Last week I asked for suggestions for things to write about that would allow me to quickly drop a thought or two.

Here is one of the first questions asked, along with my response.

Hi there!

I’m Pito from Indonesia. Been following your blog for quite some times but trying to keep myself under the radar. I’m interested with your profession, and on my way to have one like you now.

Funny to meet your writing in my email tonight, because I have a thing in my mind for so long and the incident I experienced this afternoon brought it back to my consciousness: if people say that life is a comedy for those who think and a tragedy for those who feel, I view it as a tragic comic. Well, just stop me anytime if I’m being too nosy, but have you ever feel like breaking down? If you have, besides your cute, loving, little family, what prevent you from doing stupid things, then?

Thanks! Oh, and have a nice day!

Thanks for commenting Pito, I appreciate you breaking radio silence, especially from half way around the world!

No, you’re not being too nosy at all and yes, I’ve felt like breaking down many times.

Even a support system as strong as my family can’t cage what makes me human. There were plenty of times over the past year when I fell into the abyss. Blind hope is an amazing fuel, but it wasn’t always enough to keep me from wondering how many more times the mortgage would hit the credit card or prevent me from questioning whether the danger I was inviting on my trusting family would really be worth it.

I had my moments of internal tirades and outward tears, yes. But I never felt like giving up, at least not for longer than a minute or two at a time.

Hard work and intense focus kept me from doing anything stupid, along with the knowledge that my family was depending on my and that my breakdown meant we’d probably crumble together. Often, when I was feeling my lowest, I wrote. Though almost none of those pages have been published, they will be someday when they can flesh out the chapters of a specific story. But at the time they were only written as the best means for self medication.

So I guess writing and family were the two things that kept me from going over the edge, but that’s probably two sides of the same need.

We all need to express ourselves, and we all need to be heard. Fortunately, I had both a keyboard and a family that was never too tired to listen.

Thanks for the question, Pito!

This is one of those weeks. You know the ones.

It’s the last week of school, plus Max’s final day of Kindergarten and birthday both fall on the same day.

Time mocks me.

I’ll be back next week with some regular posts, but I was thinking that in the meantime you could help me out. It might even be fun.

I’d love to know what’s on your mind. Plus, I write well to prompts.

If there’s anything you’d like to know, or a subject you’d like me to write about, just drop it in the comments. That way, when I have a few moments, I can pull a prompt and answer it, no different than an email. This will not only help to ease me back into the natural flow of writing and how I’d like to post to the site, but it will serve as an intimate way to make it happen.

Thanks, and I look forward to seeing what you come up with!

Been weird, not writing.

Life’s never been busier. And though things are terrific, I’ve hardly have time to think, let alone craft copy for Writer Dad. Most of what has been published here lately are words written long ago, then stored in WordPress like wood for winter.

The few times I’ve managed to find the minutes in my schedule, I’ve found myself shaking a dry pen, trying to find the right flow of thought, while barely having the energy to show up.

But Dave wrote something earlier in the week that kicked me right clean in the obvious. His post, Changing Why I Blog, made me realize something important.

Unlike Dave, I’ve not changed the reason why I blog. I didn’t start out online with a specific goal in mind. Sure, I wanted to get published or become well known enough to successfully self-publish, but the end game has always been more than that, too.

I set out to make a good living behind the keyboard. I knew that there were a million and one ways to do that and that blogging would be just one of the sharper tools in the box.

I am now making my living online. Things are good and getting better. I placed my bet, looked the worst of it in its beady snake eyes full of hate, then passed it by before it could swallow me whole.

Through the worst of it, I’ve always had this site. Yet making time to keep it live has been increasingly difficult. It was a line in Dave’s post made me realize what I’d been missing:

For the past few months, I’ve been so busy I’ve hardly had time to do regular blog posts. But the reality is that I didn’t have the time to do the kind of blog posts I was doing here at BloggerDad. I spent a lot of time on posts in the past, carefully crafting them as I would a column, writing and re-writing until I was happy – or somewhat happy with the result. Since I’ve not had time to do that kind of post, I’ve pretty much stopped posting as frequently.

Well, duh.

I know exactly what I want to do with Writer Dad, as well as how to best integrate it into my life and business. But I’ve been so worried about structure lately that I’ve disregarded flow.

I’m not back, but will be soon. I’m mostly just checking in to say that things are great. Work is going well, school is almost over, I’m in the middle of a move and life is in transition. All of it for the better.

Thinking of you…

Sean

Wanna see something cool?

I’ve been working on a lot of stuff with REV, which has kept this busy bee buzzing from honeycomb to garden and back with barely a breath. The work has been wonderful. High quality content that puts the reader first.

One of the projects in production has been a new site called the HealthCompareGuide. Dave did the awesome design work, I’m the editor in charge of all the content.

I’m excited that after a month of work, I finally have something to share.

The HealthCompareGuide has four categories:

• Time Tools
• Dollars and Sense
• Body Basics
• Simply Happy

Time Tools is about efficient time management and how to make the most of your minutes. The posts will be written by long time friend Bamboo Forest for the most part, but I will contribute the occasional post as well, seeing as how the passing of time is one of my most consistent themes. Bamboo has recently launched his online time app, Tick Tock Timer, where he also writes about the dropping sand in the hourglass of our lives.

Dollars and Sense is exactly as it sounds – tips and tricks to help readers turn their pennies into dollars. My good friend (and new ghostwriter) Tracy O’Connor of I Hate My Message Board will be heading the content. With five kids (all boys!), Tracy knows how to stretch a dollar far enough to make Plastic Man do a double take. In addition, Dollars and Sense will boast the occasional guest post by “The Tax Lady,” Roni Deutch.

