I published my first Novella in 2019. I was finishing my MFA and. Had taken countless writing classes over the years. I thought I knew everything. Of course I didn’t, and still don’t. Here are a few things I have learned since then.
When I first published, everything I’d read said to keep your genres separate. If you write in different genres, use a different pen name for each. That sounded like good advice, and I think for a rapid release author that’s still true. Rapid release authors publish a book every month or at least every two months.
I am not a rapid release author. I write daily, but my brain doesn’t focus on one story at a time. Currently, I am writing on four different novels/novellas and a slew of short stories. I will finish them all. I write about a thousand words a day towards them. That means over a year I may finish two of the novels and some short stories, or I may finish tons of shorts and one novel. So far this year, it’s early April. I have finished four short stories, and one novelette. This year I have written 100,000 good, mostly publishable words. I’ve tried sticking to one story at a time, and my brain just doesn’t work like that.
Listening to my muse and writing what she tells me works for me as long as I write daily. As long as I write daily, I will complete my projects. It will just take me longer.
I used to feel bad about that. I could see very successful indie authors. A couple of them are friends of mine in real life. I’ve watched one of them write a 1000,000 word novel in a week, then spend less than a week copy editing and designing the book cover. I tried to be like them. Trying to be like them caused me to create so much pressure for myself that I quit trying to write for publication. I didn’t quit writing. I just did free writes and an occasional writing session beyond that. Eventually that pressure turned into kicking myself, for not being someone else.
I firmly believe the secret to life was written about the Oracle of Delphi’s cave several thousand years ago. Know thyself and all things in moderation. I told my students for years that’s the secret of life. I’ve told them if they actually know who they are, then they’d be harder to stop. If you know who you are, you know what you’re capable of, and you know what you’re worth. I, on their other hand, didn’t know who I was, at least as a writer. I tried being someone else. I was terrible at being someone else.
Christmas Eve I gave myself permission to be myself as a writer. Over 1000,000 good, publishable words in a little over three months, shows I’m a pretty good me. I’m writing great stories, submitting them to traditional publications, submitting quarterly to Writers of The Future, and getting close to finishing my first full-length novel.
I’m also done kicking myself for not being someone else.
I set at goal at the end of last year. I would either win the Writer’s of the Future contest this year or pro out. It’s, I believe the oldest science fiction and Fantasy writing contest. I’ve submitted to the contest sporadically since 2016.
Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash
In 2019 My story Not a Piece of Cake earned an honorable mention. At first I was elated. It was acknowledgement that my writing was getting good. I almost cried when I received the certificate. Pretty quickly my resistance kicked in and I convinced myself it wasn’t a big deal. I eventually posted it on Kindle unlimited as The Zone. You can read it there for free.
I went ahead and reentered the contest and, nothing happened, other than more rejections. Then I quit entering, until December of last year year. I entered for the first quarter of 2024.
I just heard back from them, and another honorable mention for my story Secondhand Speedos and other things you find at the Dump. From what I’ve researched that means I was in the top 10 percent of entries last year quarter. They have several thousand entries every quarter, so while it’s a rejection, it’s also a win. I’m now submitting the same story to other paying publishers.
I’m putting the polishes on my next entry 12 Miles Out, deadline is March 31st.
I was fourteen and we were on our annual trek to Huntsville, Alabama to space camp. Loaded in our two-tone, gray and blue, GMC crew-cab with camper, were my mother, two little sisters, little brother, and best friend Mark. My mom decided we should stop in Henryetta, Oklahoma to visit her aunt Wanda. Henryetta is an unremarkable town, its only claim to fame Troy Aikman, a former Cowboys quarterback. It is a small town of small houses with peeling paint and cracked sidewalks and unmanaged lawns, a town of potholes, of worn-away blacktop and exposed cobblestone roads.
I didn’t want to see my mother’s aunt. I thought that this town offered me nothing. Wanda didn’t have cable or even a VCR so I couldn’t escape into a science fiction movie. What could possibly interest me in the middle of a small Oklahoma town? After all, I was on my way to space camp. I was preparing to go to the Moon, to go to Mars, to enter the Brave New World I had seen in countless science fiction movies or read about in books. There could be nothing in this little town for me. Nothing.
