“Don’t be a writer; you won’t get anywhere.”

I can’t count the number of times I’ve been told that or a variation of that. Of course, I decided they were wrong.

Writers were/are tantamount to gods; after all, they did create worlds. However, that might be a bit grandiose. But I can’t come up with anything better.

That was what I thought four years ago. I know better now. Four years with no agent, having to work several-part time jobs and getting spit on by bosses who I’ve trained, and by customers who are too stupid to know better. But, simply enough, it’s been enlightening. People suck, and I’m not so bright myself; for some reason, I haven’t given up on my dream.

So, here I am, living in the house I grew up in with my mother. Granted, I am paying the bills, but still. At least she’s thankful. Kind of. She wished I’d forget my desire to be an author and take up a steadier career like an electrician.

I know she was trying to help, encouraging me to do something that wouldn’t lead to struggling from paycheck to paycheck. She wanted what was best for me. But still…

An electrician. If that’s not your passion, then that’s where dreams go to die.

I did the only thing I could at that moment. I told mom that she should be glad that she’s not near a second-story window.

It’s one of the smartest things I’ve ever said in my adult life.

She hasn’t spoken to me since. So like I said. She’s kind of thankful.

I roll out of bed and shuffle my way across the short distance between my bed and the small table I used as my desk.

“Meow,” Cola, my orange tabby, greeted. Sadly I didn’t get to name her. My cousin got to her first. She kept the cat in her bedroom closet for nearly a week before she got caught. Since aunty didn’t have the heart to just toss the cat out or send it to the humane society, I got a cat.

Reaching down, I spare her a pat on the head, only for her to dig her claws into my hand and bite my fingers.

“Dammit!” I snapped and ripped my hand away. I swear the feline is waiting for me to die just so she can eat me.

With a flick of my hand, the screen lights up, and as it does, I take a handful of the unsalted peanuts I kept there. What can I say? They’re a great source of protein, and as I don’t get to exercise as much as I’d like, I’m not going to eat crappy food. Throwing one into the air, I scan my email.

I caught it in my mouth and clicked on the first of the new messages.

Mr. Faust:

Thank you for querying me about your book. While I found the concept and characters to be largely enjoyable, I’m afraid that the general feeling is that the initial print numbers would be too low. As such, I’m afraid we will have to pass.

I wish you success in your future endeavors.

~Viola Cook

Snort. Once upon a time, those few sentences were soul-crushing. Now, nothing. I move to the next.

Mr. Faust:

While your characters are relatable and plot strong, I’m afraid that the descriptions of the locations are somewhat lacking. I can hardly tell if your characters are in their room or if you’ve shoved three people into a portapotty.

I’m afraid that we will be passing on “The Desert Son” at this time.

Best Regards,

Donald Sunderland.

Typical.

I grit my teeth. Of course, they didn’t understand! It’s not an isekai that’s all the rage these days. It’s not a game world where the main character is some harem protagonist. There’s no magic either, just science and not the laser rifle, light sword kind. Of course, it’s not being picked up.

It’s what I get for trying to set a trend of my own. No one wants sci-fi unless it’s filled with starships or giant robots piloted by a bunch of twits who couldn’t think things through. Or an alien being merging with someone from earth.

Okay, there is a starship. But it’s about as helpful as a box of ice in the middle of a blizzard. Plus, it’s not even directly in this novel.

Still, compared to that, what was a race of people who not only all had split personalities but required them? Could give form to those personalities via a mixture of alpha and gamma waves in addition to light refracted through the iris? Because that isn’t awesome at all.

With a sigh, I click the next and the next. Each says the same thing, even if not in the same way. I brought up the last of them and threw another peanut into the air.

Mr. Faust,

I must say that after plowing through several stacks of manuscripts, some nearly as tall as myself, finding your novel “The Desert Son” was something else. A veritable breath of fresh air, as it were.

With strong characterization, a plot based outside the school system, and an interesting if odd narrative voice, I found I could not put the novel down!

We are more than pleased to inform you that we would like to make an offer.

Please contact BeBeFinch@Dynamopublishing.com at your earliest convenience so that you may set up a time to speak with one of our consultants.

Dana Delancy

The peanut struck the back of my throat and stuck fast. I grabbed the lukewarm strawberry soda that had accompanied my dinner from the previous night and took a long pull from the bottle until the obstruction was gone.

On a side note, I think the drink may have come with a side of fly. Egh.

I turned my attention back to the screen, reading and rereading the few paragraphs more than a little surprised and definitely slack-jawed. Finally, finally, I could take the first step toward my future!

I smiled and slammed my hand against the desk and part of the keyboard.

Standing, I throw myself into the victory dance that I’ve been meticulously planning for the last four years. Did I look ridiculous combining the electric slide with the monkey and the Dougie?

Yes. I have no doubt about that. Is it worth it? Hell, yes. Still better than dabbing.

Sadly, I failed to notice a stray sock on the smooth floor. Right up to the moment my foot landed on it.

The world turned, and almost like I was watching it in slow motion, the corner of the desk drew closer and closer. To say it was going to leave a mark would be an understatement.

Thud. Pain. Cola screamed, and I saw a bright flash of the purest white I had ever seen and then nothing but black. Gods be damned sock!

Kinda figures, though, finally get somewhere, and I kick the bucket and crush the damn cat. At least I’m not going alone.

Little bastard.

Another upside, Mom gets to be the one to find me.