August 07, 2020 - Heavy light poles - Flash Fiction: 7

Flash Fiction: 7

He had already turned in the manuscript. All one thousand three hundred twenty seven pages it. He made sure to double check all the submittal guidelines he had found through the web.

-Use 12-point type. ✓
-Use a serif font. ✓
-Double space your manuscript. ✓
-Etc.

As he sat with his paleta melting in one hand, he remembered looking over the entire book to make sure he had left only one space between sentences. On Chavez and Soto the daily cacophony was no match for the voices in his head. Sure the manuscript looked perfect. But it was the quality of his writing he couldn’t stop thinking about. Was he any good? The vulnerability of leaving it in someone else hands to dissect and judge was eating him internally. 

He threw away what was left of the paleta and opened his laptop to go over it again. Nobody even noticed him as he sat on the grimy sidewalk reading to himself.

He’s in this alone at the moment. His family doesn’t understand what all goes into actually putting together a novel. All they see is him wasting away at the keyboard and not contributing to the state of the refrigerator inventory. Every time they come home from the market he feels embarrassed that he didn’t contribute but he helps as much as he can carrying the bags. As if that brought some kind of balance. 

He needs this book to be perfect. He couldn’t find any mistakes in it but he knows he’s looking at it with a paternal love. What flaws will this person uncover?

Two weeks later there is still no word from the publisher. He won’t allow himself to fall into doubt or depression. He waits. Instead he starts to work on a new book. A new story born from the despair of his current concerns. Creativity loves to dwell here.

The email finally arrives. He will be published. He writes back confidently pitching his next book. 

He helps bring in the groceries with a smile.