Body Basics is about general health and wellness. This column will be filled by two more of my good friends, Jamie Simmerman and Chef Roberto Martin. Jamie is a terrific writer, but she’s also a registered nurse who knows more about what makes the human body tick than most of us ever will. Roberto is Ellen’s chef and gets way too happy when talking about how to prepare nutritious yet savory food. Remember, celebrities look as good as they do, at least in part to people like Roberto. This is our most packed category (at least so far) as it will also have the occasional creative input from Actress/Photographer Amanda de Cadanet and Jane Fonda as she promotes her upcoming World Fitness Day on May 1st.

Simply Happy is a smile on the page. Remember back when I wanted to land the “Good Mood Blogger” gig? This is basically that, except way more fun and with my own crew. You know how I fart sunshine, well I’ll be adding my stink whenever I’m not sharing the Simply Happy spotlight with David Zyla, the charming (and impossibly happy) head costume designer for General Hospital, Port Charles, and All My Children.

One of the coolest things about working on the HealthCompareGuide has been the OneACT charity the corporate site is kicking off. The brilliance behind One ACT is that even a small, single act of charity can spread from person to person and possibly change the world. The OneACT charity will find one family in need each week to help, thereby inspiring others to pass the baton. It is a wonderful, inspiring charity that I feel fortunate to be a part of.

I’ll be talking more about OneACT soon, as well showing a video we’ve made.

More cool stuff is coming, but I thought it was time to share at least a little of what I’ve been up to since I’ve been so scarce around these parts. :)

Check out the HealthCompareGuide and sign up for the feed. Make sure to look at the FaceBook Page as well. Dave, of course, did an awesome job designing that as well.

Talk to you soon.

I’ve missed you.

I’ve missed sitting down, sparking thought like a current through my fingers, then standing satisfied.

I miss the reflection and the typographical look in the mirror.

But I’m happy. Really, really happy.

For those of you who don’t read Ghostwriter Dad, Dave and I have started working with Lori Taylor and her awesome team at REV Marketing.

Turns out, I’m not just there to be a writer.

I’m there because of my quick brain and fluid ideas, for my ability to see the bright side of most anything and because I adapt well and with admirable speed. I’m there for my wit, and for a smile you can probably see between the lines of an email. I’m there because I like to say yes and then proceed to run as fast as I can.

For the first time in my life, I am being paid to be me.

That is a remarkable thing and all my cells are grateful.

Mia woke up on Friday with something angry in her stomach, mad enough I guess to make her miss a day of school. She lay in bed all day, a few feet away from me, barely saying a word. Yet, despite the silence I think it’s a day that’ll blink back in her memory.

The sun set and the hues of respect in Mia’s eyes had deepened since the morning.

Mia knows her daddy is a writer, though I’m not so sure she fully understands what that entails. Maybe she figured I sit at the desk typing from time to time, head lost in the clouds at others, thinking of new things to write. Perhaps to her it seems like a fun, or easy job.

Mia watched on Friday as I absorbed an endless stream of phone calls, Skype chats and email, seeing me without ceasing, typing and talking through the length of an entire day.

“I had no idea, Daddy,” she said in a voice about two years older than I expected.

The voice matched her new haircut, chopped into a bob earlier in the week, her first major head revision since she moved from bald to bushy.

Her new hair shapes her face differently. Though still wonderfully oval with rich chocolate eyes, it now looks pointier somehow, as though this past year has spent longer shaping the angles.

Just as beautiful, but obviously older.

The difference was there, but the new bob was a yellow highlighter making me wonder if I’d have missed it minus the new do.

Those were the wedges of my week, though there were some other significant slices along the way to Saturday, but I’ll save them for another post at another some time pretty soon.

This weekend, somewhere in between feeling the want to write for Writer Dad and wondering when I’d find the time, I stubbed by brain on the obvious.

I know precisely where I’d like to take this site. Pin on the map, gas in the tank, iPod loaded – exactly where to go.

It’s not only awesome, but threads many elements together into a much tighter tapestry.

I can’t wait to share.

This is a guest post from Kelly McCannlis, 5th grade author of the new book, “Penny to a Million.”

Wow, I don’t know what to say!

When Mr. Platt told me I could write something for his site to promote my new book, I was super duper excited. I asked him what I should write about. He told me I should just be myself and that I would do fine.

“Should I tell them about my book?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said, “that’s why you’re guest posting, isn’t it?”

So I guess I should tell you a little bit about the book, but I don’t want to tell you too much since it will be a lot cooler if you read the book without any of the surprises being ruined, especially the one at the end of the second to the last chapter. When it happened I almost had to sweep up my jaw from the floor with a dustpan!!!

It all started the summer before last when my grandma and grandpa invited me to stay with them for a long week out at their lake house. I was really, really REALLY looking forward to it. You probably think that’s weird because most kids don’t really want to hang out with their grandparents, but my grandparents are really awesome.

My grandpa once wrestled a bear and my grandma once chased a mugger for three blocks to get her purse back. And though I don’t really know if the bear story is true, I know for a fact that the one about the mugger is. My grandparents had a picture of my grandma holding her purse up in the air hanging over the cash register in the grocery store they used to run together.

