Archive for the ‘Michael B. Caffrey’ Category
Thoughts about N.N. Light’s Review of “Columba and the Cat”
Folks, I’d meant to write this yesterday, but time got away from me. So, here are my further thoughts regarding N.N. Light’s wonderful review of my late husband Michael B. Caffrey’s story, “Columba and the Cat.”
First, it’s great to get a positive review like that. Michael had a lot of talent as a writer, and that’s one of the reasons I’ve tried so hard to keep his work alive. To know that someone else loves his writing as much as I do is extremely gratifying.
Second, for someone to appreciate it and understand it at the level N.N. Light did it makes me believe that finishing Michael’s work — in Columba’s universe, and in the Atlantean Union with Joey Maverick and Peter Welmsley (among others) — is not only doable, it will be appreciated and understood.
Third, it reminds me of something Michael often told me. “The work will be appreciated, in the end,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Even if no one else knows it but us and the universe, it will be appreciated.”
I always thought he said that because of Michael’s Buddhist leanings. But maybe that wasn’t it…or at least, maybe that wasn’t it precisely. (And Michael always was precise, y’know.)
Look. I don’t write the same way Michael did. He used to write all his stories out longhand, then type them into a computer file. Only then would he edit, revise, and keep going.
Whereas my process is much more fluid than that, and usually involves thinking about something for a great deal of time, and then — and only then — going back and fleshing out the initial idea.
But we got to the same place, in the end. And we were able to understand each other, to the point that I can finish his stories despite his style being markedly different than my own…even if the way I do it isn’t quite the same way as he would, maybe the stories will still make sense, and still do what Michael wanted them to do.
That’s why I’m working on the outline of THE QUEST FOR COLUMBA, which is the Columba story as told by Cat, otherwise known as the Duc d’Sanchestre (and a shapeshifter). This is Cat’s story, told my way, and through my voice…but it’s also Columba’s story, as seen by Cat. And in a way, it’s quite fitting, as Michael wrote the Columba stories for me.
Now, I’ll write Cat’s story for him.
I can’t be certain that the stories I’ll tell in his universes are the same ones he’d have come up with, given time. I can tell you that I knew Michael better than anyone, and it makes me feel better to keep working on stories in his universes…more like part of him did not die, and that might yet, if given time, be discovered and appreciated.
That said, I’m very glad that N.N. Light enjoyed “Columba and the Cat” so much. It gives me hope…and really, isn’t that what life is all about?
Advice for Valentine’s Day, 2016 Version
Folks, it’s nearly Valentine’s Day. And I wanted to write a few words, just in case you haven’t read my two previous blogs on the subject (which, for the record, are here and here).
Too many people get caught up in conspicuous consumption on Valentine’s Day, because commercials and books and movies and nearly every possible thing says, “You must buy a whole lot of unnecessary things, or your partner won’t know you love them!” Even if you walk into a grocery store, there will be reminders that Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, so have you bought your cake/roses/card/fill-in-the-blank yet? (The most inventive one I’ve seen around here was over at Festival Foods in Mount Pleasant, where they’re offering a Valentine’s Day dinner, catered, that you can pick up for something like $42. That might actually be useful, and didn’t bother me…but I can see where it might bother someone who feels pressured to do something for Valentine’s Day.)
The thing is, as I’ve said before, Valentine’s Day is not for conspicuous consumption. It is for love. But somehow, in our consumer-driven society, we’ve gotten it into our heads that the only way to love someone is to buy him or her a whole lot of stuff…and that’s just not right.
Let me give you a few examples.
The best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had was in 2003. Why was it so good? Well, Michael was with me, then, and the two of us had a great and quiet dinner at home, watched some of his favorite “Danger Mouse” videos (Michael loved them, and I enjoyed ’em, too — mostly because I liked seeing how he reacted to them), and then retired to “none of your business land.”
Note that this didn’t cost us anything. We already had the “Danger Mouse” videos. We already had the food. We already had anything else we needed in the house…we didn’t need roses, or wine, or fancy chocolates, or even sushi (something Michael and I both enjoyed, and I continue to appreciate), because we had each other and that’s what counted.
And my second favorite Valentine’s Day was in 2004. Michael and I had just moved from San Francisco to Iowa, and were living in a motel. The move had been stressful and we were close to flat broke, and finding work was a challenge that we hadn’t expected.
