Ideas for Character Development, Novel Update, and More

Characterization Ideas

In one of the “light bulb” moments during a lecture I was giving this afternoon, it dawned on me that I have an entire Playbook of character ideas I’ve been overlooking. (Yes, that is a “How I Met Your Mother” reference.)

I’ve tried to grow characters organically. I don’t want to force characterization. But still, I think these are some ideas that may help writers develop characters deeper. My current book is “finished” (see next section), but I may play with some of these scenarios during the next revision.

One of the courses I teach is Communication Theory, and today I gave a special lecture, called “Academic Deep Dive” on comm theory topics to our college transfer students. It dawned on me—why don’t I use some of the situations when writing? Sure, we all use these to some extent, but there’s some great stuff here, some opportunities to really see what our characters will do when presented with the following challenges.

One such challenge, which comes from Social Exchange Theory, would be to put a character in a relationship in which the costs outweigh the benefits. Again, I think some of this is natural, but I think we can add to the challenges to see what our characters do. I want fun, meaningful relationships in my stories, but we also need conflict in order to create dynamic characters. So one such way I’m going to play with that is really examine the relationships in my stories and ask, “Ok, who is staying in a relationship in which the costs outweigh the benefits? And why?”

Without giving too much of my current story away, my main character puts up with a neglectful, alcoholic mother. He tries to reach her and clearly puts in a lot of time or “cost” to this relationship. He gets back nothing. Why does he stay? Well, she’s his mom of course, and probably the people with whom we’d give the most “cost” to would be family, right? But what about friends, love, infatuation? Can you add elements to characterization where one character gives a lot and another gives nothing? What might happen then? I sure can think of past friendships that ended because they cost too much (not in money, but in a plethora of other sacrifices we make). Playing with that concept may be a way to further develop our characters and their relationships.

A second approach, which comes from dialectical theory, would allow us to play with contradictions in our characters. Without getting into the academics behind the theory, it simply asks a few interesting questions:

      -- Why do we want to be intimate and close with others yet still crave alone time?

      -- Why do we enjoy routines but also have the urge to be spontaneous?

      -- Why do we want to publicly express ourselves yet maintain privacy too?

So how do we balance these oppositions in our own lives? And how can we use them to add to our stories? 

First, it’s important to recognize that both needs—the contradictions—are natural. We need routine and spontaneity. It’s all about balance (isn’t life?). So here’s what I want to do: I want a character who has always wanted love and affection and closeness to wonder why he or she also feels the need for personal space. I want to see that conflict. I want to play with a character that is all about routine and pair him/her with someone completely spontaneous and see what happens. I want someone who feels the urge to open up publicly (to the point of vulnerability) but feel confused and challenged at the competing need for privacy (which could be especially interesting using today’s social media too!).

I could list a hundred other theories and ideas (and I would describe more if any other writers find the above situations interesting—just tell me you want more, please). They may not be all that unique and some are pretty common sense, but here’s the real beauty of it: We can ALL relate to these situations, and that may make others relate to our characters more too. I hope they are helpful and interesting. That’s the only reason I share them.

Novel Update

For those interested, I’ve “finished” my novel for a second time on Sunday. I had been combing through the chapters, making notes, adding and deleting, and generally making it a better book. I sent out just a few queries for now to agents who I think would be interested in my particular story. Please wish me luck. I’m hoping for an early Christmas present!

Regardless, my goal was to finish by December, so I met that goal. Come December, I will be on winter break from the college. Between now and then, I will again distract myself with other projects and try not to look at or think about my book. But the first day I’m on break: I’m re-reading and making notes all over again. Over winter break, if I don’t hear from an agent (or even if I do, because we all know that a book is always a work in progress until the moment it’s printed and hits the shelves), it will have a third major revision, perhaps using some of the ideas I described above.

If I were my own critic (and of course we all are), I would say this: I have the coolest plot imaginable to me. One of the first lessons a writer learns is to write the story he or she always wanted to read. If you’ve followed this blog, you know some about my geek interests, and this book plays on that. It’s the horror adventure story I would always have loved to read.

During the second major revision, I added more depth to the characters, fixed plot holes, and fine tuned some writing. My weakness was characterization. I was focused on the COOLEST STORY EVER and needed to add more depth to my characters. During this winter’s third revision, they’ll get even deeper. And maybe if you’ve followed this blog and get to read the book whenever it comes out, you’ll remember these little posts. “Hey- he talked about that adding those conflicting behaviors on intimacy/privacy, routine/spontaneity, and public/private—I see those here!” And for the few closest readers I have, I hope you will get a kick out of it.