So anyway, me and Grandpa were sitting by the lake eating sandwiches when my grandpa came out of nowhere and told me the secret of life. Well, probably not THE secret, but his secret – the one that let him retire early and take my grandma on a cruise around the world. The same secret that changed my entire life, starting with the last year I would ever spend at Roosevelt Elementary!

That was in the last week of August, right before the new school year started. When I went back to school, it was as a whole different Kelly!

I should probably stop there since I really don’t want to make you feel the way I felt when my friend Jessie Noble ruined the ending of this movie called “The Sixth Sense.” My mom and dad told me that I couldn’t see it until I was in middle school, but Jesse’s parents let him see it in second grade and he told everyone the ending and now I don’t want to see it as much, even though my dad says it was “groundbreaking.”

I really hope you like reading my book. I had a lot of fun writing it. In fact, I think I’m going to write another one, as long as this one does okay. I’m probably going to sell it for like five bucks or something, but right now I just want people to read it. If you go visit my site at Penny to a Million dotcom, you can download the book for free.

You can also follow me on Twitter if you’d like to keep up with my adventures. I don’t tweet often since my mom says that tweeting should really be for the weekend or after I finish my homework and chores. So it’s usually just the weekend. I would really appreciate it, if it’s not too much trouble, if you could click on the retweet button or let your friends know about the book. It’s the first one I ever wrote and I want to make sure it goes bananas.

Thanks!

Click here for a free copy of Penny to a Million.

One thing about the Internet is the amazing speed at which it is possible to throw up a site and build a community.

Toward the end of December, Shane Arthur, an acquaintance who I’d met in the comment section of Copyblogger, approached me with what I thought was a good idea. Shane wanted to spark the creativity of writers by starting something he referred to as the Creative Copy Challenge.

The idea, and beauty, behind the Creative Copy Challenge is simple. Each new post is a list of ten randomly generated words. The challenge is to then take those words and craft them into a compelling story. This story can be as short or as long as you’d like it.

For example, here are the 10 words, plus my entry from Creative Challenge #6, posted last Friday:

1. Doughnut
2. Philosophy
3. No-Brainer
4. Apartment
5. Heaven
6. Premiums
7. Trucker
8. Freedom
9. Every other Friday
10. Scaffolding

Ah, the doughnut; Heaven in my mouth, but Hades in my tummy.

I used to stop at TGIFri-dough, on the corner of Western and Santa Fe, every other Friday on my way to work. I’d slap the alarm and leap from bed, do the happy dance and fly from the apartment. I was practically willing to run red lights on the way to my fix!

“Can I help you, sir?” the dude with the stretchy thing in his ear and the metal crap in his face would always ask, even though it was a no-brainer. “One apple fritter and one French crueler, please.”

My philosophy was simple – the best days were built on a scaffolding of dietary freedom. Namely donuts. And I could afford to live this way every other Friday.

But it wasn’t long before every other Friday wasn’t enough.

Soon it was every Friday. Then, I’m embarrassed to admit, every single day.

On Christmas, I drove around for hours looking for an open shop. Then spent New Years rifling through the dumpster.

The premiums I’d once felt were no more. While a fritter and a crueler used to be enough, now I needed a sack of donut holes as well.

Every. Single. Day.

My stomach is now as bloated as a trucker.

My wife says it’s either TGIFri-dough or her.

I sure am gonna miss that woman.

______

My mom, frequent commenter at Creative Copy Challenge, dropped this one:

Kristy was new to this city. She had been offered a prestigious position at the university, but was not sure how well she could adapt to the grittiness of urban living. Back home there had been blue skies, clean air, green grass and room to breathe. She hated to leave her little heaven, but given the opportunity for financial premiums that would never be available in her backwoods little home town, the move was a no-brainer! This career choice would give her the financial freedom that would someday allow her to return to her home town and make some changes to the crippled educational system that seemed to be getting worse every day.

She had been a volunteer at the community center and it was her philosophy that if everyone would just contribute a little of their time and their skills, the world would certainly be a better place. She would miss these every-other-Friday visits with the locals. They had become her family.

So here she was, living in a cramped apartment over a doughnut shop, heavy smell of grease eternally in the air. The view consisted of scaffolding, billboards and dilapidated tenaments rising up to meet the sky. Instead of butterflies, puppies and bunnies she would have to live with the mother-trucker roaches that were an everyday greeting to her as she began her day. She had to remind herself that this was very temporary and though it was a personal sacrifice, it would ultimately enable her to make some much needed changes back home.

______

Blogger Dad did his usual awesome job with the Thesis site design and the community has taken off far faster than I ever imagined. There are presently 75 comments on the ten words posted on Friday, a sure indication of the fun to be had.

Drop by and check it out, or click here to get free updates in your inbox.

One of the most amazing things to happen to me in 2008 was meeting David Wright, the most remarkable creative partner I’ve ever had. One of the most significant things about this past year, was discovering the depth of that relationship’s roots and the direction they’d send a large slice of my life.

When Dave and I first started working together, we knew only that we wanted to partner. We were a bit foggy on the details. We didn’t know how we would turn our combined talents into money, but we were quire sure we eventually would. We decided to pool our resources, then take the road and see where it would lead us.

We launched the first version of Collective Inkwell as a site offering creativity and writing tips, while advertising our freelance design and copy-writing services.

We spent the first six months of the Inkwell’s existence slowly building content, but not really moving forward. It was only after finishing our first book, then readying it for print, when we finally realized what we truly wanted to do with our collective ink.

Just as we had lent a constant hand to one another over the course of the previous year, we wanted to provide the same assistance to other authors, helping them move their own books to print as well.

