The Immortality Gene

My dad doesn’t just read a vast collection of Science-Fiction novels. He also writes them. Well, one and a half of them to be exact. He’s not well known for them; you wouldn’t recognize his name. In fact, he has never even gotten one published. He sent his one finished one to Michael Crichton’s publisher. Only Michael Crichton’s publisher. But still, the novels occupy a large amount of his time and energy. And even though nothing has really come of the hours except for a novel read by a maximum of seven people, The Immortality Gene is one of the things my dad is most proud of in his life. He is living proof that you don’t need to be famous for the things you work hard in, or even really show anyone, for you to count them among the most important things you’ve accomplished.

I’m not really sure what my dad’s novel is about. I tried to read it, and don’t get me wrong, it was really good. But I was eleven, and I didn’t really understand the concept of genetics. It turns out genetics seems to be a pretty important subject in a book called The Immortality Gene. However, seeing as my dad spent ten years of precious after-work time with the glow of the Microsoft Word reflecting off his eyes, I knew there was something in those 500 pages that mattered.

After ten years of writing, he finally finished. I can’t imagine that feeling: working on something for ten years and finally typing that last word. Obviously, he did about a year or so of editing after that, but the bulk of it was done. I don’t even think he wanted to send it to anyone. My dad is that weird mix of personalities that throws socks around the room and can’t make any food other than oatmeal, but is a perfectionist when it comes to anything work-related. I don’t ever think he would’ve thought the book was good enough to send to a friend, let alone a publisher. But that’s what wives are for right? My mom made him print out all 500 pages and send it to at least one person. My dad chose Michael Crichton’s publisher. Michael Crichton is one of the most famous Science-Fiction authors in the world, if you didn’t know. The Immortality Gene was good, but not that good. The publisher decided to pass.

I think my dad didn’t really want the book to be published. Evidently, someone wouldn’t like it, and they would probably insult it. Probably on the internet. I think subconsciously my dad knew that he didn’t want ten years of his life, of his precious time, to be criticized. However, even though he never sent it out, he still talks about it all the time. I mean, all the time. God forbid you mention the name of his main character. You will be treated to a two-and-a-half hour synopsis of the plot and any potential plot twists that even crossed my dad’s mind. Obviously, my dad is proud of this book.

People don’t need to be aware of your creations for them to be good. You don’t need to be a best-seller to be proud of your book. You are your own worst critic. The number of un-published authors, un-signed singers, and un-appreciated artists is astounding. There is definitely someone out there who is a better singer than Rebecca Black with a song that doesn’t revolve around a day of the week. And yet, Rebecca Black has a record deal and is releasing new music that millions of people are listening to.

It takes a certain kind of bravery to put your work out there for the world to see. You’ve poured your heart into this book, song, or painting. Tears might have been spilled, sleepless night might have been endured, and an inspiration black hole might have been pushed through. My dad spent a whole year on one page of his book (apparently his antagonist was having an identity crisis). Some people aren’t quite ready to hand their creation over to the cynics. They want to preserve the pride and positive feelings surrounding their hard work. Just give them a little time, and a little encouragement, and eventually the next Michael Crichton will come out to play.