Archive for the ‘Michael B. Caffrey’ Category
Jim Valvano and Michael B. Caffrey: Transformational Lives
On this, the tenth anniversary of my husband Michael B. Caffrey’s passing, I want to discuss something interesting I’ve recently watched. Something I hadn’t expected to have parallels with my husband’s life . . . but actually did.
This, oddly enough, was the ESPN 30 for 30 documentary Survive and Advance, about the 1983 NCAA Champion North Carolina State Wolfpack and their charismatic coach, Jim Valvano.
For those who don’t know much about sports, you may not know much about Jim Valvano. He died in 1993 after a yearlong battle with bone cancer at the age of 47. But even though he’s been dead now for 21 years, Valvano’s shadow continues to linger — in a good way.
Valvano was a coach who believed very strongly in his players, in his team, and in dreams. (Yes, I said dreams.) He believed if you couldn’t dream something and believe it would happen, you couldn’t achieve it. And he actually had his team rehearse things like cutting down the basketball net (something done after winning a very important game, like a national championship), because he wanted them to know deep down to the bottom of their souls that they could do anything.
Valvano — affectionately known by his players as “Coach V” — lived a transformational life.
But what goes into making a transformational life, anyway? Was it the charisma, which is still evident in this speech (at the 1993 ESPY Awards, when Valvano was eight short weeks from death)? Was it the sheer tenacity of the man, who gave as his personal philosophy this phrase — “Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.” — as part of that same speech? Was it because Valvano was one of the best basketball coaches the East Coast ever produced?
It was all of that, but it was also something more. Jim Valvano made people believe they could do it. He was a positive, inspirational force of nature, with the outsized personality of a stand-up comedian but a heart as big as the Atlantic Ocean. And he made people believe in themselves — not just his 1983 Wolfpack team, but the many people who heard his motivational speeches, read his autobiography, and heard his final major speech at the ’93 ESPYs.
Having a talent like that is incredibly rare.
I’ve only known one person who had it in my entire life: my late husband, Michael. Though Michael was not an outsized personality — certainly not like Valvano, at any rate — he had a presence that was beyond anything I’ve ever known. A certainty, a positivity, and a belief that I could do anything I wanted no matter the obstacle. No matter how many times I might stumble. No matter how many times I might actually fall.
He believed I could do it. More than that: he believed I would do it.
Watching Survive and Advance was both inspirational and heartbreaking for two reasons. One, Valvano died at age 47; Michael died at 46. And two, there were so many things in there that “Coach V” said that reminded me of my husband . . . it’s hard to explain, because Michael’s manner was nothing like Jim Valvano at all.
But the message — the powerful, motivational message — was exactly the same.
The words that rang truest of all were these, again from Valvano’s ’93 ESPY speech:
“”Cancer can take away all of my physical abilities. It cannot touch my mind, it cannot touch my heart, and it cannot touch my soul. And those three things are going to carry on forever.”
My husband did not have cancer. He instead died of several heart attacks in one day, without warning, to the point his ventricle failed him. But he once told me that no matter what happened to him — as he believed his own health wasn’t all that wonderful — he believed his heart, his mind, and his soul would endure. And he’d never stop loving me. He’d never stop caring about me. And he’d never, ever stop believing in me.
He told me that about a year before he died, when I was about to go in for a needed surgery that I was fearful of, and I have never forgotten it.
I know that Jimmy V’s life was lived in the public eye. Michael’s certainly wasn’t. Michael’s life didn’t touch nearly as many people — how could it?
But Michael is remembered by many. He helped many writers, including the late Ric Locke, with his editing. He helped many people believe they could indeed do exactly what they put their mind to doing . . . and that’s what makes a transformational life.
You come into contact with someone like that, and your whole life changes. It gets better, because you can do more. Even through the mourning, you can still do more. And you get up every day and you try your level best, because you want to be worthy of that belief.
My husband would be astonished that I’d mention him in this particular context, especially as he was also a sports fan. He’d probably see absolutely no parallels between himself and the famous “Coach V.”
But he’d be wrong.