A new Collective Inkwell was born.

Writing SEO has been a tremendous learning experience. It has helped us to elevate many of the sites in our syndicate, while also allowing us to craft high quality copy for a growing number of appreciative clients. Yet, this is only a beginning. Writing books, and helping other authors to write theirs, is where our dream will truly blossom.

The Inkwell now offers a full and growing range of publishing and pre-publishing services. Everything Dave and I are currently doing with our own projects, we will offer our clients as well. This includes everything from basic writing and copyediting, to book cover and author website design.

In addition to our services, the Inkwell will offer helpful tips and regular discussion on writing, publishing and promoting your book and building an author platform. We’ve learned a tremendous amount over the last year and are both eager for the opportunity to share it, and help others who are in a similar place where we were just one year ago.

Take a moment and head to the Collective Inkwell, if for no other reason than to admire Dave’s remarkable redesign. I’ve lost count of how many sites we’ve built this past year, between our own syndicate and the clients we’ve serviced, but I think I can say this is my favorite design he’s ever drawn.

It is perfectly moody and impossibly pretty.

As I look at the longview of 2010, it is bursting with possibility. The Collective Inkwell has an awful lot to do with that. If you’ve ever thought of writing a book, or are in any way interested in the process, subscribe to the feed and become part of the community.

We look forward to seeing you there!

The scent of at least a hundred open lilies was giving Dean a headache, though it could also have been the lack of coffee… or nicotine. He thumbed the knot on his tie and smoothed the black silk, then fastened the bottom button of his blazer. “Would anyone else like to speak?” The minister looked around the crowded room. Dean stood and approached the podium.

Dean swallowed his smile, thinking about how much Saul would’ve hated the morning’s procession of memory and long, drawn out eulogy. Sure he would have liked the sentiment, free flowing liquor and dolled up ladies at the after party, but he would have preferred skipping the main event entirely. Still, Dean needed to speak. Even though everyone else had said their piece, he had been silent and the room was holding its breath.

Dean looked out at the sea of black suits with missing smiles and wanted to scream. There was no reason to feel somber. Saul finally got what he wanted. Today was a day of celebration; a time to bid farewell to the old man and memorialize what it was that made him so…unforgettable.

Dean cleared his throat.

“Whenever I’m watching an old movie, usually in black and white and often with plenty of dirt and scratches on the reel, I always think of Saul, a man who rose each day with the sun, gave every one his best, and did his damnedest to make sure I turned into the best man I could be. I am lucky to have had a man like Solomon in my life, unlike so many other fatherless boys. Saul was a product of the old days, when clothes were sharper, adolescence shorter, and the word man still deserving of the first spot in the word manners.”

Dean ran his fingers through his hair and looked over the pews, from the first row to the last. He noticed Saul’s three granddaughters sitting together, a daisy chain of fingers splayed across their laps; Brian’s arms were wrapped around Maya, their daughter asleep between them. Saul’s son in law sat next to his sister in the final row, his bloodshot eyes, clean shave and pressed suit making Dean think of a fresh coat of paint on a house with bad plumbing.

He continued. “It seems that these days there’s something missing from many men, and I don’t just mean their buttons and blazers. Those guys in the old black and whites had manners, at least for the most part. Even the bad guys never went outside without a hat, and it seems like no one ever forgot their pleases and thanks. Maybe it was only while the cameras rolled, maybe not, but I know Saul would’ve fit in just fine. He spent every day for more than a decade teaching me what it meant to be a man, at least the way he saw it. He not only taught me how to shave, fix an engine and throw a football, he also taught me to never walk off from what I know is right, and though it may be difficult to stand tall against my enemies, he said that it would always be harder to stand against my friends. Saul taught me to do both, always and without fail.”

Dean looked at Paige, smiled and went on. “Saul said that a man who goes along with what he knows is wrong, whether it is to belong, or simply because it is the easy thing to do, will see less than he should when looking in the mirror. As with most everything else in my life, Saul was absolutely right.”

Dean descended the three stairs which separated podium from pews. “For me, Saul’s word was Gospel. Days didn’t pass without him teaching me a lesson…or ten, even when he wasn’t trying. In between all those large lessons learned were the small examples set. Things which went unspoken, but rarely unnoticed, even if it took me months or years to see them clearly. I now know how to admit when I am wrong, but only because my friend Solomon never had the need to be right.”

Dean paused. Some members of the audience may have thought he was searching for his next words. Those who knew him well knew he held the right words like bills in a fold and was deciding how to spend them. “My father left when I was five. I’ll never know if it was because he didn’t care or couldn’t bear to, but Saul managed to make it matter a whole lot less. Maybe it’s because he too was dealing with loss, or maybe it’s just the way he was wired, but I always knew the old man had my back.”

Dean locked eyes with Olivia, tears turning her eyes to inky smears. “Saul, above all, recognized his duty to me, asked for or not, and never took it lightly. He understood that his word was my model and that it must never be broken. Saul never made me a promise he could not keep and chose every word as carefully as he did his commitments.”

My childhood was not easy, but Saul made it easier. I could never call the old man compassionate or kind…at least not to his face,” Dean allowed the room to settle into an expected laugh, “but now that I’m older I realize that’s exactly what he was. Those times when he was the hardest on me, were the times I needed it the most.”

Dean didn’t bother to wipe the sudden salt on his cheek.

“I let too many years fall carelessly from the calendar, allowing life to pass me by like reckless wind, but I am forever grateful for these last few months I’ve shared with Saul to speak of life, love and loss. I am only me because of the him that he never failed to be.”