The book will be published. Someday. I don’t give up.

Other randomness

There are a few friends out there I don’t talk to as much as I’d like. We are all so busy. So I thought I’d add some general randomness at this point.

I am SO EXCITED about spring semester. For the first time at the college, I get to teach a pure public speaking class as a face to face elective (I’ve taught a hybrid online version where students have to meet to do presentations but not an entire semester every class face to face). I sat down today—another distraction from the book too—and wrote about two pages of ideas for the class. The class is almost already full too, and registration has only been open a couple of weeks. Most people signing up for it are taking it as an elective. They’ve already had their COMM requirement. How cool is that? People volunteering for public speaking!? No matter what, I take that as a huge teaching win, and I can’t wait for spring. It will be the best class I’ve ever taught and the most motivational, inspirational, and fun. That’s my goal.

There were about a half dozen other things I wanted to include, but I’ll be honest: I have Modern Family and the Goldbergs on the DVR. And of course American Horror Story coming up soon. :) So I think I need to wrap this up and say good night and save other randomness for a future blog. As always, thanks for those of you who are interested enough to read this much. Leave me a comment or send a message if you wish, and I hope to talk more with all of you soon.

My Writing Process & My Gratitude

I’m no Stephen King, but don’t get me wrong: I love his works and am insanely jealous. I feel his process is much like a buffet: when he writes, he has so much to say, and then must cut it down to find the perfectly delicious meal for his reader.

I’m quite the opposite. This summer I wrote a book, and I am quite proud of it. But it was only a skeleton, a shell of its potential. After getting feedback from some of my closest friends, I let it sit and rest. I spent the month of September distracting myself with a blog post a day, not to mention of course my full-time career, side jobs and personal life. It’s hard for me. I’m impatient. I want the perfect product now, but I forced myself to let it rest if I want it to be its best.

Now, I’ve re-read it and have added to the bones: there’s meat and organs pumping blood through the thin skin that covered the bones. It’s more beautiful than ever, and when I’m published, I’ll talk about this process. Sometimes you have to give an idea time to grow.

I read parts of the revisions tonight to my most trusted reader, and I can tell you that I am so excited by the possibilities. I have for you an exciting and fun adventure. I have something I cannot wait to share, and it’s so hard, you know this if you know me, to keep the details to myself. Maybe I will need to let it rest again and revise again, and maybe that process will repeat for a long time. Or maybe it will be ready tomorrow. I don’t know.  I only know I enjoy the process. That’s what keeps me going, as it should for all writers.

The writing process: write non-stop until you are finished. Rest and do something else. Re-read weeks or months later. Revise and write some more. Repeat and repeat and repeat until you are finished.

This will be successful, I have no doubt. But I struggle with human factors when I share my process with others. I kind of hate social media (and I kind of love it too, of course). I’ve posted a few things about my writing. You know, some people post pictures about their shoes or do a seflie in hopes of getting “likes.” I post big dreams and goals and hope to get encouragement, not likes. There have been many great friends who say supporting words, and there have been many so called “friends” who have said nothing about one of my biggest goals. Does it make me a bad person to think that these people kind of suck? Have you ever felt this way? You share something so close to your heart, something you’ve poured hours of time in to, and they say nothing? This feeling is worth talking about, I think. As a teacher, I always will encourage students’ goals. Of course, not everyone is a teacher, and not every teacher is all that encouraging. But for my dear friends who have read these blogs and made an effort to say “good luck” in any kind of way, I will remember you. You are a part of that writing process. Encouragement is fuel to our motivation as writers. Criticism can be good fuel too, so of course, if you get to read a sample, don't hold back. We need good criticism as much as we need encouragement. 

Yes, the best thing we can do for one another is to encourage dreams. Maybe it will be nothing. Maybe it will be something. But no matter what dreams your friends have, wouldn’t you rather be one of the friends who supported and encouraged? The real purpose of this blog isn’t about my process or status on the novel I am writing. It’s a tribute to all of those who support the dreamers.

Like many goals, writing is journey meant to be enjoyed. It’s not about a destination or success. Remember that in any path your friends may take. Support their dreams and journeys. I have great pride in the stories I have written, and I have every confidence great things will happen with those stories. However, it’s also true nothing may come of them. Then all we dreamers have to fall back on is the support others gave to us. That support is enough to keep us going.

The best parts of social media are when we support one another. I’ve always been convinced that the more we support others, the more success we ourselves will have.

