What’s the most important part about getting published, to you? The money? Rolling around in all that green paper? Fame? Having people say, “Are you the one who wrote…?” Or maybe it’s the sheer satisfaction of having, “made it,” as a writer.
Hell…all good reasons. Why not? Money is good. Don’t let anybody kid ya’! And it would be cool to have someone recognize you from a picture on your book cover. And, of course, we all want to “make it.” It all means that you’ve reached the summit, as an author. Or, at least, you can see the top.
But I can’t also help thinking that being published makes you sort of…well…immortal.
Imagine long after you’re gone. Okay, nobody likes to think about that but…yeah, we’re all going. No one is here forever. I just read a news article that said even the Universe is slowly dying. But don’t panic! It’ll be awhile.
Imagine, though, that one hundred years from now, someone is reading that book you published. They saw it on whatever people will be using to buy books and they ordered it. Now they’re sitting at the space center waiting for the next shuttle to Mars and they’re reading your book. How cool is that?
All right, most likely it’ll just be someone sitting in their living room. But they are reading something that you wrote and it might even have your picture somewhere. Words that you’re writing, right now, could be entering a person’s head over one hundred years from now. It’s hard to even think about that without it blowing my mind. Your name is being mentioned by someone living in the year 2115. “What are you reading,” someone asks them. They tell them the title. “Who wrote it?” comes the next question.
And then…wait for it…they say your name!
Yes, someone in the year 2115 is saying your name.
It’s not true immortality, of course. But you will never be truly forgotten as long as something you have done lives on. We’re still reading the works of men and women who have been gone for hundreds of years. Everybody has heard of Mark Twain. He’ll live forever within the pages of his stories and books.
So, think about that as you write. You could be writing for the ages.
But I like the idea of that person at the space center, waiting for the next Mars shuttle.
He’s reading a book on the holographic reading app that he’s wearing on his wrist. It’s also a phone and a computer.
“What are you reading?” asks someone.
“It’s called, ‘Jenny,’” he answers.
“Who wrote it?”
“His name is…” wait for it… “Joe Bucemi.”
You hear that? Someone in the year 2115 said my name. I’m dust, but my name is still being mentioned.
“How is it?” they ask.
“Ah, it’s okay, I guess,” he says with a shrug.
Just okay. Oh, well. At least I’m remembered. Someone waiting to go to Mars in 2115 is reading my book. How cool is that?