Dean walked to the edge of the coffin and placed his lips on the closed lid, a palm on either side. “Thank you.”

Lemmin started to cry. Several women followed. The baby joined the chorus.

_______

“Graves are the footprints of angels.”

Paige smiled before Dean could finish the sentence. “Libby, right?”

“Well, she claimed it was hers, but I never took the time to look it up until yesterday.” Dean pulled the Marlboros from his jacket pocket and nodded his head toward the door. “Turns out she stole it from Longfellow.”

Dean had the cigarette dangling from his bottom lip before he stepped into the open air. Dean held the pack out for Paige. She drew a Marlboro out and put it in her mouth. Dean lit it.

“Figures,” Paige said. “One time I caught her trying to ape a quote from Oscar Wilde. Swore up, down and around the block that it was hers. Wouldn’t back down for anything, didn’t matter that Wilde died some seventy-five odd years before she was ever born.”

Dean laughed through a cloud of smoke. “Which quote was it?”

“If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they’ll kill you.”

“Ha,” Dean barked, choking unexpectedly on his laugh, “that’s because it sounds just like her.”

Silence. Then, both cigarettes nearly to filter, “So how you doing?”

“Fine.” Dean smashed what was left of his butt in the ashtray. “Isn’t like no one saw it coming, or like I wasn’t thousands of miles away until the very end.”

“Still,” Paige met his eyes and dared him not to turn away. “It’s different when the end is finally here. I loved what you said in there.”

“Thanks.”

“How long did it take you?”

“To write or to memorize?”

“Both.”

“Not long. I mostly made it up.”

“Not possible.” Just give me the truth, Paige said with a wink.

“Scout’s honor.” Dean held up two fingers and laughed. “I’ve never been a Scout, but that doesn’t mean I’m lying. Of course I had some of the best lines already in my head, but don’t forget, I’m used to speaking in rooms crowded with people in uncomfortable clothing, and often the audiences are far less forgiving. I always wing it, works out better that way. All I need is a few key phrases. A life well lived helps me fill in the rest.”

Paige looked dubious. Dean said, “You follow every recipe, or do you spread the ingredients on the counter and let your years of cooking move your hands?”

Paige laughed; a perfect little chirp which sounded to Dean like the only genuine note of joy he’d heard all day. “So what’s next?” Paige said.

“I have no idea.”

_______

The funeral’s aftermath left Lemmin with an empty tank. The death of Sheryl’s father was certainly no surprise, but it was as though the third funeral in less than a year was finally enough to gut him in full. The usual deja vu returned and Lemmin felt the world around him start to shimmer. He sat.

“How you doing?” His sister offered him a glass of punch and sat down next to him, even though the room had mostly emptied into the reception area next door.

“I’ve been better.” He put his big arm around Annabelle’s small frame and squeezed. “Thanks for coming, though.”

“Nothing to it. Paul’s watching the store, not that he needed to. No one ever buys books on the seventh day for some reason. Last Sunday we sold three.” Annabelle laughed. “Okay two, I gave a copy of The Inevitable away.”

“Jesus, Anna,” Lemmin shook his head. “I don’t know how you keep that place open.”

“Rent’s dirt cheap, the house is paid for, and Paul and I both love soup.”

“Still, with all you could’ve done, I’ll never figure out why you stayed there.”

“If you can’t figure it out after all this time, I’m sure as shit not gonna enlighten you today.”

“You shouldn’t swear at a funeral.”

“Ah, that old buzzard would’ve approved and you know it.”

“So go ahead. Enlighten me. Why the bookstore?”

“You know Carl, I’d say most natives in this big giant jungle of a world live and die without knowing what sort of difference they make, if any. I’m not claiming to be enlightened, but at least I have a clue.”

His sister was making him tired, just like usual. She talked too much and far too quickly, and loved getting him to explain himself. “I know that being a cop means making a difference. I save lives, stop the bad guys from hurting the good guys and help the innocent to sleep soundly. No disrespect big sis, but unless I’m missing something, you sell books, right?”

Anna smiled, the same self-satisfied grin that had been driving Lemmin nuts for forty, maybe fifty years. “You’re usually missing something, Carl. Sometimes it’s a twig and sometimes it’s a branch, but you could almost always benefit from taking a closer look.” Anna stopped talking and started tightening her bun of pure platinum hair. One of the things that infuriated Lemmin about his sister most was that she seemed to revel in delivering half completed thoughts and then drawing out the silence.

“The hell, Anna, do you really need to insult me at my father in law’s funeral?”

“I’m not insulting you, Carl, nor am I insulting your career of choice. If we turn back a page or two, I believe you’d see it was the other way around. You’ve embarked on a fine profession, no argument from me. But we part ways if you believe that you make any more of a difference than I do.”

Lemmin looked at Anna, the usual annoyed wrinkle curling his brow. He had no clue how he always managed to walk into the exact same trap of feeling both frustrated and interested in what his sister would say next. No matter how she led or how much he tried to redirect, the result was always the same. “So, how’s that?” he said.

“You’ve always made the mistake of assuming it’s the books that really matter. But believe me Carlito,” she slapped her hand on his knee, “they’re just the Trojan horse. The battle’s won because of what’s hidden deep inside the rolling beast.”

Lemmin felt tired. Annabelle continued.

“Because Providence has been so kind as to set me here with an example, I’m happy to elaborate.” Anna pointed to the beautiful woman with a pear half way to her lips sitting beside a man with delicate features and a closely cropped haircut. “Take her for example.”

