When this Substack was started it was - presumably - meant to be a way to showcase my various fantasy and science fiction short stories and possibly tease a novel or two that I might eventually parlay into book contracts and a regular gig as a “successful” writer. Basically, it would force me to sit down and practice writing while hammering out the multiple novels I‘ve already started and tripped over at various points over the past decade. Simply put, the challenge I accepted was supposed to be a way to hold me accountable to those specific goals. However, I’ve noticed that it’s quickly becoming something different. Less about the writing, itself, and more about how I bumble through it. And what I find frightening as I move through my own writing process is the way writing is so intimately connected to other aspects of my life. The good news is that I’m writing, which is the whole point. But it feels like a process begging for exploration. So, fair warning. Oh, and did you catch that awful passive voice at the very beginning of this paragraph. Just say “NO”, kids.
I’m a handyman, by trade. That is to say I’ve been helping people come up with moderately competent, short-to-medium term solutions to dozens of minor home problems for about three and a half years now. Given my work history, this is a relatively new development. Since I was 14 years old, I’ve been employed approximately 319 times in various industries. Many of those jobs were what one might charitably call “white collar”. They required a pretty resume consisting of lots of white space, limited gaps in work experience, and no small measure of builder-grade bullshit. Obviously, the work history section changed every time, and I always tried to find new ways to promote whatever meager experience I might have gained since the last CV. However, one phrase never changed; one omnipresent line that rested somewhere near the bottom of each resume that I always felt compelled to include: Excellent Organizational Skills. I thought it critical for potential employers to see. It was that one shiny detail that promised to push my resume to the top of the HR inbox. I could picture the scene every time I wrote down those words:
“Hey, Ted. What do you think about this one? Guy spent two years replacing tires and batteries at a local Sears and then almost an entire summer selling meat out of a refrigerated truck!”
“Sounds like a real go-getter, Phil. But we’ve got a lot of well-qualified candidates here according to all the white space I see on these resumes.”
“Yeah, but it says here that he also has ‘Excellent Organizational Skills’!”
“Jesus, Phil, why didn’t you just lead with that? You give him a call while I toss this ream of losers in the dumpster out back.”
To be fair, that’s not always how I imagined it. Sometimes Phil is a woman. While the importance of this phrase on a resume is highly debatable, it doesn’t change the fact that I believed this category of skills was a set I actually possessed. At least that’s what I wanted to believe. Throughout my journey as a writer, however, I’ve been successfully disabused of such fantasy. My organizational skills are, in fact, for shit.
Recently I had a conversation with Dude (the guy who challenged me to start this Substack) about his job. I knew his field and the industry in which it fell, but I had no details. It seemed odd to not really know what the guy I’d been friends with for 35 years did for a living. I’d be lying if I said I could remember the specifics. Not necessarily my field of interest. What did grab my attention, though, was how he described his organizational process; his timelines, work flow, scheduling, how he tended to prepare for the following day. Listening to him describe it, I felt like a four-year-old girl at her first tumbling class watching Simone Biles warm up for the floor competition. His process was breathtaking to me. And it was demonstrably successful. In the year or so since he’s gotten the job, Dude has already made himself indispensable. Aside from his obvious experience and talent, it’s easy to see that his “excellent organizational skills” have played a major role in his success. Our conversation has since got me thinking about my organizational struggles, specifically in regards to writing. More on that later. Let’s do something fun.
Dialogue can be very difficult. So let’s write some. Let me know what you think in the comments!
Tabitha leaned against the bulkhead of the bridge as she watched Paul lean back in the Captain’s chair. He looked from left to right, up and down, no seeming to notice her standing there. His attention was focused on the large bank of controls and lights that peppered the bridge’s interior like stars on a moonless night.
“Twelve years”, he sighed. “Twelve years I’ve been calculating interplanetary pathways, folding space, traveling thousands of light years. I’ve seen a hundred worlds with colors and landscapes that 99% of the human race can only dream of. All from aboard this ship. But, honestly, I still couldn’t tell you what half this shit does.”
Tabitha giggled and Paul followed suit. He could disarm just about any situation. Often without even realizing it. It was instinctual. And just one of the qualities that made him special.
“So,” he continued, finally looking away from the control panels, “why did you decide to come back? Especially since, last time…you know.” Tabitha wasn’t ready for that question, though she should have been.
“I’m here,” she replied. “Are the reasons that important?
Paul looked away somewhat absently. “I suppose not. But you have to admit it’s a bit odd given all that went down. I guess I’m a just a little surprised, that’s all.”
Tabitha calculated a few reasonable responses, thought the better of it, and decided to punt. “I suppose you have an opinion. Why don’t you tell me? Why do you think I’m here?”
Paul shrugged “I think they’re looking for something. They think you know where it is or, at least, how to find it. Whatever they’re offering, it’s too good to pass up. Probably an opportunity to wipe the slate clean.”
Tabitha shook her head and smiled. She’d almost forgotten how good he really was.
Until next time, folks!
Typo...
“He looked from left to right, up and down, NOT seeming to notice...”