So, what did Michael do? This time, we went to a scenic overlook outside Davenport on I-80 with a couple of sub sandwiches, some soda, and sat and talked. It was the middle of winter, but I didn’t feel cold…and I don’t think he did, either. We felt the world was full of possibilities, because we were with each another…and I was touched that Michael remembered I liked spicy-hot peppers on my sub (something he wouldn’t touch because of long-term stomach distress).
You see, if a guy remembers what you like, that is sexy to a woman. Michael knew that.
Now, what did I do for these Valentine’s Day outings? (Maybe you’re asking this, and it’s a valid question.) Mostly, I was there and fully in the moment…yes, I’d asked Michael what he wanted on both days, and I’d actually tried to cook for him in 2003, but he wasn’t having it. (Mostly, Michael cooked for us, because he enjoyed it. And besides, he said I’d done too much for people as it was, over the years; now it was time someone did something for me.) I did suggest the “Danger Mouse” videos in 2003, and I probably suggested going out for subs in 2004…but for the most part, Michael made those outings happen.
So, to sum up…the important thing about Valentine’s Day, or any day, is for your partner to know that he or she is loved. Spending large amounts of money on a Pajamagram or a Vermont teddy bear or fancy chocolates (much though I enjoy that) is not necessary. Showing you care, that you pay attention, that you know what your partner likes…listening to him/her speak and asking intelligent questions (or giving intelligent answers)…being fully in that moment with him/her, with your cell phones/tablets off and your attention undivided…well, those are by far the best gifts you can give.
Don’t let the “must spend big money NOW!” narrative of the commercials blind you to this, OK?
In It for the Long Haul
Folks, over the past few days, I’ve been working on CHANGING FACES (amidst some work on edits). This isn’t easy, as I’d hoped to be done by now…as nearly every regular reader of my blog probably knows.
However, I’m in it for the long haul. Which means I’m going to keep going, keep striving, keep thinking, and keep working, for as long as it takes.
Do I have moments where I wonder what I’m doing? Of course I do.
Do I wonder if all this effort is going to matter in the end? Of course I do.
Still, I have to keep doing it…or I won’t be me.
I’m also reminded of something my late husband Michael told me about his own writing. We were talking about fame, and fortune, and whether or not we’d ever find that as writers–cynics that we were, we figured it probably wasn’t ever going to happen.
Then he said something rather surprising. He told me, “The universe knows what I’ve done. I’m satisfied with that.”
I figured this was the Zen Buddhist in him, at the time. But since his passing, I’ve often wondered about this.
Do we create merely out of ego? Or do we create because we must, or we won’t be ourselves? And does it matter to the universe that we were here, that we did our best, that we tried to create something rather than just take up space to no purpose?
I don’t know the answer to that. But I do know that my husband was a wise man. And I want to believe he was right, even though he didn’t get enough time to finish his stories the way he wanted.
So…I’m in it for the long haul. I will persist, and I will keep trying as hard as I can, as long as I can, and work as much as I can to finish CHANGING FACES and make it the book I know it can be.
Because that’s what matters to me, and I hope eventually it may matter to the universe as well.
Scribbling Away Madly…or Something Like That
Folks, I’m still working hard at CHANGING FACES. I had hoped to have my rewrite done by now, but it’s not done yet.
I’m happy with what I’m doing, mind. I just worry because I can’t write as fast as I used to…and I think there’s a story behind that.
You see, when Michael was alive, he and I used to talk writing all the time. We’d discuss our stories, what was vexing us (usually what was vexing me, but sometimes he’d be vexed, too, with his stories and I’d help him out), and being able to talk about these things immediately helped me write at a much faster clip.
And it’s not just that Michael and I used to talk about everything, though we did; it’s that he was a phenomenal editor. He could find areas that I had unintentionally glossed over and helped me flesh them out; he fixed any possible errors before anyone else saw them; he could double-check whether my plotting worked or I had to go back to the drawing board.
Having Michael there to help me was an enormous help. I didn’t worry so much that I was doing it right, and my sneaky, snarky Editor Voice was much quieter — it knew that if I didn’t pick up on the problems, Michael would.
All of that allowed me to write with greater flexibility, greater freedom, and with much better speed.
Mind, I’m very fortunate that I have at least two very good friends who are exceptional editors. I can trust them. They know me, know my style, know at least some of the stuff Michael saw instantly and can and have told me when I need to fix things. Which is all very good.