It’s because Michael lived, and was with me, that I continue to do what I do. His loss was so painful that I continue to struggle with it, ten years later . . . but it’s because I knew him, was married to him, and got to see how he overcame his own obstacles that I have refused to give up.
If that’s not the epitome of what a transformational life is all about, I don’t know what is.
————
Note: If you want to read Michael’s writing — and I hope at least some of you do — please take a look at the two stories I’ve been able to put up as independent e-books over at Amazon: “A Dark and Stormy Night” and “Joey Maverick: On Westmount Station.” These are both stories of military science fiction, though the first is while Ensign Joey Maverick is on leave and participating in a “low-tech” sailing regatta (meaning approximately 20th Century tech) and the second is when newly-minted Lieutenant Maverick is about to ship out for the first time. In essence, the first story is a search-and-rescue story with some romance, and the second story is that of a young officer stopping an unexpected saboteur at a very early hour in a completely unexpected place.
A third story has been started (a bridge story, written by me with some details from Michael’s notes), and I’ve also written two stories in Michael’s universe from a different perspective entirely that are currently making the rounds (if all rounds end up exhausted, they, too, will end up as e-books).
So at least some of Michael’s words continue to live, which is what I vowed when Michael died suddenly. And if I have anything to say about it — if I get enough time on this Earth — all of them will.
Keeping Hope Alive . . .
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been doing my best to keep hope alive. Life has been difficult and frustrating; it’s almost inconceivable to me, sometimes, that I’m still alive and my husband Michael has been dead for nearly ten years.
And I’m all that remains of what we’d hoped and dreamed for. I’m the only one who can finish his work, as well as my own. And as it’s difficult for me to figure out just what Michael had intended to do — writer Ursula Jones called this phenomenon “breaking into” someone else’s thinking (she was discussing finishing up her sister Diana Wynne Jones’ novel THE ISLANDS OF CHALDEA in the end-notes) — sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing in carrying on Michael’s work.
Then again, I loved Michael, and I loved his stories, too. It makes me feel closer to him to do whatever I can to keep things going, even if what I write isn’t exactly the same as what he’d have written. Even if it’s taking me ten times as long to figure out this new novella set on Bubastis as it undoubtedly would’ve taken him, at least I’m trying to do it.
And that, in and of itself, is worthwhile. Michael would tell me so, if he were here . . . though of course, if he were, I’d not be doing this.
Mind you, I’m not the only writer who has ever wondered whether or not what I’m doing makes any sense. This blog from writersrelief.com about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and writing explains why writing and hope are so inextricably mixed:
As human beings and creative writers, we sometimes have a tumultuous relationship with hope. Hope keeps us going. We hope someone will understand what we’re trying to say with our writing. We hope the world will be a better place for our children. But when times get tough, hope can also feel like cold comfort.
Why have hope? we ask ourselves. What good will it do me if I know I can’t succeed? Sometimes when the task ahead seems truly impossible, hope seems futile.
But few people understand what it means to be hopeful as deeply as the man we honor every year at this time: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., a pioneer of the civil rights movement. King’s dream was simple, but achieving it meant overcoming countless barriers and complexities. In many ways, hope was the driving force behind his remarkable achievements.
I missed this blog when it was first put up in January of 2014, but I find its words to be especially meaningful right now. (After all, studying the work of Martin Luther King, Jr., is never a bad thing.) I cannot imagine the odds against Dr. King when he first started agitating for civil rights and fair pay for laborers and equal rights for women and any number of other positive things — and he must’ve felt discouraged from time to time, too.
He didn’t show it very often, because Dr. King knew that people needed to believe that their lives, however meaningless they seemed, could indeed make a difference. So on bad days, he must’ve said, “I’m going to go out there and do the best I can,” and given whatever speech he had planned with whatever energy he had. And in so doing, he helped to lift people up with his words.
Words matter. Whether you’re an orator or a writer (or somewhere in between).
When I write a story, I want to make you think about something beyond yourself. Pondering something else can give you hope, because it means you can still think, still feel, still understand.
And I know that was Michael’s motivation for writing, also. He wanted to divert people, get them outside of themselves, and give them a few hours of entertainment that might actually make ’em smile . . . maybe that’s why I’ve pushed so hard with my own novel AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE, because as a comic fantasy, what else can it do but make people smile?