So thank you to my close friends who have read and supported my work over the last several months. I have made incredible progress and will never give up. And if you know anything about me, I always follow through with my goals.

I just want you to know that I deeply appreciate the encouragement you have provided me. And I will be there too to encourage you.

Dance with the Devil

I look back at all of these blog posts, and I think: Man, September is the greatest! Look at how much I did and how much energy I had to write about it. There’s some truth there. I think when the weather starts to change and we realize we are limited on time to be adventurous then we do as much as possible. I’ve embraced the fact that “winter is coming.” I’ve done everything I can for the yard and the house to prepare. But my writing has suffered, until this weekend. I’ve been revising the novel I wrote this summer, a book I am so very proud of. I added 4000 words this weekend to a “finished” novel. Not so finished, eh? I have a new development that is essential to the story, the leaves on the trees that I failed to include when describing the forest, so to speak. It will be better than ever, and I can’t wait to share it with the world! I think I have another 10,000 words to include and then will revise again, mostly cutting instead of adding. My goal is to do this over our college’s winter break and have a brand new book to send to agents and publishers by the New Year.

So what else has been happening? There are so many things, and it’s late and I don’t know how much time I have to devote to everything. But I need to reflect. I’ve missed reflecting via writing. It’s so important. And not just a Facebook status. A genuine “dear diary” kind of entry is needed. So here goes.

Well, there’s work. There’s always work. But I love my job. So freakin’ much. So much it hurts on the days I’m not at my best. I think of how I could have treated students better, and I hate when my human emotions affect my classroom performance. Without getting into specifics, I’ll just say this: Teachers are humans too, of course, although it may be hard to see that sitting in a school desk. But some days I worry about other things in life, and then I worry I wasn’t at 110% and I hate that. I always want to be at 110%.

I try to do more at work then just my specific duties, and that’s where the karate club and exercise classes come in. I love both of those programs a ton. Still, I wonder why more people aren’t involved, and that’s my theme for students: WHY DON’T YOU GET INVOLVED!? So many great opportunities. I want to be the teacher who also inspires people to get involved outside the classroom, and I’m afraid if judged solely on data, I’m not doing very well. Maybe 1% of my students have tried the exercise classes or martial arts club? I’m a proponent that we must use our bodies as much as our minds, and I wonder why more don’t take risks and get involved in such unique opportunities. People often ask how I have as much energy as I do, and the answer is simple: Because I’m active! Of course, I know that so many of our students go from full-time school to full-time jobs, and it’s IMPRESSIVE that they have that kind of determination.  Still, I want to see more involved.  

The more I write, the more I think of the past, and how lucky I have been. My title for this blog comes from the 1989 Batman movie starring Michael Keaton. I watched it last night on Netflix, perhaps for the first time since it premiered. The Joker says to Batman, “Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?” It’s a fun line that has always stuck with me, but it makes me think of my childhood and my mom. I remember McDonald’s doing a Batman promotion at the time, and they had special cups for each of the characters. I wanted them all when I was a kid, and I remember my mom spending her evenings and weekends appeasing her child’s silly goals and driving me to every single McDonald’s in the city until I had collected them all.

How beautiful is that?

But at some point, I also lost interest in those hard to collect cups and must have thrown them all away. I don’t have a single one today, and we had moved a couple of times. I assume all were trashed in the moves. Isn’t that a little sad?

Today, and you know this if you’ve read previous blogs, I tend to hold onto items from my youth as if they were worth millions. It’s not the material value that is of importance; it’s the memories. I grew up with people who supported my dreams and goals, no matter how silly. Mom recently asked, “So are you going to quit teaching to be a full-time writer?” That’s how much faith she still has in me. And that is beautiful. (And no, I will always teach. I love it too much to stop, but thank you for having faith that I could make enough money to support myself by only writing.)

So, have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight? Ha.

There are dozens of other things going on. I hope to write and reflect more soon.

But for now, I'll end with this thought:

I worry our younger generations are so wrapped up in capturing each and every moments of their lives, from selfies to recording live concerts on their cell phones instead of living in the moment and simply enjoying them. When I think of the moments from my past that meant the most, they had nothing to do with recording them via technology. They had everything to do with recording them via heart and soul.

It's why a line like "have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?" can jolt me right back to my childhood.

It's why I think it's healthy to write, like this, and reflect on the joys (and sorrows) of our past. I know people who delete online updates and pictures because they didn't get enough "likes." Wow. The reason I post at all is to preserve memories. It shouldn't be about likes. You like it. That's all  the matters.