“You mean Lisa?”

“I do.”

“What about her?”

“In the last four seasons she has gone from mildly happy though mostly alone, to constantly merry and in league with a soul mate. I ask you, Carl, is this an accident?”

“I don’t wanna talk about fate, Sis. Thanks, but no. You start talking about fate and I’m gonna wonder why fate decided to take Sheryl, and then…” Lemmin closed his mouth and sank in his seat.

Annabelle inched closer. “Fate is a cruel master. He sometimes takes more than he gives and rarely cares half as much as he should. That’s why people like me do as we do.” Annabelle waved her hand at John.

“John there, is a terrific gentleman. Maybe a bit too quiet for his own good and perhaps more blueprint than bouquet if you know what I mean, but a good, maybe even an old soul. How would you like to guess where they met?”

Lemmin didn’t feel like playing.

“Awww, come on,” Annabelle said, “I’ll make it a Daily Double.”

“A Likely Story.”

“That’s right,” Annabelle was glowing. “That young couple right there met in my bookstore. The next logical question would then be, was it by accident?”

“They met in your place,” Lemmin conceded, “but big deal. They could’ve just as easily met at that crappy restaurant next door.”

“But they didn’t. That day, as well as on many others, I was there to give Father Fate a helping hand.” Annabelle waited a moment for her brother to dig for more. He didn’t. She continued anyway. “There was nothing pre-mediated about it, exactly, but the second I saw them both in the shop, I knew I had a part to play.” Anna gestured toward Lisa’s swollen belly and gave Lemmin what he thought might have been the most self-satisfied smile he’d ever seen on his sister’s face. “You may help to save lives, baby brother, but every so often I get to help make ‘em.”

Lemmin stood. “You’ve always been pleased with yourself, sis.”

“The whole world orbits on ego, vanity and self-satisfaction, Carl. It’s nonsense to pretend otherwise. The best that we can do is our best, and that’s what it’s time for you to do. Simply living isn’t enough. I couldn’t be sorrier for all life’s seen fit to snatch from you this year, but really, tomorrow’s up to you. Take out life’s cause and you lose its effect.”

“You’re right,” was all Carl could say. He bent to the bench, kissed his sister on the cheek and stepped out of the church and into the crisp December air. The sun pushed it’s way through the clouds and warmed his shoulders.

_______

“I just wanted to say thanks,” Laney said.

“For what?” Lisa rubbed her belly, her head tilted against the wall.

“That book you told me I had to read. Everything you said was right. It really helped. I’ve never been happier.”

“I can tell,” Lisa laughed. “I’ve never seen you so… I don’t know…is giddy the right word?”

“Could be. Daniel told me I looked ‘tickled pink with blush colored feathers,’ whatever that means.”

“How long is he home?”

“Not long. He didn’t even fly in for Thanksgiving, but didn’t want to miss the funeral. Saul taught him how to throw a punch. It helped with him being in marching band.”

“So what’s going on with you and Jake?” Lisa changed the subject, “is it weird dating someone with a kid?”

Laney laughed. “It’s weird dating, period! I don’t know, really. I think we’re both happy, but too scared to make any plans, you know? All I know is that I might finally know what it’s like to feel like myself.”

“How about your mom and dad?”

“It’s been great. We had breakfast with them this morning on the way in. It went well, just like every other meal we’ve shared. I love Reggie, he’s a great kid and I’m really comfortable with him.”

“Are you still mad about the medicine?”

“Well, I’m not thrilled, but I understand that it’s helping and don’t want to ruin a good thing. I’m getting used to it and the doctor said it probably won’t be forever.”

“AHHH!” a sudden shriek from Lisa. “John!”

John was by Lisa’s side a second later. He took one look at the puddle of water pooled at Lisa’s ankle, took the phone from his pocket and dialed 911.

“911 – what is your emergency?”

Laney could hear the operator’s voice as though from a far off hallway. “You okay, sweetie?” she said.

Lisa’s eyes were closed, but she nodded.

“I’m going to need an ambulance,” John’s voice was slightly nervous, though mostly excited. “My wife and I are having a baby. Her water just broke.”

“I’m sending someone now.”

A crowd gathered around the couple. Brian and Maya stood, linked with a tiny hand between theirs, as the cool chill of warm memory washed their back.

Sirens rang in the distance.

_______

Mrs. Stamp never minded funerals, though she understood why they made most people so uncomfortable. Who knew what lay on the other side of death’s door?

But the way Anna saw it, most of life felt like such a struggle that surely whatever lay at the other side of forever had to be something better. All those stories – the untold millions of words she’d inhaled throughout her lifetime – Anna believed that when a person died, they went to the place where all those thoughts came from in the first place.

It was a good thought; everything was connected, all of it looping and winding in an beautiful circle. The day had poured life into death and death into life, like flowing water from a fountain.

Fearing the other side of death was only for those, she mused, who never knew what it meant to truly live.

Paige followed Dean up the surprisingly narrow staircase, down a slightly wider hallway and into a small room with a ceiling that aspired to sky. He pointed toward a closed door at the other end of the room. “There’s a bathroom in there,” he said. “Take all the time you need. Libby said the two of you practically shared a wardrobe, so I took the liberty of getting you a dress in her size.” Paige didn’t know what to say, so she offered Dean a modest smile and matching nod then went into the bathroom and closed the door quietly behind her.

