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.
I think we get comfortable very easily, at least I do. It’s not just me though. Culture likes to be in a steady state, and equilibrium of sorts, where everything runs smoothly. It’s human nature, it’s nature’s nature, everything moving the way it always has. We assume the way it always will be.
I know that was true with my health. Years of eating garbage, because it tasted good— it was comfort food. Ultimately that life style would have killed me quickly. Change, that change came because I hit a level of discomfort, literally. Back pain, not all the big goals, got me to start yoga, and a new steady state started.
There are other areas of life besides health. Discomfort there also causes movement. I’m comfortable with my income, but I’ve set goals that far exceeded it. Being comfortable means my goals are out of reach, because I won’t do the extra things needed to reach those goals. I’ll stay in the steady state even though I want more.
I’m feeling discomfort now, things are getting tighter. Maybe not really, but they feel that way. That discomfort is pushing me to a different steady state, the push to get back to comfort. For that I am grateful.
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.