The main thing to remember, though, is that my writing process has changed somewhat since Michael died. For one, I incorporated much of his style into my own writing. For another, even though I feel Michael’s love all around me (and very blessed to have it, too, as I well know), it’s not the same as having him right there at my shoulder, where I could turn and ask him, “Hey, what do you think of that?” and get immediate answers.
See, to Michael, I was his top priority. (As he was mine.) And my stories mattered to him, just as his mattered to me.
While I can sometimes write thousands of words in a day, now, it’s rare. Usually I can get a thousand or maybe two thousand, especially when I’m doing a rewrite and am trying to juggle all the balls I know need to be juggled while getting all the bits and pieces of story to fit together again.
If it makes any sense, Michael used to help me hold those pieces. He could remind me of where they went, even if I forgot.
Now, I have to remember all that myself.
I have been called a “meticulous plotter” before. I take pride in this, as odd as that may sound. And I want my plotlines to stand up — I want people to know I’ve thought them through, in order to provide verisimilitude and resonance, in order to help you get immersed in my stories (and my husband’s, too).
So while I’m going to continue to work very hard on CHANGING FACES, I don’t know if it’ll come out before the end of this year or not. I do know that if I keep working away, I will get it back to my publisher in a week or two (providing I don’t get badly stalled out, which I pray I don’t).
And because that’s the most important thing going on here, everything else — blogs, book reviews, editing, everything — has to take a back seat to that.
I hope that you all understand.
Monday Morning Musings: The 11th Anniversary of Michael’s Death…and a Request
Over the years since my husband Michael’s death, I’ve commemorated his passing a number of ways.
I’ve written about how important he was, the positive difference he made in my life, and about how much I loved him. (Still love him. I don’t think love goes anywhere. But I digress.)
The one thing I perhaps haven’t written about is what Michael liked to do.
While Michael wasn’t one of those “hail fellow, well met” types (and just as well), he enjoyed being around people. (Then he enjoyed going home and being away from people. A balanced life, as it were.)
Michael also loved to write. And if he could write something touched someone–or better yet, tickled someone’s funny bone– he counted that as a good day.
(Well, every day was a good day, so long as he was alive. But again, I digress.)
Because today is the 11th anniversary of my husband’s way-too-early death, I figured I’d ask a favor of you.
First, if you knew Michael, please come here and tell me what you remember most.
Second, if you ever read any of Michael’s work, let me know.
Third, I’d like it if you’d pick up a copy of one of five things: “A Dark and Stormy Night,” “On Westmount Station,” “Columba and the Cat,” “To Survive the Maelstrom,” and of course AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE. All of ’em are e-books, which Michael loved (he jumped onto the e-book bandwagon long before most people); all of ’em have some shred of something Michael told me in there, or better yet, some of Michael’s own words there.
Then come back and let me know.
Why do I ask these things? Well, it’s simple. I often feel alone, as if I’m the only one who’s grieving my husband’s death. And while I probably am grieving the hardest (especially after eleven years), there are others who do remember my husband. And remember him with fondness.
While I’ve contributed to all of the above things–and while I wrote AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE–I have discussed Michael’s importance at the end of every book or story I’ve written. (Or story that I’ve finished for him, in the case of “On Westmount Station” or “A Dark and Stormy Night.” Though “finished” is a bit much for the latter; I added a few touches, that’s all, to make it a legal collaboration in that case.)
I don’t know how many people read the very end of the book, but in every case, I’ve talked about my husband. Because he was incredibly important to me, and without his influence, I wouldn’t still be trying to make it in the crazy business of publishing.
So if you want to know why I still remember my husband, buy one–or more–of these stories. Then come back and let me know.
Now, I’d best get back to revising CHANGING FACES, as if all goes well, it’ll be released sometime in late October or early November as an e-book.
Musings on September…and Mortality
Folks, it’s no secret that I do not like September.
Why? Well, the main reason is that my husband Michael died during this month. So when the weather turns to fall (or at least the calendar does; in Wisconsin, we’re still in summertime mode for whatever reason), I start having trouble with all sorts of things.
You see, it’s hard to create when you’re fighting against grief. Because grieving takes energy. A surprising amount of it, actually…and even though I try hard to set that all aside, sometimes I just can’t.
Mind, I know my husband Michael would not want it to be this way. He was all about laughter, and joyfulness, and creativity…this isn’t the legacy he’d want, for me to feel terrible during the month of September.
Even so, I feel what I feel. Trying to change that doesn’t do any good.