Before I go, let me share one quote (also cited in the Writer’s Relief article) I found especially meaningful from Dr. King: “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”
That, in a nutshell, is why I keep writing. Because I believe in hope. And that hope has to come from my own, hard work and effort — otherwise, why would it be worth anything?
Fourth Blog Anniversary Today
Folks, it’s been four years today since I started this blog. And because it’s a special day of a certain type, I figured I’d get on here and ask you for something special, too.
(No, it’s not publishing related.)
Please consider becoming an organ donor.
Why do I care about this? Well, when Michael died, as per his wishes I donated his organs. This was not easy to do — they asked a number of questions that were both difficult to answer and invasive, because by law they must ask these terrible questions (such as: did he have AIDS? Did he have any diseases you know about? If so, what?).
Fortunately, I knew this was what Michael wanted. So I persevered with these awful questions, and donated his organs. Several people were helped thereby.
At the time, we lived in Iowa, so I continue to receive newsletters from the Iowa Donor Network thanking me (and my husband) for donating his organs. If you live in Iowa, that’s where you need to go if you’re thinking about organ donation for yourself or any family members.
However, if you live in Wisconsin, if you want to donate your organs after your death, you need to go to the Wisconsin Donor Registry and sign up.
Other states, of course, have different donor registries.
Aside from that, the only other thing I’d like my readers to do today is to make sure their after-death wishes are known. It can be difficult to discuss this, especially if you are young and in the prime of life. I get that, but if Michael and I hadn’t had this conversation, I’d not have known what to do when the time came.
No one wants to think about losing a loved one at a young age. No one wants to think about themselves dying early, either.
But it happens, sometimes. And if that terrible thing does occur, it’s best for your loved ones to know exactly what they must do.
12 Years Ago Today…
. . . I married the love of my life, Michael B. Caffrey, in Waukegan, Illinois.
Had Michael lived, we’d be celebrating twelve happy years together. I have no doubt of this.
I also have no doubt that Michael is the person I was intended to be with all along. I didn’t find him until I was in my mid-thirties, going through a second divorce. But I did find him, we did marry, and we had two wonderfully blessed years together.
I know duration does not equal value. (If it did, my first marriage would be three and a half times more important than my marriage to Michael. Which is flatly absurd.) But I do wish we’d have had more time together.
That said, out of our union came several wonderful things. The Elfyverse, for one . . . I can’t imagine writing the ELFY duology (of which part one is AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE) without knowing Michael, because I wouldn’t have had any idea at all what love truly was about without him.
In 1 Corinthians 13, verses 4-8, the Bible says this about love (quoting the GOD’S WORD® Translation from BibleHub.com):
Love is patient. Love is kind. Love isn’t jealous. It doesn’t sing its own praises. It isn’t arrogant. 5It isn’t rude. It doesn’t think about itself. It isn’t irritable. It doesn’t keep track of wrongs. 6It isn’t happy when injustice is done, but it is happy with the truth. 7Love never stops being patient, never stops believing, never stops hoping, never gives up.
8Love never comes to an end.**
Note that this is exactly how Michael was, with me. He was extremely patient. He was unfailingly kind. He certainly wasn’t jealous — he was the farthest possible thing from that. He was a self-effacing man who, when I complimented him, almost always tried to turn it away — and when he did accept it, did so modestly. (Or humorously. Or maybe both.)
And I believe verse 5 — love not being rude, not thinking about itself, not being irritable and not keeping track of wrongs — also applies to Michael. Because he wasn’t rude. (Trust me; with two ex-husbands behind me, I well know what rude can be in a marital context.) And he faced life with a courage and optimism that I’ve never seen out of another living soul . . . something that continues to give me strength, nearly ten years after his body went to dust.
I especially think verse 6 in this particular translation applies to Michael. He hated injustice with a passion. But he loved the truth, even if the truth was difficult to understand and/or frustrating.
(Personally, I think that was the Zen Buddhist in him. But I digress.)
