Some More of God’s Greatest Mistakes

I began a new story today, based on a couple little fragments I saved in case I wanted to connect them up with anything.  My new story idea features a reimagining of the classic Isaac Asimov character Hari Seldon, founder of Psychohistory, in modern day America.

I’d like to have the story done in about a month long time horizon, which would fit with my newly emerging pattern of writing a short story in about a month, with about another month to re-edit and look for places to submit for publication.

I even started an excel spreadsheet, with story titles and the publications and dates each one is submitted.  I have now submitted four stories, total.  A shortened version of “instructions,”  a finished and edited version of my “Stowaway’s Tale,” “Beachcombing/Becoming” which is the story I wrote for class about the boy that finds a dead fairy, and “Adams and Molecules” which takes place entirely in the familiar modern world and is about two boys in high school.  I’ve figured out the place I want to send my fifth story “World Without History,” but their submissions don’t open until June 1st and I’m taking my time in editing.

One crucial part of all this frenzy of sending out as many things as possible is so that by the time I get my first rejection I’ll be already committed, other pieces will be out there in the world, and giving up prematurely will be off the table before it’s even become an option.  Another part is just that I feel the need to have a submissions routine similar to my daily writing discipline.  If I expect myself to submit something once a month and this becomes part of the “job” of being a writer the actual outcome of any one story fades in importance.

Part of me still doesn’t quite believe I’m really doing this.  You see, I think from early on I imagined being a fiction writer.  I remember having a vague idea about it in 2nd grade when I was learning to love reading and how to write things down.  I remember wanting it in 5th grade, and in 7th grade, and I also remember feeling that this wasn’t practical.  It was aiming too high, thinking too highly of myself, asking too much of the universe.

In a way it feels like for the past 10 years or so I’ve been trying to unlearn this lesson in pragmatism.  Now although I’m not published I’m taking more of the steps that most aspiring writers don’t quite get to.  The part where you formally announce to the universe, by way of submitting work for publication, that youwould like your dreams to please be taken seriously.

Please, Mr. Universe, I’d like s’ more.