Vessel for Immortality

They say you die three times, the first is the death of the physical body, the second is the burial, and the third is when no one is left to remember you. The first two are non-negotiable, but Patrick was convinced he could avoid the third.

Who does history remember? How do I become immortal? Patrick wondered.

He could become a warlord, like Alexander the Great or Genghis Khan, but there was no ancient prophecy predicting his rise, it’s in the rules, so that was out. He still had time to make the 27 club, make incredible music and die young, but that didn’t seem like a fun path to immortality.

What are the oldest things we have? Ancient ruins and writing. He thought.

He reasoned that physical structures eventually crumble but words remain; The Egyptian Book of the Dead will outlast the pyramids. He come to the conclusion that writing was a vessel for immortality.

Patrick was obsessed with words. He loved reading and suffered from a small case of bibliomania, his house was bursting with books, and so was his digital library. Patrick aspired to be a writer, it was time to try his hand at writing, if he could get one piece of work published, it would be in the public domain forever, like being reincarnated every time someone read your book. It would also help alleviate is biggest phobia; athazagoraphobia, which the dictionary describes as; an intense or irrational fear of being forgotten.

Patrick took writing courses with published authors, he read the how to books. He tried writing with a pen, a laptop, an audio recorder. He tried a morning routine, a night routine. Patrick obsessed over how to structure his time, when to write, rewrite, do research. He made time to read the classics and new bestsellers. He eliminated distractions; no social-media, streaming services or podcasts.

He learned the tricks of the trade, story structure, plot, character building, world building, and he studied writing devices, the metaphor, simile, hyperbole, and all the rest.

He made all the mistakes baby writers make. He rewrote bestsellers in his own words; plagiarism dirty cousin. Copied popular plots, wrote bad dialogue, used too many adverbs, and loaded his writing with cliches, and he turned in his work.

Rejection notice. 'There's nothing original here, you're trying to hard!'

He decided to study the greats, live as they lived, mimic their routines, habits, and vices. He mined biographies and the internet for their writing secrets and learned how they summoned the muses.

Patrick learned that many of the great writers were alcoholics: Poe, Faulkner, Bukowski. So, Patrick climbed in a bottle with his pen. He fermented his simple words into complex sentences. Hemingway once said, ‘write drunk, revise sober.’ So, he wrote drunk and turned in his work.

Rejection Notice. ‘Poor writing quality.’

Patrick experimented with drugs, it worked for Stephen king and Charles Dickens. So, he combined his writing practice with LSD, Adderall, mushrooms, marijuana and plenty of caffeine. He went on retreats and wrote on Ayahuasca and peyote. He was high as helium and he turned in his work.

Rejection notice. ‘Pretty out there, not for us, sorry.’

What about drugs and alcohol combined? It worked for Hunter S Thompson and The Beatles. Patrick wrote on a cocktail of stimulants and depressants, letting the molecules play tug of war in his brain. and he wrote and turned in his work.

Rejection notice. ‘You lost the plot.'

Patrick wrote in altered states. He kept a stationary by his bed and recorded his dreams for material. He combined his writing practice with meditation. He wrote under hypnosis, completely convinced he was a chicken. He took classes on remote viewing and Astra projection, and he wrote about his findings or delusions? And he turned in his work.

Rejection notice. 'Out of scope, to woo woo for us.'

Patrick turned to the dark arts. He met with witches, mediums, seers, and voodoo dealers. They cast their spells and enchantments, performed their rituals, dealt their roots, herbs and potions, and deployed their talismans and amulets. And he wrote under their influence and he turned in his work.

Rejection notice. 'Too many metaphors, please revise.'

He wrote in isolation and become a hermit, and he had to ask himself, “am I a recluse because I’m a writer? or am I a writer because I’m a recluse?” He wrote about loneliness, and he turned in his work.

Rejection notice. 'Very depressing, pass.'

Patrick became a master eavesdropper. He acquired the superpower of invisibility, and the adaptability of a chameleon. He sat in coffee-shops, restaurants, and park benches, listening to conversations. He wrote in hotel rooms and put his ear to the wall. He wrote everything he heard and he turned in his work.

Rejection notice. 'Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite.'

He wrote in every kind of wilderness, on mountain tops and canyon floors, in forests and jungles, in caves and deserts. Patrick became an animal, wild as a honey badger. He wrote and he turned in his work.

Rejection notice. ‘Characters are flat.’

Patrick feared AI was going to make writers obsolete, he wanted to get published before the machines could do it better than humans. He wrote a sci-fi novels about battles with AI robots and dystopian futures. And he turned in his work.

Rejection notice. ‘Lacks depth, too cliche.’

He prayed to God, all the gods, every deity responsible for creativity. He prayed to the nine muses, especially to Calliope, goddess of epic poetry. He beseeched any spiritual being that would listen. He wrote a book on spirituality and he turned in his work.

Rejection Notice. 'Not popular in the zeitgeist.'

Patrick finally capitulated, he laid down his pen, he would go gently into that good night. He reconnected with family and friends; met a woman and raised a family. They say you are survived by your children, so he had a consolation prize.

***

It was his wife who found his writing, hidden away in boxes at the bottom of his closet, not his manuscripts, but his journals. She read them all, accounts of his adventures, observations, and insights. It was real writing that was unreserved and unrestrained, writing with humour, honesty and colour. His wife convinced him to have his journals edited. So, he condensed and modified them for publication and he turned in his work.

Accepted. ‘We’d love to help you publish your book.’

Patrick autobiography was published, he became briefly famous. His book would be added to the collection of human literature in the 21^st century and he became immortal.