We passed one dreary little street after another as my mother tried to remember where her aunt’s house was: streets named Maple, and Birch, and Elm, and Spruce, ticky-tacky tiny streets that made the truck rumble as we hit the cobblestones.
As we passed yet another street undoubtedly named for a tree, I saw it, my dream, what I’d been waiting my whole life to see: a flying car. The first flying car should not have been in Oklahoma… What could “Oakies” possibly have to do with flying cars? And yet, there it was, in Henryetta. For the rest of the time my mother spent looking for her Aunt’s house, I could talk of nothing else. I knew I had seen the flying car.
Mark confirmed he had seen it. Ever the skeptic, “undoubtedly a gag,” he said. My brother and sisters were asleep, and my mother’s eyes were fixed to road, dodging potholes, so she had missed it.
We found Wanda’s house and my mother, meaning well, but none-the-less Marquis De Sade like, made me sit at the dining room table, politely talking with my relatives. They asked me about soccer and baseball, and school and girls. Who the hell had time for any of these? There was a flying car three blocks away. I answered their questions as politely and quickly as possible, not wanting to strike up a conversation. I had to leave. I had to go see who had invented this, who was building this, who was dreaming, who was the visionary.
After a daylong half hour, my mother finally let Mark and I go. We ran as quickly as possible to the place; the place we had seen the car. It seemed like it took forever, but we were there, and it was beautiful: twelve feet around, like a giant Frisbee, smooth as glass and white as porcelain.
Behind the car was an unassuming building. It could have been a handyman’s shop, or a place where they fix lawn mowers or a junk store, but it was the corporate headquarters for the inventor of the flying car. Stenciled on the front windows of the building were the words “want to know what this is? Come on in and ask.”
We did.
The man inside wasn’t a mad scientist, an engineer, or even a nerd. He had been a diesel mechanic and good at fixing things, and now he was a “dreamer.” His dream was to build the flying car. He couldn’t tell me how it worked, but he said no one could explain how the Frisbee worked either, so that was okay. Knowing that you had a dream, and knowing that you had faith was all that was important in life. Faith was a lever you see, and you could use it to achieve anything.
I was hooked. I had to have one of the cars. I needed to know how much they cost and when they would be ready. He handed me a mimeographed timetable and explanation of cost. Right there in blue ink still smelling of ditto fluid, it said his first prototype would be available in two years, after my sixteenth birthday. The car would only cost seventy-five hundred dollars.
Never mind how a fourteen- year-old was going to come up with seventy-five-hundred dollars, never mind he hadn’t actually built one yet, never mind the flying car in front of his shop was made of plaster and chicken wire… The important thing was, they were finally here.
The flying car was finally here, and it hadn’t taken science or math, or even space camp. The dream was coming to life and all it took was faith. I spent the next two years of my life dreaming of owning the flying car, and planning how to buy it. Buying it would be the easy part.
When I was seven my father had bought a brand new 1977 Fiat Spider turbo convertible. I was in love. The day we drove it home from the dealer I asked if I could have the Fiat when I turned sixteen. He laughed, and assured me that we wouldn’t still have it then, but even though he thought everyone should earn their own car, if by chance the car was still around when I turned sixteen, I could have it.
At seven, I became a maintenance obsessive, continually reminding my dad to have his oil changed, to check the fluids when we gassed, and on almost every sunny day I washed and waxed the car.
Now that I was approaching sixteen, “by chance” we still had the car. On my birthday my father would give me the keys to my “seven year-old” dream and I knew I would sell this old dream for my new one. I would give up my convertible for my flying car.
The flying car of Henryetta, Oklahoma, never got off the ground; well at least it never flew into production or off the assembly line. And when I turned sixteen, there was no flying car for me to buy.
That didn’t discourage me though. I enjoyed driving my little blue convertible, but even more, I enjoyed dreaming of my flying car. I enjoyed dreaming of letting my earthbound tires fall away, and of escaping another day, flying over roads, over roads and fields, effortlessly, freely away from Oklahoma, away from people, away from any place at all.
Driving home from Christmas Eve Mass, my wife asked me to detour through downtown to look at the Christmas lights. Having gone to an early service, I did. Just a few years ago, our youngest begged to see Christmas lights. At seventeen,seventeen, with the temperament of an octogenarian, he was less enthused and began to grumble and gripe.
