I turned another page on the old calendar yesterday. It was a calm, warm, sticky day. I’ve always been one to hedge toward science and medicine swooping in before I hit old age and rescuing me from the ignoble fates the twilight years save for us. Now that I’m gathering grays at the temples, I wonder if I’ll be lucky enough to see the day when you can order up replacement parts, made to original factory specs or better, using my own DNA as a template to prevent rejection. Every day I think about how I’ve had enough of that, yet I still write, still subject small pieces of my soul to judgement by others who know only what I show in my work.
Last night I sent a piece to a fantasy contest. The tale was set in a world with which I’ve been working for almost two decades. In the process, I found a long-lost backup of my first completed novel, also set in that world. I can only hope that it passes muster and that I can apply my (hopefully) ever-increasing skills to it and see it out in the next few years. I’m hoping the outcome of that contest will aid in that endeavor. I was put off a bit, though, by the fact that my main beta reader/wife said the short was one of the best pieces of mine she’s read. I had sent her the wrong file, the original, not edited by current-me version first to get this reaction. Thus, the oldest thing she read of mine was superior to everything else I’ve foisted upon her, even with a good portion of that being published in the last year and a half.
At any rate, I’ll let you know how the contest goes for me and let you know as soon as I know about upcoming pieces. I’ll definitely be diving back into that old folder and the world of Somnuran in earnest over the course of the year.