I just want to find the balance between recording our lives via technology and living in the moment. Between writing about life and living life. Perhaps that's why I've slowed down a bit in blogging. At first, all I did was want to write write write. But we have to take as much time to live, read, and love.

Thanks for reading, friends.

October Happenings

It’s been nearly two weeks since I posted a blog, quite the change from September. But you’ve missed these, right? Ha. My September goal was to write something each day and take a long break from my novel. These last few weeks have also been quite hectic. I’m not the biggest fan of posting a blog that is more like a “dear diary” entry, but a lot has happened in a few weeks, so I am going to ramble a little.

The last weekend of September I saw one of my best friends get married and reconnected with old friends. That was a beautiful and fun weekend.

At a great friend's wedding. Congrats, Rachel!

I also spent a weekend getting trained in a new fitness program called KettleWorX, choreographed kettle bell routines to music. I am proud to say that I am a fully certified “pass plus” KettleWorX trainer now!

This is my third fitness cert and definitely one of the
hardest to pass. I'm also a certified P90X trainer and
Turbo Kick instructor. 

I spent a weekend night at my favorite haunted house, where (and I don’t mean to make fun) a friend with a heart condition had to be escorted out because it was all too much. That’s not something to laugh at, but damn if I don’t love that kind of intensity when it comes to horror. FrightNight in Forest City did not disappoint this year. (We made sure he was ok. And then the rest of us continued while he sadly sat outside.)

Can you guess who had to sit out? Everyone is ok now!

I saw a fantastic musical at Illinois Central College called Avenue Q that starred a former student who is now a friend and was directed by my boss at the college. I cannot believe the talent of all of our students. So incredible. And if you’ve never seen Avenue Q but have a chance to do so, don’t miss out. It’s hilarious and naughty but has a good deal of heart in between the obnoxious humor.

Most tragically, the son of one of my best friends died. I am happy to have spent some time with her and am happy (happy is not exactly the right word, but you understand) to have been able to go to the visitation and the funeral and see her beautiful family. All of that is her story to tell, and I don’t feel right writing more about it. I just want her to know that it is something we all will never forget, and somehow over time, all will be stronger and closer.

Then I managed to dress us as Hulk Hogan and give my college students a laugh. In one class, the students tried to sneak out cell phones and discreetly take pictures of me. I don’t know why they felt the need to be discreet. I was happy to pose for them! (By the way, I didn’t dress up randomly as Hulk; it was part of an 80s theme day at the college. Not that there’d be anything wrong with that if I did, right?)

My Comm 110 class, several students also dressed 80s
style. That's me front and center. WHATCHA GONNA DO!

And then today is my father’s birthday. My dad passed away four years ago this December. I’ve been using that Timehop app for Facebook. Most of the time, it’s pretty fun. You get to see the silly status or pictures you uploaded on this day for each year in the past that you had Facebook. But recently Timehop has been very sad. I’m seeing all the old status updates I posted about my dad to keep friends and family in touch. Today I saw a post about spending time with him on his birthday. It was the last time I would ever be able to see him on his birthday.

He was basically paralyzed in October of 2010. On October 10, 2010, I visited him in his nursing home. There was no gift to buy; there was nothing he could do anymore. ALS had melted his nervous system, and he just asked me to scratch his face and his arms. He still itched and felt uncomfortable, but there was nothing he could do about it. Isn’t that just terrible? Every time I stopped for a moment to rest, he’d cry, “Please don’t stop.” I spent the day talking to him and scratching him. It is probably the saddest yet most rewarding birthday I ever spent with him. And the last.

Today we had a midterm break, one day off from the college. So I devoted my day to revising the novel I wrote this past summer. It’s been over a month since I looked at it. What a much needed break that was! Today, fully refreshed, I started re-writing. It has a new title, more development of characters, a brand new prologue, and a new sense of direction. The meat of the story is still all there, but I’ve cut a lot of the fat out of the story and added some much needed seasoning. Of course, this process is going to take several weeks, but I’m hoping to have one day a week to spend with the story, and I have a new goal of having a full revision completed by January 1.

I envy those who can write a perfect story the first or even second time around. This will be my third major revision, but the first one after such a long break from the book. I’m very excited about what it is becoming.

And of course, all of the influences and happenings that occurred this month: You’ll see that they have made some kind of impact on the story. I’m not saying Hulk Hogan is a character, but there is nostalgia and a love of past heroes. And there is death and tragedy, but also escape and hope.

Thanks for being with me on this journey, friends. 