I ignored him at first — usually the best approach with an eighty-year-old teenager. After a few minutes of hearing how I was wasting his time I snapped at him. I quickly realized the snap was bigger than the offense. I apologized.” It’s probably just nicotine withdrawal, but can you go easy tonight? It’s Christmas Eve?”
“You’d have to quit smoking to go through withdrawal,” he quipped in return.
He wasn’t wrong, but sadly. He wasn’t right, either. I had quit only two hours ago, and was feeling the level of my addiction.
We have a twenty-year-old cat named Socrates. As infirmed as Socrates is when he gets one WIFF of catnip, he becomes alive. He will literally bounce down the stairs — as if being pulled by the nip. He rolls in it until his eyes become glasses and his addiction becomes satiated.
I call him Billy Burrows when he’s in that state, even though I’m the only one in my house that gets the Junky reference. Call him Billy Burrows, because I think it’s funny, and because I judge him, for being an addict. A judgment I can’t make anymore — knowing how short two hours actually is.
I’ve tried to quit for years. I promised my wife I’d quit before our oldest son was born. He’s almost twenty-three. I’ve gone so far as switching to cigars, little filtered ones, and not inhaling on them.
On a certain level, I know what bullshit that is, but I’m also aware it was a better step, and I don’t actually inhale, so on a smallest level it’s an improvement.
Moving into a new year, I’ve decided it’s not enough of a step. So I quit for two hours on Christmas Eve and realized what a junky I actually am.
I eased back my goals. From weight loss and writing, I’ve learned the best way to accomplish a big goal is to take little positive steps, baby steps, towards it, rather than a giant leap.
For baby steps to work, at least in my experience, there have to be rules. Simple rules that aren’t difficult to keep. For weight loss, my goals were simple: eat healthy six days a week. On the seventh, eat whatever. Exercise, a few times a week, easy exercise. I used DDPY, but anything works. If you’re really out of shape, any exercise is better than what you’re used to. You can read my weight loss post for more specifics on that.
As far as smoking goes, I’m really out of shape. I was smoking a pack and a half a day, at least. Buying my filtered cigars in bulk and a few months at a time, I can’t be sure what I was actually smoking. I didn’t refill my cigar order when I was running low in December. I buy two packs at a time now, that’s a baby step. I also bought a vape another baby step..
After a little over a week, I know I’m smoking 16 a day on average. That’s the most I’ll allow myself to smoke, a baby step and an easy rule to follow. That became my first baby step: don’t smoke more that sixteen a day. That’s cutting my habit in half, which wasn’t that hard.
Most of the cigars I smoked were mindless on the way to work. Or the first thing in the morning, and I was probably putting them out only about halfway through. It was nervous-smoking.
I’ve also decided not to smoke while driving, that was the biggest time of nervous-bored-smoking every day. That’s when I use my vape if I need to. I have used it a few times, but rarely.
In the near future, I’m going to cut the number of cigars I allow myself a day. I haven’t set a date, a goal, or a baby step yet, but I know it will happen, then I’ll do it again, and again.
I think this approach is working. I’m not an ex-smoker, but I’m closer, and no eighty-year-old children have been harmed yet.
The tigers can’t kill us anymore. That’s my new motto. There’s a lot of uncertainty in everyone’s lives right now. There’s a lot of uncertainty in mine. We are job hunting in a pandemic. Our lease is expiring. I am calm and focused. I have every right to be freaked out, but that doesn’t serve me or anyone else living in Fluxtopia.
All of the freak-out feelings, anxiety, stress, being overwhelmed, are evolutionary adaptations left over from our hunting and gathering days. They are our programmed response to the unknown, to the dangers that lurked behind every bush. Lurked, past tense, since we don’t live in that world anymore, but our monkey mind wants to keep us alive from threats that aren’t real anymore. The tigers can’t kill us anymore.
When you’re in the middle of a tiger-induced meltdown, you have to stop it. You have to stop giving in to the monkey mind, and its fears of tigers. When we’re panicked we make bad decisions. At least, I know I have in the past.