And verse 7, too, sounds much like him. Michael believed with all his being that I would make it. No matter what happened to us — and we suffered through a flood that damaged many of our belongings, not to mention a huge and financially ruinous cross-country move, and many other things — he believed that success was what you made of it.
And because I got up and tried my best every day, whether it was playing my music, composing music, or of course writing and editing (which he went a long way toward teaching me, and I wasn’t the most apt of pupils), he honestly told me I was a success — and meant it.
To him, it wouldn’t matter that I wasn’t world-famous. What mattered to him instead was that I was my best self, and kept being my best self, no matter what other awful things might happen.
And while I intentionally truncated verse 8 (that’s what the two stars are about, in this context), I like this version’s translation — “Love never comes to an end.”
Because that’s how I feel about it, too.
So while this is a “sadiversary” for me, insofar that I’d much rather Michael be alive so we could do the normal things couples do when they’re celebrating the date of their wedding, it’s also an oddly happy day, too.
I got to marry and be with the most wonderful person I’ve ever known. Not many people can say that. And he loved me until the end of his life, with everything he had, and I believe wherever he is now in the positive Afterlife, he continues to love me, too.
And I know I will always, always, always love Michael, too.
That’s more precious to me than any amount of money or fame could ever be.
Just Reviewed Stephanie Osborn’s “A Case of Spontaneous Combustion” at SBR
Folks, it’s Romance Saturday. And long-time readers of my blog know what that means . . .
Yes, it’s true. I reviewed another romance again at Shiny Book Review (SBR for short, as always). This time, I reviewed Stephanie Osborn’s A CASE OF SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION, book 5 in her Displaced Detective series.
A quick after-action report for y’all:
I enjoyed Stephanie’s latest very, very much. I thought the romance was stellar, and I agreed that something like this could very easily happen (though I have to admit that I took all the high-tech devices for metaphors).
Why?
Well, without giving too much of the plot away, a miscommunication between newlyweds Sherlock Holmes and Skye Chadwick-Holmes has caused major trouble in both their personal and professional lives. And while the failure of high-tech devices to work as operated is part of it (though there is an operator behind this failure; further reviewer sayeth not), the biggest problem between them is one that any newlywed couple can have.
“What’s that?” you ask.
Simple: it’s the problem of expectations.
While Sherlock Holmes is a fictional example (in both Arthur Conan Doyle’s version and Stephanie Osborn’s), the fact of the matter is that most newlyweds don’t see one another as real, live human beings with real, live failings. Someone like Sherlock or Skye has fewer failings than the average person, but both of them still have failings.
Instead, most newlyweds wear rose-colored glasses and want to believe their spouses are the absolute best person who ever walked the face of the Earth (save, perhaps, for Jesus Christ Himself, or Gautama Buddha, or maybe Confucius).
This is both a strength and a weakness, and it can be exploited by someone malicious, as Sherlock and Skye found . . . but if you can get past this, and see your partner as a human being with flaws and challenges, just like every other human being, it deepens and broadens your love considerably.
Look. My husband Michael was the most wonderful person I have ever met, bar none. But he was still a human being. He had flaws. (Not many, but he had a few.)
Did we have a newlywed blow-up? Not one as bad as Skye’s and Sherlock’s, no. But we did have a couple of misunderstandings, mostly because we were learning how to live with one another, and sometimes even with the best of intentions, you’re not going to be able to communicate with one another.
(Yes. Even two writers cannot always communicate with each other. Go figure.)
We worked around that. We found what worked for us. And that’s why our marriage worked.
In short, we met each other as real, live human beings with real, live failings. So we entered into our marriage with a more realistic expectation — granted, it wasn’t a first marriage for either one of us, so that possibly made a difference as well. (I’d say “probably,” but who knows? Not me.)
That doesn’t mean you don’t think the other person is wonderful. Believe you me, I did — and I still do.
But it means you see him as human and mortal. Not as a demigod. And that allows you to meet him on a field of equality, where you both have something to bring to the table.
Anyway, that’s why I enjoyed A CASE OF SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION so much as a romance. (I already discussed the mystery and hard SF elements in-depth in my review, but figured the actual romantic elements warranted a wee bit more discussion.)
