41: HM2V: Z is for Zoological Scripta

"I've looked at life from both sides now/From win and lose and still somehow/It's life's illusions I recall/I really don't know life at all." -Joni Mitchell (from her album "Joni Mitchell—Live Radio Broadcasts," 1966)

9 am, Vera Manor Garden

It was early morning, Maya and Abigael were beginning their typical 'mind palace' routine of channeling their mental energy much like yoga, and his wife Macy was nowhere to be found.

"Macy? Macy? MACY!" Harry called for his wife in progressively louder tones.

"I-in here, Harry," a voice responded, causing a prickling in his brain. Macy.

9:01 am, Vera Manor Garden, She-Shed

Macy was sitting on a chair, her head buried in her arms on the sturdy wooden desk that housed the duplicate DNA sequencing machine. Harry walked up to his wife ever-cautiously. "Is it the twins? Do I need to call for Morgana—"

She shook her head, her curls undulating in the summer breeze. "No, Harry," her muffled voice stated. "I'm afraid this is an issue of a professional nature."

Harry was confused. "In what sense? You're clearly a scientific genius…" And he could have sworn he just heard the end of the lyrics to Joni Mitchell's "Both Sides Now," a rather mournful tune about life's hard internal battles and inward-facing disappointments.

"I received my results from my latest publication query." Macy lifted her tear-stained face a couple of inches. Harry moved forward, rubbing her back and making all manner of soothing noises for the next several minutes while neither of them spoke.

9:11 am, Vera Manor Garden, She-Shed

"So…what was the verdict?" Harry finally ventured to ask, once the floods of tears on Macy's face had abated somewhat.

"All of them—all of them—" Macy repeated for emphasis, "rejected except for one publisher requesting an additional manuscript."

"Wow, an additional manuscript—you must've really impressed them—" Harry began, but Macy threw him a withering look.

"Harry," she said, looking up at him, "I'm used to being the best at everything. I've always been close to first in my class, once I got my act together and chose a major. I do everything right. I thought I had—a chance—" her voice shook as she showed him the hard copy letters that had flown into the mail chute that morning. Harry took them and skimmed through for a few moments, his eyebrows arching higher at the contents of one, and he had a decisive chuckle at another.

"Macy, Macy, Macy," he began, his back leaning on the sturdy desk as he faced his wife of three years. "I think you're being far too hard on yourself. This is your first time submitting your work to journal publications—"

"I've done this before—" Macy protested. "Remember my genetics lab work?"

"Your first time as a solo project, I mean. In your she-shed. Before, you were working within a team of…ten or twenty professionals? In a state-of-the-art facility worth millions?"

Macy reluctantly acknowledged that Harry had a point. "Thirty," she whispered. "A team of ten lab managers, twenty postdoctoral candidates, equals thirty. Not to mention the constant rotation of interns from top 20 colleges and the round-the-clock editors—"

"You see?" Harry replied, taking Macy's hand in his. "Early solo success is highly unusual in this sort of venture—"

"But Harry," Macy wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "I've always been the top of my field—my postdoc supervisor always got his through—"

"—With the aforementioned team of thirty—"

"True," Macy sniffled. Harry had a point.

"You're working out of a post-exploded she-shed, doing the work of thirty people on your own, you're the mother of a toddler, and pregnant with twins! Oh, and you're supposed to be on modified bedrest." He peered at Macy, who shrugged her shoulders with a sheepish look. Caught red-handed.

"Besides, love, and be honest—what would you do if you found instant success? Wouldn't it be boring?" Harry continued to stroke Macy's hand, turning it up to interlace her fingers in his.

Macy nodded. "I'd probably be on to the next adventure—getting my feet wet in writing a science textbook. Or three. Then, I wouldn't know where else to take my brain. I'd be bored to tears."

"Exactly." Harry reread some of the letters again. "Zoological Scripta, Malacologia, Journal of Experimental Biology, Journal of Experimental Zoology, and Acta Zoologica. Hmmm…I think rule number one is to know one's audience," he stated matter-of-factly, holding the Malacologia rejection letter in his other hand.

"What do you mean?" Macy asked curiously.

"For starters—" Harry regarded the penmanship closely. "You submitted an article on mammalian polysomnography sleep studies to a publication house that exclusively focuses on clamshells. Clams are invertebrates, not mammals, love."

"Oh." Macy could feel herself blush. Whoops. Damn pregnancy brain.

"Journal of Experimental Biology and Journal of Experimental Zoology may be a bit too mainstream—mentioning the Greek god of sleep among a bunch of technocrats might literally put them to sleep."

Harsh criticism but true, Macy silently mused to herself. "What about Zoological Scripta?"

Harry read the corresponding letter. "It seems it's not a "No," but rather a "Not Yet." They want you to make edits and submit an additional manuscript—seems like they liked the first one," he beamed at Macy, who still looked somewhat skeptical. "That sounds quite promising! How about this—you work on the edits and the manuscript while Abigael teaches Maya. And then…"

Macy thought this over. Sounded reasonable enough. "And then…?"

"You can read them to me after Maya goes to sleep," Harry answered. "I'll be your beta reader." Harry and Macy grinned at each other.

"Sounds like a plan, Mr. Valensi—my you're full of excellent ideas this morning," Macy whispered as he orbed her back to her chair in Vera Manor Garden.

"You know I always aim to please, Dr. Valensi." And with that, he orbed away.