I apologize for my absence lately. This past week I’ve been completely wrapped up in a little piece of fiction I’ve been working on for the New Yorker called, Missing Time. I’ve written quite a few short stories in the past couple of decades but this one has been the most technically challenging, it’s also been the most rewarding.
Getting published in the New Yorker has always been a bucket list item for me. That was my aim with this new story from word one. Decades ago, when earning my chops I would daydream about what it would have been like to be a writer in New York City during the magazine’s golden years. Kicking it with James Thurber and F. Scott Fitzgerald over martinis and talking shop would have been pretty epic.
The magazine has published a lot of the greats but they’ve also rejected quite a few notable authors as well. According to Google, their editors accept under one percent of submissions. Each of those authors’ careers, no matter if they receive a yes or no have peaked, then eventually fell into various degrees of obscurity.
Every single time I write a piece of fiction I end up learning something about the craft and about myself and Missing Time is no exception. The title is a double entendre. Tim, the main character in the story is dealing with various aspects of PTSD and aging. Some sort of trauma has severed Tim’s connection with many of his early memories but at the same time he finds himself longing for the world of his youth in the 1950s.
Ironically, I noticed a smidgeon of cognitive decline myself while I was writing this story. It took longer to piece together than it would have when I was in my twenties or thirties. Hopefully the work is better because of the extra time and attention. One advantage of aging is it changes your perspective on everything. That quote from Picasso above means something different to me today than it did twenty years ago.
The additional decades of living tend to give you a more complete perspective on life and on the craft of writing itself. Missing Time isn’t even a story that I could have written as a young adult but, here, in the midst of middle age I am beginning to understand the struggles of many older relatives and acquaintances.
As the notes have been filtering back from my beta-readers and I’m making the final revisions I can’t help but think about how the fictional characters in the story now feel like friends. This is always how I know a piece is nearly finished. Before a project gets to that point I find it difficult to concentrate on much of anything else. It’s as though, subconsciously, the brain is processing in the background 24/7 to get to that all-important final draft.
As I’m putting the finishing touches on this story up I’m also realizing how silly the decades-long desire to be published in The New Yorker really is. I'm actually embarrassed by how much value I originally placed on an editor’s permission and/or validation when I began to sketch the story out a few months ago.
Passing through time is about learning lessons but this story has reminded me that it’s also a never ending process of remembering lessons already learned. Being a writer is a completely different experience now that it was during the last century and carries with it a new set of rules.
Living in our rapidly changing society at my age, forty-eight, is like straddling two entirely different worlds. I have one foot planted in the new world and the other one forever stuck in the old one. This can have its advantages but one disadvantage is sometimes unhelpful patterns of thought, remnants of the old world, bubble up. When this happens the useless remnants have to be recognized as such. Each you do this your power is reclaimed, you remember who it is you really are. The younger people around here constantly remind me of that.
A few days from now I'll be submitting Missing Time with zero expectations. I won't be on pins and needles until they respond and I won't be crushed if they reject it. That feels so good to say.
In cryptocurrency we talk about permissionless blockchains but thanks to technology many aspects of our lives are becoming more permissionless every day.
We no longer need the approval of some gatekeeper to define our success. We also don’t have to fight to stay in a some ridiculous race that doesn’t serve our best interests. All we need to do is find our own lane and then continually work to be the best we can be. Living life this way takes a lot of courage but the rewards are reaped every single day. There's only one person to blame for the failures or to credit for the successes...Only you.
~Eric Vance Walton~
(Gif sourced from Giphy.com)
Alarm Clock Dawn, one of the first full length novels published on the blockchain, and the book that started it all for me can be found HERE. Or Click Here to read it for free on the Steemit blockchain
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