It's a bittersweet day.
To cheer myself up a little, I went out today and got my hair chopped off so I can donate it to Pantene Beautiful Lengths. The stylist got 6 ponytails off my head, which is what it takes to make a full wig for a woman battling cancer.
It’s bittersweet because the Nerdist contest has ended and my book SINGLE VERSION was not successful. That’s the bitter part. The sweetness comes from the tremendous amount of support that came my way over the course of the last six weeks. My wife is the most devoted partner anyone could hope for. I have a wonderful family who backs everything I do. I have inspiring friends who go to bat for me without so much as blinking. And of course there are the many orders that came from friends of friends or complete strangers who just wanted to lend a hand or liked the sample chapters. It’s a truly amazing feeling. I finished the Nerdist contest selling 538 copies to 458 readers in six weeks. And just typing out those numbers makes my chest feel a little tight. Have I said thank you enough? I haven’t. I couldn’t.
And I’ve been so touched by the amount of support I’ve gotten from other authors in the competition as well, especially after announcing the birth of Beatty. Special shout-out to S.T. Ranscht (https://www.inkshares.com/projects/enhanced) and Steve Soldwedel (https://www.inkshares.com/projects/disintegration) for their continued support and promotion of SINGLE VERSION to their Inkshares readership. I’ve pre-ordered both of their books myself and I hope you will too.
It’s an understatement to say that I’m lucky. It’s an inadequate word. But it’s the word I have. I’m lucky to have so many people who are ready to rally around me and a project I’m trying to bring to the world.
That project is not a reality yet. SINGLE VERSION came in 7th place in the Nerdist contest. Out of the top 5. Not one of the winners, and so it’s not guaranteed publication just yet. I competed in this contest specifically because I thought Inkshares sounded like a really cool and necessary enterprise, so I dove in. Not to mention the prospect of having a book backed by the Nerdist was too golden. I can still get SINGLE VERSION published in Inkshares’ standard way by garnering 1,000 total orders by November 15. That’s 462 more than I currently have. A lot, but not impossible—after all I’m more than halfway there already. Difficult, though, considering I’ve already appealed to my entire network. But say I get to 1,000. Perfect! The book is published, it just took some extra doing. If not that, there’s traditional publishing, self-publishing, or doing some kind of serial, maybe an audiobook…who knows? I don’t know what’s next. I’m going to take tonight to shrug and mope a little and then tomorrow will be tomorrow.
When I was in college, I ran track. I was a sprinter and jumper, and ran the relays. In those days I was an all-around athlete: strong pound-for-pound, quick, and agile. So, for our conference championship one year, my coaches flagged me to be the kid on the team they’d train for the decathlon. I was so flattered that they thought I could do it and so excited by the challenge that I said HELL YEAH and started working right away. There were things I could already do well. The 100m dash. The long jump. I busted my ass to improve in the high jump, javelin, and pole vault—for that last one I had to overcome a neurosis about flipping upside down I didn’t even realize I had. The shot put and the discus were rough for me but I tried my best. But the insurmountable obstacle in the decathlon was the hurdles. At a short-legged 5’7”, the high hurdles came to above my waist, making it physically impossible for me to properly hurdle them. I had to jump over each one, which crushed my time. No matter what I did, I couldn’t gracefully get over those hurdles, and I had many many falls, with the bruises and abrasions to show for it. Overall, my event scores were all over the place but I was getting better every week. The championship meet was held at the College of Wooster that year, and the decathlon ran over the course of two days prior to the rest of the meet. My coach and I drove out on the morning of the first day, ready and hopeful. I did well in the things I expected to do well in, and even surprised myself in some of my weaker events—though I was still laughably awful at the shot put and discus. The final event on the second day was the 1500m run. Not my strong suit, middle distance, but I knew I could do it. I ran a good race, fighting fatigue and a cramp, dry lungs heaving, straining as I lowered my head and charged for the finish, my coach yelling “Time! Time!” from the sideline, reminding me that I was not racing my competitors, I was only racing myself, trying to put up the absolute best time I could. I crossed the finish line and collapsed after two days of brutal competition and months and months of hard training. In our conference meets, anyone who placed in the top 8 of an event scored points for their team. Moments after finishing the race, my coach came up to me as I lay on the ground trying to catch my breath, seeing stars from the exhaustion. He said, “You came in 9th place, Scott. Thanks for your hard work.” When we got back to our home campus, after a long and quiet car ride, my teammates were supportive and upbeat, albeit undoubtedly disappointed that I didn’t manage, after all of that time and effort, to score a single point.
Today feels a bit like that. I'm crestfallen but deeply grateful.
It’s not over for me or for SINGLE VERSION. This is just one of those high hurdles that I couldn’t quite clear yet.
Thank you for believing in me.
Scott