So what do I do when grief gets to be too much? Usually, I read something amusing or divert myself with sports documentaries. (I’m quite partial to ESPN’s “30 for 30” series.)
Sometimes, though, I just have to experience the mourning. I don’t like doing this, but by accepting these awful feelings, I can better put them aside. (I learned this trick from Michael, who was a Zen Buddhist. He felt it made no sense to deny how you truly feel about anything. But if you accept the feelings, whatever they are, and then tell yourself, “I’ve heard them” or “I’ve felt them,” then it’s a little easier to set it aside. I’m not sure why this works, exactly, but it does.)
What’s frustrating is when I run into someone who says, “Barb, it’s been eleven years. Why in the Hell can’t you get past this?”
I know it’s been nearly eleven years. Yet some days, it feels like yesterday; on others, it feels like forever.
Michael was by far the most important person in my life, and I miss him every day. He saw me for what I was, loved every part of me (even the parts of myself I have a hard time loving), helped me create the Elfyverse, cheered me on while I wrote an earlier draft (or two) of CHANGING FACES…he was my biggest cheerleader, my biggest partisan, and my best friend, along with being the only man I’ve ever met who truly understood me.
Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to “get over” his loss. Because it truly is an incalculable loss, and I am well aware that it is. And I refuse to deny this truth, because if I did, I’d be a much different — and far lesser — person.
Besides, I don’t think you ever “get past” someone you loved deeply. I think all you can do is go on; you don’t “move on,” exactly — you go on, with the memories you have and the experiences you’ve had, and you do your best to build on them.
I know Michael would want me to continue to fight it out with CHANGING FACES, and he’d probably say in the end, no one will be able to tell just where I’ve struggled, and why.
So even though September, in general, is a bad month, I’m going to continue to do my best.
Michael wouldn’t want it any other way.
Marketing for Romance Writers’ Blog Features “To Survive the Maelstrom” as part of #Thursday13
Folks, I’d asked to be part of the meme known as #Thursday13 at Marketing for Romance Writers’ busy blog a while ago. I thought letting some folks know about “To Survive the Maelstrom” would be interesting. And all they wanted was for me to post up to thirteen lines of the manuscript…so what could be simpler?
So if you’ve not read any of “To Survive the Maelstrom” yet, please go over there and read a bit about Command Sergeant-Major Peter Welmsley of the Atlantean Union. Peter was once my late husband Michael’s character, and I found his story so compelling, I wanted to know more.
That’s why I decided to write the story of how Peter meets his empathic companion, a sentient, sapient being known as a weremouse. I knew that someone who’d been so damaged as to need a complete epidermal regeneration must have a story to tell. And fortunately, I was able to figure out what, exactly, that story was.
Peter’s dilemma, you see, is one of many soldiers who come home, realizing the world around them has changed. Or at least the way they perceive the world around them has changed. They are ill in spirit, even if they might’ve been healed in body, and most of them aren’t fortunate enough to find something as accepting, loving and nurturing as a weremouse.
In fact, Peter’s struggles with his own family are alluded to, because they truly don’t seem to understand just how bad he feels. He’s lost nearly everyone he worked with; he lost his fiancée; he lost his best friend. And underneath it all, he feels guilty for surviving — and yet, if he didn’t survive, who would remember his friends? Who would remember Hunin? Who would remember to tell their stories as well as his own?
As a widow, I felt powerfully driven to write this story — not just to complete my late husband Michael’s work (which admittedly is a compelling motivation all on its own), but because I empathized with Peter.
No, I don’t have post-traumatic stress disorder, as Peter almost certainly does. No, I’ve never served in the military (though I was a military wife at one time, and they make enormous sacrifices that mostly go unnoticed). No, if Michael had lived, I probably wouldn’t have done more than edit for my husband, and talk with him about the possibilities here.
But as my life has changed profoundly due to being widowed too young, I understood where Peter was coming from. He’s a full adult. He had his life all planned out. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it.
Then, in one day, everything changed. And he had to pick up the pieces.
Fortunately for Peter, a weremouse is about to change his life for the better. But that does not at all mean Peter doesn’t still have scars — many in places that do not show.
Anyway, I hope you will enjoy my story. (If you’re really sharp, you might even figure out what parts Michael wrote, and what parts I did. Though they’re not obvious…at least, I hope not.)
It’s available now at Amazon, and I hope in a few months’ time to have it up also at Smashwords and BN.com. Do let me know what you think of it.
Barb Caffrey's Blog 