Months back I wrote a flash fiction called The Scout. The concept is an alien scout goes to various planets and mingles with the locals to understand their customs and habits prior to ambassadors making direct contact. Then “he” unintentionally falls in love with one of “his” subjects. I kept it short, but I might develop it into something larger. It reminds me of The Humans by Matt Haig and I’m sure that’s where the idea stemmed from, but hey, who has an original story these days?

When I wrote that flash fiction I decided to try and submit it for publication. Honestly, I made a weak effort at this, but was happily rejected twice and feel it was good practice for my upcoming novel, though submissions for Father’s Creed will require greater detail and commitment. While waiting for rejections, on this blog I set a “far into the future” posting date of Jan 1, 2019. Then January came and surprise, The Scout appeared.

Being 40, I’m very aware of time and how quickly it passes, yet its momentum never ceases to amaze me. I’m approaching the one year mark of when I began writing my novel. I’m not disappointed with my progress (I’m halfway through my second draft), but I know that with feedback, rewrites, submissions, and the road down publication (assuming even the best scenario), it may still be two years before this thing sees the light of day.

That is depressing, but I’m also okay with it. While still personal, the project has become something else. Even while still working on the book I’ve noticed a disassociation with it. It’s growing up, maturing and gaining an independence. When it goes out into the world, I know it’s my progeny, but it’s not a helpless child. I did my part. How the world views it after that is out of my hands, and frankly, I’ve got other youngsters to conceive and guide through early life.

Time chips away, bigger and more brittle chunks taken with each year, and I suppose all our worries and loves amount to little in the big view. What we leave behind is on its own when we’re gone. There’s no point in fretting over it. I plan on writing much more, hoping that one of my stories connects with someone. One of them will bore into their brains and help produce a new story, slightly different, vastly improved. My job now is to teach them, learn from them, and send them off. Back to work. The far off future is really not too far.

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