So how do you do that? First, Know Thyself. Who are you? What do you want? If you’re not sure, check out the Gossip Test http://dscottmaiorca.com/?p=146I posted about earlier. Know Thyself: knowing who you are has always been the key to beating the metaphoric tigers. The Greeks knew, and that’s why it was written above the Oracle of Delphi, that and “all things in moderation.” Epictetus, a Greek philosopher, was born a slave but became one of the greatest philosophers ever. He knew anxiety, the monkey-mind, and tigers. Epictetus put it this way, “say what you would be, then do what you have to do.” The first step: Know Thyself. The second step: do the work.
You can’t do the work, whatever it is, if you let your monkey mind worry about the imaginary tigers. How do you quiet it? I’ve found a few tricks that have worked for me, which I’ll cover in greater detail later, but for now, I know who I am and what I want. Given our lease situation, I don’t want to be homeless – so I am focused on that, and doing that work. The work calling about rentals, checking on buying an RV. Right, that is the primary goal. In Fluxtopia you have to have that figured out and you have to do the work.
I have other goals, longer term goals, like writing, blogging, and being healthy. I am still working towards those, and still doing what I have to do to achieve them, but I’m focusing on the primary tiger first. I’m focusing most of my energy on that goal. You have to do that in Fluxtopia. Truthfully you always have, but in a flux it’s more obvious than ever.
If you have figured out who you are and what you want then, you figure out what tiger, if any, is most important. Like I said earlier, for me, housing is the primary tiger. Not facing that one will impact every other tiger. Focusing on that has made it easier to quiet the monkey mind.
Your tigers might not be so obvious, but they might. You have to figure out what tiger has the biggest impact on you, what tiger impacts the other ones. Focus on that, and when your monkey mind starts to chatter, remind yourself there is only the one tiger. It’s not perfect, but it helps. You can face one tiger easier than facing an army of tigers.
Knowing which tiger to fight helps quiet the monkey mind. You have to decide which one is most dangerous, and focus on that. When you feel overwhelmed or panicked and start dwelling on the other things – or all of them at once – remind yourself the tigers can’t kill you anymore.
I know a lot of you left the Gossip Test post saying something to the effect of: that’s a great idea, but haven’t you noticed the world is collapsing and we don’t have a year to find ourselves? We need answers now. I left the post with the same thoughts. I also left the post knowing that this post was coming – how to use the Gossip Test In Fluxtopia. If you haven’t read The Gossip Test, feel free to click herehttp://dscottmaiorca.com/?p=146.
With lockdown and quarantine, I’ve had an opportunity to really look at what’s important to me and what I actually value. Sheltering in place forcibly removed tons of my distractions – tons of my excuses for why I was too busy to do things I said were important.
It also created new distractions. A few months ago my wife lost her job to COVID related downsizing. She has been our primary income earner this year, while I took care of the kids, finished my MFA, and started publishing. Unemployed in the pandemic age is not where anyone wants to be, but this is Fluxtopia. Uncertainty, a little more obvious right now than I’d like, is the norm. At first we panicked, looking for and applying for almost every job in the country that we were qualified for. It was overwhelming. I was overloaded, almost to the point of not being able to function. I could get job applications turned in by completing marathon Bataan Death Marches for a few days, then I’d spend just as long doing nothing, unable to focus. I was stuck.
Then I remembered some simple stoic wisdom.
You can’t control the world. You can’t control the pandemic. You can control yourself, and how you react. That’s where the Gossip Test comes in again.
Faced with massive uncertainty and a bleak outlook, I sat down to re-figure out who I was. To reconnect with me. To try once again to Know Thyself.
Circumstances dictated that I didn’t have a year to gather my data. I didn’t even have a month. So I started observing myself again. I found an old notebook and started taking notes on everything that really excited me. Given the circumstances, the notes were from books I am reading, job descriptions, text messages, my weekly phone call with my best friend, and a few TV shows I watch. I also started gathering what my kids were talking about, and what excited them.
My wife and I put all those notes and ideas together in a new and improved family Gossip Test, and came up with the patterns, the ideas, and the trends. Seeing what everyone wanted and Knowing Ourselves allowed us to pick a location, to focus on what was important to us, and apply for nearly sixty jobs between the two of us. These were jobs that made sense for us, jobs that met our needs.
