Get to Grace
A lot of hard work is involved in any business of expression. I’m telling you honestly, it’ll require patience and work, maybe both in the extreme to succeed. 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 it would be a waste of your time.
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.
You need to know 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 consider all of this. 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 ).
When I last worked every day with the IRC at my side, my version, published in 2004 contained 9,390 pages and there were five volumes of similarly sized Treasury Regulations, which they felt were 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.
Faced with the immensity of the IRC, 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.
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.
You need to know 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 consider all of this. 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 ).
When I last worked every day with the IRC at my side, my version, published in 2004 contained 9,390 pages and there were five volumes of similarly sized Treasury Regulations, which they felt were 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.
Faced with the immensity of the IRC, 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.
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