The Rapist in the Neighborhood

Have you felt someone watching you?

Have you heard a noise in the house and have been convinced someone is there?

Have searched for an intruder with a baseball bat/butcher knife/gun in hand?

Have you walked around the outside of your home at two in the morning, certain that someone is hiding in the bushes?

Fear captivates us all.

When I was a child, we lived near a convicted rapist. This is no joke, but this is before the time of sex offender websites. (Have you explored those and found the creeps in your neighborhood? It’s frightening.)

But our rapist did not keep to himself. He enjoyed the attention. He had a large tree in his front yard, a trunk as wide as a car, leaves like a cloud that hid his window.

He knew the neighbors knew about him. He knew the neighbors were terrified of him.

My grandmother was convinced he was out for her. In her 60s at that time, she cried at night, “He’s gonna get me! I just know it!” I laughed and replied, “Grandma, I doubt he wants those 60 year old chicken legs.” She frowned at me and locked her door.

Then the most interesting thing happened in our neighborhood. He used large, white adhesive tape and wrote a letter on the car-sized trunk of his tree each day. The first letter was “I.”

“What does it mean?” the neighbors asked.

The next day he wrote the letter “A.”

We held our breath and waited for the next day. The new letter was “M.”

“I am… I am what?” the neighbors wondered.

Then he followed a 14 year old girl home from the park. My friends and I spent an evening planning a battle.

“What should we do?” I asked my older, wiser neighbor friend. He was 16.

“Eggs,” he said with confidence. “Eggs.”

The next day, with that obnoxiously large white tape, he put up the letter “W.” We responded by tossing eggs at his front door and windows, laughing at these adult fears with a childlike naivety.

His message continued, one letter each day. After “W” came “A.” Then “T.” Then “C.” And then “H.” Next was “I.” Then “N.” And “G.” And then “Y and O and U.”

“I AM WATCHING YOU,” my grandmother read, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist. But he wasn’t done.

On the next day after the message was complete, he used the white tape to construct a smiley face. That was the last thing he wrote on his tree.

“I AM WATCHING YOU :)”

The older boys in the neighborhood had more than enough. They moved from eggs to baseball bats, and in one crazy night, they took the bats to his door, to his car, and to his windows. They bashed in the door, shattered the glass windows all along the front and sides of his house, and turned his cheap car into a nothing more than an incredibly dented piece of metal.

He called the cops on those kids, as I watched from the sidelines. I don’t know what happened to those brave and obnoxious teens. I was forced to go inside by my parents.

Later that summer, we read an article in the local paper about this man. He was arrested, thankfully, once again. He was caught by a police officer masturbating in a park while watching children. I had never been so disgusted in my young life.

This is one of the creepiest memories from my childhood at home, and I think he’d make a great villain in one of my stories. It took place in the early 90s, before the time of cell phones and internet. It was one of the last years before we could search online for predators. We lived in fear and ignorance. We had to read the paper each day for updates, as nothing was instant. And no one could post photos of the letters he put up on his tree each day to publicly condemn his behavior.

My grandmother really did think she would be attacked. This pervert really did stalk a 14 year old girl. We really did egg his house, and several older boys really did violently destroy much of his property. And they were punished while he smiled with his letters on his tree, that is until he was caught doing a disgusting public act near children.

He will be a villain in one my stories. He will do terrible things. And he will be punished for it.

Sting, a poem

Lots of metaphors here need to be strengthened. If you've been following my blog, you know a lot of this is my writing practice, a place to think and create. Here's a little poem I played with for about fifteen minutes. Not nearly enough time to make something great, but I'm keeping up with my goal of writing once a day. Have comments for strengthening the metaphors and clarifying the image? Share if you wish. But be kind. It's a lot easier to write about a random thought or insight in fifteen minutes than it is to construct a poem! This will be something I'd like to return to later and revise.

Sharp and surprising, that stinger.

The bee is gone before the pain sets in.

Rubbing my hand, there’s nothing to see

But a red mark and inflamed skin.

Where did it come from?

The villain is gone now, not a scent in the air.

I wonder about pain. I wonder about beauty.

I wonder about flowers and bees and perfect harmony.

There is beauty all around.

Look at that butterfly by the flower.

There is pain all around.

Look at the bruise on my hand.

Memories are like this.

A shock to the system from out of the blue.

One moment a smile. One memory a tear.

Dangerous hives bring sweet honey.

Life will bring you pleasure and pain.

There is no day without night, no spring without rain.

And joy can bring a powerful sting.

