Prologue

"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 that they were wrong.

Writers are tantamount to gods; after all, they create worlds. However, even though that might be a bit grandiose, I haven't managed to come up with anything better.

That was what I thought four years ago. I know better now. Four years with no agent, working several part-time jobs and getting spit on by bosses 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 dreams.

So, here I am, living in the house I grew up in with my mother.

Not my favorite option, but considering all the help she needs, what else can I do?

Put her in a home? I did think about that, and I feel she'd get the nurses to nag me in her place.

So yeah, just me and ma.

At least she's thankful. Kind of. She wishes I'd forget my desire to be an author and take up a steadier career, like an electrician.

I know she's trying to help, encouraging me to do something that won't lead to me struggling from week to week, paycheck to paycheck. She wants what's 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 not one of the smartest things I've ever said in my adult life.

She hasn't spoken to me since. But, at the same time, she hasn't told me to be an electrician again either. So like I said. She's kind of thankful. Or at least she's stopped telling me to give up.

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

"Meow," Cola, my orange tabby, greets me. Sadly I didn't get to name her. My cousin got that honor as she got to her first. She kept the cat in her bedroom closet for nearly a week before aunty Velma caught her. And since aunty doesn't have the heart to just toss the cat out or send it to the humane society, I got a cat.

Still, considering I likely would have named the cat Lasagna as a Garfield reference, I can't say Cola's all that bad.

Reaching down, I start for her head and stop. She's looking at me so innocently. I can't help it; I start scratching beside her ears. I should have known better. She digs her claws into my hand and bites my fingers.

"Dammit!" I snap and rip my hand away. I swear the feline is waiting for me to die just so she can eat me.

Sparing the purring feline one last glance, I take a seat at the table and open my laptop.

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 catch it in my mouth as I click on the first of my new messages.

Mr. Faust:

Thank you for querying me about your book. While I found the concept and characters to be largely enjoyable, if typical. 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.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

I wish you success in your future endeavors.

~Viola Cook

Right, like I believe that. Once upon a time, those few sentences were soul-crushing. Now, nothing. I move to the next expecting more of the same, and it's what I get.

Mr. Faust:

While your characters are relatable and the 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.

For this reason, 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 don'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 can't think their way out of wet paper bags without the help of their computer. Or an alien being merging with someone from earth.

Okay, to be perfectly honest, there is a starship. But it's about as helpful as a box of ice in a blizzard. Plus, it's not even directly in this novel.

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

With a sigh, I click the following email and the next. Each says the same thing, even if not in the same way. Bringing up the last of them, I toss 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 find I couldn't put your novel down!

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

Please contact [email protected] at your earliest convenience so that you may set up a time to speak with one of our consultants.

Dana Delancy

The peanut strikes the back of my throat and sticks fast. I grab hold of the lukewarm strawberry soda that had accompanied last night's dinner and tilt it back. It's not enough. I take a longer pull from the bottle this time. Draining it dry.

Upside, the peanuts down. The downside is I think the drink may have come with a side of fly. Egh.

I turn my attention to the screen, reading and rereading the few paragraphs, more than slightly surprised and slack-jawed. Finally, finally, I can take the first step toward my future!

I smile and slam my hand against the desk and part of the keyboard. It has the unintended side effect of minimizing my email. Not that I care.

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

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

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

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

Thud. Pain. Cola screams, and I see a bright flash of the purest white I had ever seen and then nothing but black.

It fits my luck, but seriously? A god's damned sock! It could have been anything else!

Kinda figures, though; I finally get somewhere, and not only do I kick the bucket, but I crush the damn cat.

At least I'm not going alone.

Ha! Cola, you furry little bastard, you're coming with me!

Best of luck, ma. I hope the people where you end up are friendly and sorry that you get to be the one to find me.

Sorry I wasn't better. Maybe next time.