While we’ve focused on what we want, what allows us to move forward, and what fits who we are, we haven’t stopped looking for options that help us in the short run. We still have to put a roof over our heads and food on the table. There’s a zen saying: Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. A dear friend abbreviates it CW/CW. Even if you Know Thyself, CW/CW still applies. So, while focusing on the end goal, we are looking for short term, local jobs that let us CW/CW. That’s a key in Fluxtopia: plan for the future, but provide for the moment.
I know uncertainty is scary, especially if you have kids. Uncertainty and the unknown are the norm in Fluxtopia. We have to learn how to accept that, and how to navigate that. That starts with knowing who you are. There’s a reason Know Thyself is written above the entrance to the Oracle of Delphi. There’s a reason it’s a passage in Hamlet. You can’t control Fluxtopia, though you can control how you respond to it, and to do that you have to know who you are. You have to Know Thyself, and even the short-form Gossip Test will help you do that.
Lots of people are having to cook at home right now. People who normally didn’t. Between supporting a family of five on a teacher’s salary and being grad students for the last few years, we haven’t had the luxury of eating out much. Truthfully, that’s been a good thing.
I’ve always cooked. I mean, like, since I was in grade school. I enjoy it, and having been on a tight budget for decades, it has saved us a lot of money.
There’s also a cultural angle. My great-grandfather on my dad’s side came to the United States from Sicily. I’m very proud of that heritage, and cooking has always been a way for me to stay in touch with it. Italians and Sicilians have this amazing way of taking almost nothing and turning it into a feast, as do lots of historically poor cultures. If you think of your favorite Italian dish that you pay way too much for at a restaurant, it probably started as poverty food— made with leftovers or with the least expensive ingredients known to man.
Meatballs and parmigianas were essentially little bits of meats or eggplant mixed with stale bread, spices, and a few eggs. Pasta is just flour, water, eggs, and oil mixed together and dried.
Nothing in Southern Italian/Sicilian is expensive, and nothing goes to waste. Why? Simple – because most people in those parts of Italy have been poor since the Roman Empire. So, we’re not Sicilian peasants, but between the shelter-in-place orders and the empty store shelves, we could learn a lesson from them— not to mention, we’d all use some comfort food right about now.
I’m not going to make my pasta from scratch. Well, at least not anytime soon, but I’m going to continue making my sauce from scratch. Last time I was at the store I chuckled a little seeing that all of the jarred pasta sauces were gone, but seeing the produce aisle was filled with fresh produce.
Real sauce is very simple to make. At its most basic you need water, tomatoes, garlic, and oil, traditionally olive oil,but any oil will do. Everything else that can go in sauce is optional.
To make a very basic sauce, place a tablespoon of oil in a saucepan and add one clove of garlic. On a medium heat, sauté the garlic until it starts to turn golden. At that point, add two to four Roma tomatoes that you have diced. You could use canned tomatoes or another variety of fresh tomato, but Romas are one of the best and cheapest you can easily find at the store. Once the tomatoes are in the saucepan, cover them fully with water and bring to a boil. After they start to boil, turn the burner back down to a medium heat and simmer for twenty minutes, stirring occasionally.
After your sauce has started to simmer, start your pasta water boiling. The pasta should finish cooking at about the same time as your sauce. That’s it: an easy, healthy, cheap Italian dinner using almost nothing.
That’s the basic sauce. Of course, every Italian family has their own variation, but that’s really all you need. I use oregano and basil in my sauce for spicing. Some of my cousins think that’s heresy. They swear by just garlic, tomatoes, oil, and a pinch of sugar.
I also like to add vegetables to my sauce. I’ll sauté a little onion with the garlic, and sometimes peppers. I’ll also, if I have it on hand, add spinach or mushrooms to the tomatoes when I add the water. Sometimes I’ll add white or Lima beans, like my grandmother did.
You can add whatever you want, or whatever you happen to have on hand. While the older generation of Italians wouldn’t be forgiving if you deviate too much from the basics, the sauce will. Make the sauce your own based on what you have on hand, what you think is healthy, and most importantly, what you think tastes good.