The bathroom was small but opulent. An intricate pattern of sage green and bright white tiles ornamented ninety degrees of the room, stopping just beneath a small window that opened to a view of the front drive. Paige poked her head outside, surprised to see a scattered collection of minivans and Japanese sedans. A small vase of rust colored roses and lavender tulips sat on one side of the counter, the subtle scent of narcissus drifted from the candle flickering on the other.

Paige noticed the dress hanging on the door and felt like crying. It was a simple dress that had probably cost Dean no more than thirty dollars, but it was a near replica of the one she was wearing in her favorite photograph of she and Libby together.

Paige stepped into the shower, turned the water all the way to searing and thought that although Libby had regularly babbled endlessly about Dean, she hadn’t said nearly enough.

She finished her shower then took her sweet time getting perfectly ready. Her hair was too short for a ponytail, but she wasn’t exactly going to wear her hair net to dinner. She combed it back, blew it dry and ignored the thought of the hair clip sitting on the passenger side floor of her Prius. Paige looked in the mirror a final time and then descended the stairs into the kitchen. She looked at the food with a smile and walked to the counter.

“You must be Paige,” a heavy-set woman, maybe in her late fifties, greeted her with a gentle touch to the shoulder.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Hi, I’m Sophia. Mr. McGee said to tell you to go ahead and go on inside. Enjoy the fiesta, he said. I’ve got all this covered.” She noted the look on Paige’s face and added. “I know what everything is and I’ll make sure it gets where it needs to go.” She punctuated the end of the sentence with what was perhaps the kindest smile Paige had ever been given. “Promise.”

“Well okay then!” Paige raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders. “Thanks.” She crossed the quiet kitchen and opened the door to a flurry of noise on the other side. Paige entered the room in half disbelief. Most of her had believed that Dean was only being modest. The words intimate affair hadn’t rinsed her of the expectation of evening gowns and dinner jackets. She didn’t anticipate short sleeved shirts or denim, and certainly didn’t expect to see children, but there they were. In the corner were two girls and a boy sitting in a sem-circle with a pile of Uno cards face up between them. The boy yelled, “uno!” and the oldest girl released a sigh Paige could clearly hear even from her side of the room.

Solomon was still in bed, but the TV was now off and a small crowd of people draped him like a comforter. There were three matching boy girl sets, but Paige couldn’t see any of them clearly. A bristle of instinct told her the tallest guy was familiar, but then again the entire evening had started to feel like deja vu and despite her craving for a strong drink, she was starting to wonder if it was such a good idea.

The kitchen door opened and Sophia entered the room with a giant bowl filled with soup, which she then placed on the buffet. The tall man turned around at the sound, looked slightly confused for a moment as the warm draft of recognition passed between him and the fair hair girl standing at the far side of the room. He said, “Paige?” in a voice which harbored only the slightest uncertainty.

Paige nodded. Hunter whispered something to the woman standing next to him, then kissed her on the cheek and crossed the room. “Wow, it is you. It’s me Hunter, we met once up at the Grove about three years back. I told Libby she had to let me take her to see The Dark Knight. She said sure and then brought you along because she said you’d help her hate it less.”

“Of course,” Paige smiled. “I remember.”

“What are you doing here? You friends with Dean too?”

“Nope, just met him this morning. Until then our relationship only existed through the endless ramblings of your sister.” A quiet current of knowing laughter passed between them. “I’m the cook, Dean invited me to take care of the spread. I guess he wanted me to mingle too.” Paige raised her eyebrows.

“Got it,” Hunter nodded.

A long silence lingered in the air. Finally, Paige said, “I’m sorry I didn’t go to the funeral. I just… couldn’t deal, you know?”

Hunter nodded. “I do.”

“Mind if I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” Hunter said.

“What is all this?” Paige made a little circle with her pointer finger.

Hunter sucked in his breath. “Let’s see now, where do I start? The old guy over there is my wife’s grandpa. Apparently, he took all kinds of care of Dean when he was growing up. You know how his mom was always loaded right?” Hunter covertly gestured toward an older woman sitting on the edge of a sofa holding her arms out to a baby that looked about a year old as it tried to stand for a few seconds before collapse. “That’s her. Apparently they’ve made up.”

Paige looked surprised.

“I know, but the world keeps turning I guess. In the it’s a small world department, my best friend Brian is married to Dean’s sister Maya. She says their mom has been better for years and that mostly Dean just harbors a grudge. But you know, two sides and all. That’s Brian over there.” Hunter nodded toward a good looking guy with a goofy grin standing next to an exhausted looking woman in a loose fitting blouse.

One of the three couples that had been standing by Solomon’s bed turned around to head for a buffet now entirely filled with everything Paige had prepared. The man was nice looking and struck her like the quiet type. The woman on his arm looked to be about ten months pregnant. They both nodded at Paige as they passed.

“Who are they?” Paige whispered.

“That’s John and Lisa. Lisa is also Saul’s granddaughter. Nicest girl in the world. She was a location scout until last March when she decided to ditch her job to marry that dude right next to her. And that’s his other granddaughter Laney and her boyfriend Jake.” Hunter pointed to a somewhat awkward looking woman with strawberry blond hair standing next to a man who looked like the super sized version of the kid who was crying uno! when she first walked in the room.

“Wow,” Paige said. “Thanks for the rundown.”

“No prob. Only one we missed is Saul’s son in law. He’s this real big guy, a cop. He was married to Saul’s daughter, but she died earlier this year. He was here earlier, but he disappeared. I heard he’s been in bad shape since he lost his wife. I met him a couple times before and he always struck me as kind of an asshole. Today he just seemed… I don’t know, sad I guess.”

