Taking a story out

Since discovering that I had He Missed the Sea published [entry], my brother has been telling everybody about it[1]. He's shown it to both of his bosses at work, and more-than-likely the rest of the staff up there. He has, according to my parents, printed up a copy.

My parents. Yes, there was an interesting thing. Can you imagine that if I didn't even tell my brother about it -- who can use, and has sporadic access to, the internet -- that I actually told my dad and step-mother?

No, not really.

I think they want to read it. They mentioned Dan's printed copy in tones that all but asked 'When do we get a copy?' I have to say that my reply was pretty much along the lines of 'It's online, all you need is internet access'. Hmmm, they didn't mention it further[2], but I get the feeling that they would like to see it; that they feel a bit left out by my not talking about this part of my life.

I'm sure I will send them a copy sooner or later, but it will feel weird. Part of me doesn't want to show it to my dad. I think I can take criticism fairly well, but the thought of him -- or my step-mother, for that matter -- telling me that it sucks chills me slightly. I'm sure they wouldn't, am sure they would be supportive, but part of me doesn't want to find out just yet. Let it wait until I get something published that I can't hide from them.

I'm not worried about them not liking the speculative element of my work -- they know the stuff I read, so they shouldn't be surprised by what I write. I am worried -- bizarrely -- about the length of the piece. After all my brother has said about the piece are they going to be disappointed when they finally get to see it and discover that it only just runs to a second side of paper?

Like I said, I will send them a copy, the question is: when to do it? They want me to send them some photos down soon, so I shall probably sling it in the same envelope. We'll see . . .

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[1] Yes, it would seem that I now have my very own little publicity agent.
[2] Although, we did touch upon it briefly when he ran me to the station. 'What did you think all that writing was that I've been doing when I've come back?' I asked him. 'I did wonder what kind of job gave you homework,' he replied.