If you read my last posthttp://dscottmaiorca.com/?p=100, you know I mentioned the idea of Fluxtopia, rather than dystopia or utopia. I know it’s an odd concept, especially for a largely dystopian writer, but truth is stranger than fiction, as they say. More importantly reality, at least for the majority of Americans, is never as bad as our dystopian fantasies. That being said, if you’re reading this post from the comfort of your self-isolation at home, you probably have it better than a lot of people right now. Take the time to donate to a cause you believe in to help those who have it worse than you. I’ll leave to your own conscious to figure out what that cause should be. Personally, I’m getting together some household items to donate to a local church which is still running a pantry for those in need, but what you do is up to you.
I think this is more important while we’re worrying about the future: take the time to think about how good you have it. Reframe that negativity into something positive — and do something to help someone else.
As a writer of zombie fiction and dystopian sci-fi, my mind can go wild on the dystopian stuff. It seems to be my natural space, actually, but now that we are in a flux period where dystopian fiction could seem more like non-fiction it’s important to remember that it’s not. Or, at least, that it doesn’t have to be. We can take whatever little steps we can to make the changes we want to.
If you read some of my weight loss posts, herehttp://dscottmaiorca.com/?p=67 and herehttp://dscottmaiorca.com/?p=81 you know I lost seventy pounds in 2019. I lost that weight by making little, almost nonsensically small changes, but I made those changes daily. I didn’t look at the big picture. I was morbidly obese, and probably going to die from diabetes, or heart disease, or any of the other things. I looked at what I could do, I mean actually do, like exercise for 12 minutes at a very low impact, or take a few extra minutes to talk in the evening. The little changes paid off in a big way.
I’m suggesting that same strategy here. Don’t look at the scary stuff that gives you anxiety. Don’t worry about the things you can’t control, or the things that will shut you down mentally. Find something you can do to help – and do it. Help others, but also remember to help yourself and your family. What can you do to make them healthier and happier?
Focusing on the good you can do will make you feel better. It will keep you focused, but just as important, it will make at least a little piece of our Fluxtopia better.
I know everyone is thinking about the Coronavirus, as they should be, but it shouldn’t be all doom and gloom. Don’t get me wrong, we should be worried; the world is changing, but things are never as bad as they seem. We tend to think of the world in binary terms— day and night, love and hate, black and white.It’s probably an evolutionary adaptation. It’s easier to simplify things so that we can make quick decisions. Can you imagine a primitive hunter and gatherer stopping to play all the possible angles when they heard a branch break behind them? By the time they figured out how to respond the tiger would have had dinner.
We simplified things because we had to to survive. We see the world as either dystopia or utopia. Either it’s Planet of the Apes, or it’s Star Trek. Don’t get me wrong, I love both of those stories/worlds, but in reality we don’t ever get dystopia or utopia. We live in fluxtopia. That state of being in the middle — in flux.
The world is different now. We are aware that pandemics aren’t just things that did happen. They are things that can happen. That realization alone has changed the world. While you can’t easily find toilet paper or flour right now, and the economy is looking bleak, that doesn’t mean the world is ending. It’s changing. It’s in flux.
I could list about a hundred horrible things that might happen, some that probably will, but you can get that on just about any other site. Instead, I want to talk about the good things that are happening.
I know that seems Polly Anna, but my observation is we are seeing the world differently. We’re worried about our friends and families. We are talking with them more. We are checking in, instead of checking out. We are becoming more concerned about other people. When things start to return to a new normal we can continue that—as long as we remember.
If you’ve been to a grocery store recently, you’ve probably seen the empty shelves. It looks pretty freaky. Unless you’re pushing 100 you’ve never seen scarcity in the industrialized world. We’re used to being able to run to the store whenever we want— buy whatever we want/need/can afford or put on our credit cards. With the stores being out of things we’re still surviving. In fact, I think we’re serving better. I’ve finally convinced my kids not to waste food. We’re having real talk about the importance of being responsible with food choices, not eating so much junk. They’ve seen the stores. They know the crap cereal they prefer, the fruit snacks, the chips aren’t as easy to get now, so they are self-rationing when they eat them. I suspect a lot of people are doing the same thing. In the long run, this will make us healthier. Once everything settles down we can continue eating healthier— if we remember.
I think that’s the key to staying sane in fluxtopia: look for the positives. Look for the things you see that are making the world better, and remember them when everything settles down. Adapt to the bad things, make smart decisions about your health and income. But don’t dwell on them. Dwell on the positives and when this all settles down — remember.