You will, too, if you love honest romance with heart between two intelligent, passionate, hard-working individuals; if you love Sherlock Holmes stories (as brought to the modern-day); if you love hard SF along with your romantic mysteries; or if you love just-plain-good writing.
Received Results for Writers of the Future Contest, Quarter One
Folks, a while back I told you all that I’d sent off my last-ever story to the Writers of the Future Contest. I was under the impression that once my novel, AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE, was out, I would be ineligible.
I was wrong.**
But as I didn’t know it, the submission I sent in for the first quarter of the Writers of the Future Contest’s 2014 cycle meant a great deal to me.
You see, I was looking over one of my husband Michael’s incomplete novels. This novel, MINIATURES, features a space Naval officer who had been a Marine non-com for over fifty years, and who was more or less shanghaied into the Navy against his wishes.***
And I’d always wanted to know more about this character, Peter . . . so I wrote a story around 2,000 words of Michael’s writing, to explain just what had happened to Peter that caused him to go from a job he loved — being a Marine Sergeant-Major — to a job he really didn’t want to do, but didn’t actively despise — a Naval Ensign.
Michael’s novel picks up after Peter has become a Naval officer, you see. But one of the earliest parts of his novel discusses just how Peter meets up with his were-mouse (a companion who’s far more than an animal; were-mice are more like an allied species) while Peter’s on leave. Michael’s novel had this pivotal scene in a place where Peter had finished his training but hadn’t yet been assigned to a ship . . . yet it didn’t seem to make sense that way.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized there was much more to the story. So I wrote about what Peter had done that was so heroic that he’d be given a prestigious medal and taken from the service he loved — the Marines — and put into the Navy, where he’d never wanted to be. And flying starships seemed to be a part of it, as Peter loved to fly and could fly anything you care to name . . . but the Marines hadn’t officially known about it.
Because Marines, most especially non-coms, do not fly starships. They are ground troops. Maybe a few of them fly shuttlecraft. But Peter does a lot more than that, and because he basically had to take charge after nearly all the officers were killed (and the few who weren’t were already in Sickbay), that’s why he got the medal. And that’s why he also bonded with his were-mouse, because his were-mouse companion also loves to fly.
And as Michael already had this — yes, he did have this pivotal bit of information already in the text — why not write a story that made much more out of these events?
So that’s exactly what I did, adding seven thousand words or so to the story to make it all work out.
The story’s name is “To Survive the Maelstrom.” It won an honorable mention in the first quarter of the Writers of the Future contest. This is the first time I’ve ever had that honor — and it’s also the first time Michael had that honor.
I’m glad that “To Survive the Maelstrom” won an honorable mention, as it does validate, at least in part, what I’m trying to do in keeping Michael’s work alive while doing my best to add to it.
I will be sending “To Survive the Maelstrom” out to the various markets, including the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction (they’re always the first ones I try), and if F&SF doesn’t like it, I’ll try it at Lightspeed. And Analog. And Asimov’s . . . and, down the line, if I can’t interest anyone in it, I will put it up for sale myself.
Because I believe in this story. I believe in my husband’s writing, and my own, and I think the combination of the two of our talents made for an exceptional short story — something that’s more than the sum of its parts.
And yes . . . now that I know I’m still eligible (as it’s unlikely that AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE will sell 5,000 copies any time soon, much less before June 30, 2014, the next quarter’s deadline), I’m going to try another story at the Writers of the Future Contest.
Why not?
———
**AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE is unlikely to sell 5,000 copies, most particularly not before June 30, 2014, the end of the next quarter for the Writers of the Future Contest. So because of that — and because my professional publications still stand at 1.5 (one co-written story with Michael, one alone) that have sold or will sell 5,000 copies — I am still eligible. Heard that from the Contest Administrator’s own e-mail, earlier this evening.
***BTW, the main reason MINIATURES hasn’t already been published is that I cannot find the final fourteen chapters. At all. Once I do, I will incorporate what I’ve written in “To Survive the Maelstrom” and just keep on running . . . Michael would approve.
Barb Caffrey's Blog 