: “Tax Help.” Above it is a much larger poster with myriads of arrows pointing in every conceivable direction. However, there’s no clue where any of the arrows go. Two other separate arrows on separate signs are clearly marked: “Audits” and “Collections.” Clearly they don’t involve “Tax Help” and also don’t point where anyone wants to go.


In this blog, I’ll make it clear where the crucial arrows go and how best to avoid or prepare for ones clearly labeled pointing toward audits and collections.

Now, a crucial question for you: do you have a business plan for your expression activity? If you want results, you must plan. A plan allows you to look ahead, allocate your wherewithal, concentrate on key points, and prepare for problems and opportunities. Planning is vital for operating a business, whether you’re just starting up, getting a new loan, or making or soliciting a new investment. Plans facilitate optimal growth and development.

If, at this stage, you’re still trying to figure out if you’re a writer, if you’re still just focused on that first novella, a third sculpture, or perhaps only your second book design, then by all means now is possibly not the time to read this book. On the other hand, if you begin to see the glimmer of possibilities of succeeding as an artisan of expression and getting significant tax benefits as you start up, then stay tuned.

Some wit coined a term, intaxication, used to describe the stupefaction caused by the Internal Revenue Code (or IRC, as it’s known in the profession—otherwise referred to by some snooty attorneys who look down on it as Title 26 of the United States Code ).

In the Fall of 2005, I worked every day with the IRC at my side—my version published in 2004 contained 9,390 pages—and five volumes of similarly sized Treasury Regulations, necessary to explain the IRC. That’s over 54,000 pages alone, none of it what could be described with a straight face as a “good read.” Not only that, but the text in the IRC volume was fifty-fifty size-eight and size-six fonts.


Immediately across the hall from my office resided a vast library of books containing further explications, opinions, and tangential laws related to the IRC, bless its little (and I mean tiny) heart.

A friend told me when she was small and her mom took her to the town library, she dreamed of reading every single book in it. Only the most sick-of-soul person dreams of reading all the volumes in that tax library situated across from my former office. Such would result in inebriant effects: dizziness, nausea, regurgitation, and loss of consciousness. I confess I’ve suffered the effects myself.

Sticking With It

Most people read a mystery for the intrigue, to find out who did it and to figure things out as they go. It certainly doesn’t hurt if the mystery is masterfully written, with an elegance of expression, and is entertaining. In any case, readers don’t want the answers to a mystery all up front or there’s little reason to keep reading.


People enjoy art for similar reasons. The art they afford for themselves is acquired to enjoy its subtleties over the long haul. If finding out whether your expression activity can be less taxing isn’t mystery enough for you, doesn’t have adequate subtlety, and the knack of the telling isn’t captivating enough for you, please don’t stick with me. You’ll possibly be disappointed if you read on under those circumstances. Also, if you’re experienced in the business of expression, already making scads of money and are well established and skilled, maybe this advice isn’t for you either. (However, maybe you’ll enjoy comparing what you’ve done with what I suggest and pick up some pointers, too.) In any event, if you decide not to read it, maybe you know somebody on the cusp of great things that could benefit from it. Please pass it along.

On the other hand, after you’ve read all the postings, considered all the facts and circumstances and the applicable law in your situation, you’ll be able to figure things out. You’ll know that a lot of hard work is involved in any business of expression and it’ll make you a better manager and, perhaps, a better artisan. I’m telling you honestly, it’ll require patience and work, maybe both in the extreme. And if you don’t have the patience for it and aren’t committed to it, you possibly don’t have what it takes to succeed as a craftsman of expression anyway. Maybe this would be a waste of your time.

Suck It Up

Perhaps you’re already saying about my last posting, “Walt, you’re rambling; it’s a simple question. Just give it to me straight, it can’t be that hard—can Doug go to Vietnam and deduct it? If you can’t answer that simple question right now, why should I even listen to you?”


Okay, that’s fair; I’ll give you an answer. Yes, he can. How’s that? Is that what you wanted to hear?

But the answer could also be “no” or “maybe.” You see, it depends. It’s as simple as that, and as difficult. Federal income taxes are complicated. If you think otherwise, you are naïve. Don’t be.

The answers that I intend to address here involving federal taxation focus on “expression activities,” whether your expression is made as a journalist, a painter, a book designer, woodworker, fiction writer, poet, or any other way you may express or intend to express yourself. They are based upon the premise that all of the facts and circumstances and applicable law have to be considered. I hear you groan. Suck it up.

This won't be some watered-down exposition intended to skim the surface, leaving you in the lurch if your tax benefits are challenged by the IRS. It won’t leave you scratching your head wondering what to do if a revenue agent or auditor alleges that you owe thousands of dollars more in taxes, interest, and perhaps even penalties. And it isn’t for anyone dabbling in an expression activity, sticking a toe in to see if the water is frigid or not. It’s for those who take the plunge. So be prepared.

Don’t be naïve like the anxious taxpayer who was visited by a revenue agent. The agent completed her audit and presented a proposal for a lot more taxes. It seems the taxpayer had claimed costs of a vacation trip for his entire family to Hawaii, arguing that he needed to personally experience snorkeling in order to achieve realism in his television drama Nowhere to Be Found. The agent evangelized as she watched the taxpayer’s eyes and mouth widen as he reviewed her proposal for more taxes and penalties. “You know, Mr. Taxpayer, it’s a great privilege to live and work in the USA,” she said. “Citizens have an obligation to pay their fair share. And we really expect you to pay with a smile.”


“Thank God,” said the taxpayer with a guffaw. “I thought you’d want cash.”

This blog will try to give you answers, the statistics, the possibilities, the strategies. Not only that, but I hope it will entertain you too, relieve your worry, and banish your anxiety by teaching you the best strategies for managing your freelancing business as you express yourself—making the process literally less taxing. Sit back and relax when the IRS calls. Change the IRS acronym from Internal Revenue Service (or as many taxpayers call it, the Infernal Revenue Service) to: I’m Really Sorry, IRS . . . but I don’t owe those taxes.