Even the most beautiful of days have bruises.

To a Dear Friend, With Love

This post is dedicated to a dear friend.

We are a part of nature. We know that as a part of nature, we live and we will someday die. Knowing that doesn’t make it any less sad, however. It’s a way of trying to be logical with our minds, but when it comes to death, it’s our hearts that are torn apart, and no logic or reasoning can sooth the pain of a broken heart.

It’s particularly tragic when someone far too young passes away. We view our lives with a series of milestones, and it’s deeply sad to know the many years of joy someone will never know. We cannot beat ourselves up on what we could have done. We must mourn and grieve, cry and yell. But we also must remember and celebrate life, take care of those around us, celebrate the years someone had, even if they were far too short.

I know a good mother. When talking to her about visiting a troubled son, she once told me, “I’m going to hug him and kick his ass. But probably not in that order.” She loved him no matter his mistakes, like a good mother. She did everything in her power to discipline and help him, like a good mother. She was always there for him. I hope you know that. We always have a thought that we could have done more. But you did everything you could. Everything.

It is not right for the old to bury the young. It is not right for a parent to bury a child. It is not right and it is not fair, and I can think of nothing worse in life.

My dad passed away at too young of an age. Only in his early 60s, he should have had many golden years to live and laugh. I had to see him die slowly, moving from hospital to hospital, from nursing home to nursing home, with no brothers or sisters to help, as I was an only child. When he passed, my family knew it was also a blessing because he was in so much pain. But still I suffered and cried. I remember trying to go to bed that first night, but I began sobbing uncontrollably. It hit me like the flu, powerful and terrible and uncontrollable. I moved from the bed to the bathroom, where I sobbed by the toilet. I will never forget that night, as I have never experienced such painful sorrow.

But even with that: I knew it was coming. I knew he would pass, and I guess you could say I was blessed that I had months to prepare for it. I cannot imagine the shock of losing a loved one, especially a young and healthy loved one. No preparation. No chance to say a final good-bye. It’s the epitome of tragedy. What does one do?

I don’t know. I’m not an expert and I have not experienced that. Cry. Cry a lot. Never be ashamed of tears or emotions. Cuss. Cuss a lot. Never be ashamed of the power of words. Pray. Pray a lot. Search for a deeper meaning. When those stages pass (and really they never do—I will be doing fine for months, and a memory of my father hits me like a bee sting out of nowhere and those emotions come back all over again), I think we have to learn and celebrate. Cherish the stories and the photos. Do something in his memory. Find a purpose to fulfill the emptiness. Celebrate the years he lived and all the times he helped others and made someone smile.

Who isn’t terrified of death? Who doesn’t absolutely dread the day we must deal with the loss of a loved one? We will have those days, and if you are fortunate to have many loved ones, then you may experience many such days over a lifetime.

I’ve always thought that you can’t fight emotion with logic. We will think that we could have done more, we will be terribly sad, we will hate the world that caused this, and we will cry. Telling yourself it’s not your fault is logical, but it doesn’t help. The only way I know how to fight emotions is to be emotional. Let the tears flow. But find ways to smile and laugh. Find positive emotions to fight the negative, and live your life. Your life is every bit as special too, and we cannot forget to live while mourning the death of a loved one.

This all may be garbage, who knows. But when I want to reflect, I take to pen or paper (or a keyboard).

Dear friend. I am here for you. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. Please know that there are many people who love you, people who will help you stand tall when you feel weak.

All my love,

Joe

P.S. I know you’ve probably seen this before. I’m not shy in sharing it. I read it at my dad’s memorial, and it holds deep meaning for me. This is an excerpt from Mitch Albom’s Tuesdays With Morrie.

“I heard a nice little story the other day,” Morrie says. He closes his eyes for a moment and I wait.

“Okay. The story is about a little wave, bobbing along in the ocean, having a grand old time. He’s enjoying the wind and the fresh air — until he notices the other waves in front of him, crashing against the shore."

“‘My God, this is terrible,’ the wave says ‘Look what’s going to happen to me!’”

“Then along comes another wave. It sees the first wave, looking grim, and it says to him, ‘Why do you look so sad?’"

“The first wave says, ‘You don’t understand! We’re all going to crash! All of us waves are going to be nothing! Isn’t it terrible?’"

“The second wave says, ‘No, you don’t understand. You’re not a wave, you’re part of the ocean.’"

I smile. Morrie closes his eyes again.

“Part of the ocean,” he says. “Part of the ocean.” I watch him breathe, in and out, in and out.