“Makes sense,” Paige said. “So which one of these girls is his daughter?”

“None of ‘em. They never had any kids. Hey, mind if I ask you something.” Hunter changed the subject.

“Not at all.”

“It’s kind of random.”

“Some of the best questions are.”

Hunter laughed. “Is that the same dress you’re wearing in that picture with my sister? The one where you two are at the fair or something and Libby has an ice cream cone and the top scoop is about to fall off?”

Crimson bloomed across Paige’s cheeks. “No,” she shook her head, “but Dean had a change of clothes for me. Maybe he thinks this is the only thing I wear and I have a closet full of them.”

“Like a cartoon character.”

“I was thinking more like a super hero.”

Hunter laughed. “I should get back,” he said after a few seconds of silence, “but it was great to see you again.”

“You too.” Paige smiled at Hunter and watched him walk back to the bed. Three seconds later she heard a soft chorus of laughter with Solomon smiling in the middle.

Paige stood still, feeling as though she was wearing someone else’s dress over another person’s skin. The call of the kitchen was loud. She backed out from the living room and headed toward the certain comfort.

“No, no, no.” Sophia wagged a thick finger in an exaggerated gesture. “Mr. McGee said I am not to let you back in the kitchen. “

“I just want to get a drink.”

“The bar is in the living room.”

“Fair enough.” Page smiled into an about face. Guess I’ll just jump in, she thought. Paige never had difficulty with social settings, at least once she was warmed up, but the first few minutes of introduction always seemed to hold a rather specific sort of torture. Exiting the kitchen, Paige collided with the missing guest.

“You!” she gasped.

Lemmin dropped his drink sending shards of glass sailing in every direction.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Paige spit, almost feeling sorry for the sad sack of shit trembling in front of her.

“I’m spending Thanksgiving with my father in law.” He looked down. “Excuse me, I need to clean this up.” Lemmin dipped his head, took a step back, then turned around and retreated to the kitchen.

Paige stormed across the room and into the fresh air outside, cigarette lit before she ever smelled ocean. “You’re supposed to smoke after dinner.” Dean was sitting in one chair with his feet resting on the one next to it.

“Sorry. Guess I’m restless. Why’d you bring me here anyway? Did you know he would be here?”

“Of course I knew. I invited him, and I invited you because Libby loved you.”

“Couldn’t you have sent me a card or something?”

“No, tonight’s a special night and Libby would’ve wanted you to play a part.”

“I don’t understand and I don’t appreciate being manipulated.”

Dean’s eyes, arrogant just a moment before, softened. “Libby told me one time that your food was what she imagined the Gods must’ve feasted on up at the top of Olympus.”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “She said the same thing to me a bunch of times, usually when she wanted something.”

“She also said that anyone dying with a kind heart still inside them deserved a last meal as fine as all that. That old man is important to me, and everyone in that room is important to him. There are others, sure, but that in there is the best I could do on short notice. I gathered the farewells, you supplied the meal.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Paige snapped. “I doubt he has a taste bud left, and you’re talking like you have his death certificate already filled out. You can’t predict death unless it’s on purpose.” Paige put the cigarette to her lips, closed her eyes and inhaled.

“Wanna bet?” The arrogance had returned to his eyes, though it was more playful than anything. Paige said nothing, just blew the smoke in a neat stream headed toward the sea. Dean continued. “Saul won’t eat a thing. Even if he had every taste bud still sitting on his tongue, he’s got a hole whistling in his stomach that should’ve killed him six months ago. But I guarantee you, he’s laying in that room right now happier than he’s been in maybe ten years. He may not be able to smell the food, but he can see the looks on everyone’s faces.”

Paige was quiet. Finally she walked over to the ashtray on the end table in between the two chairs and smashed her cigarette to a nub. “Thanks for including me,” she said. “I’m glad to be here. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Thanks for being here.” Dean smiled and nodded. “I’m glad you’re here too.”

Paige imagined Libby. Her bright smile and constant desire to make everyone happy. Dean was right. This was exactly what she would have wanted. “My pleasure,” she said.

Paige went back in the house and piled a plate full of food, then made camp next to the newly expanded game of Uno that now included the boy’s father Jake, John and his very pregnant wife Lisa. “Can you deal me in for the next round?”

“Of course,” John said.

“Actually, you can have mine.” Lisa handed her cards to Paige, obvious relief on her face. She rubbed her belly and said, “I was looking for a way out.”

Paige balanced the plate on her lap while holding the cards in her left hand. She chewed slowly. Looking around the room, she noticed that everyone else was doing the same, as though every bite mattered for everyone. Lemmin sat alone, sipping his soup and holding each spoonful in his mouth before swallowing. Something in Paige crumbled. She finished the game, then surrendered her cards to the pile and crossed the room.

“I know it wasn’t your fault,” she said.

Lemmin looked up, his eyes were hollow sockets of sorrow. He choked through a thank you and then said, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Paige squatted beside him. “How would you like some chocolate?”

“I’d like that.”

Paige brought over a full plate and the two of them passed chocolate between them, allowing the memory of their mutual friend to linger. From the other side of the room they watched as Solomon’s eyes brightened and dimmed along with each new wave of passing family drifting by his bed, holding his hand or whispering a joke, sometimes for the third time that night. Finally his eyes grew heavy and his smile started to fade. At eleven minutes to nine, he closed them for the final time, an eternal smile frozen on his face forever.