Archive for the ‘Michael B. Caffrey’ Category
About my Husband Michael, the Writer…
Folks, this is the worst day on the calendar, for me. My husband Michael died on this day, twelve years ago.
Some days, it feels like yesterday. Some days, it feels like forever.
I’ve written a great deal about my husband, about why I feel the need to continue his work as well as my own, about why I feel the need to try to keep his memory alive…about why he still matters to me. And why he will always matter, to me.
Today, I want to talk more about my husband the writer. Because that matters, too.
I wish Michael had broken out, as an author, before he died. He’d have gotten such a kick out of that. We did sell one story — “Bright as Diamonds” in the BEDLAM’S EDGE anthology — before he died, and we told no one. We figured, let people find out when the book was available for pre-order…we even knew what we were going to say.
I remember when we wrote that story together. I can still remember him peering over my shoulder as I wrote the first draft. Then, he’d sit at the computer and work on it in the next draft…we’d converse for the third draft, and I’d write and fix. The fourth draft, he’d sit there, and read it aloud, and he’d write and fix.
In between all that, there were conversations with our editor, Rosemary Edghill, and we made changes accordingly.
I really wish Michael had lived longer, so we could’ve written more stories together.
“But Barb,” you protest. “There are half a dozen stories out there — or have been — with Michael’s name on them. Didn’t he write any of them before he died?”
Yes, and no. You’re right that there have been at least half a dozen stories with his name on them. But every single one of those sales except for the one in BEDLAM’S EDGE came posthumously.
Anyway, back to the subject — my husband, and his writing.
Michael, especially as a writer, was a subtle man. The stories that came out of him were mostly quiet ones, such as Joey Maverick’s adventures, or Columba’s wish to leave her own kingdom and venture out with Cat, also known as the Duc d’Sanchestre.
Michael believed in romance as an element of storytelling, and exercised that element with finesse and style.
Michael spent hours on setting up his story universes. He wanted to know everything about them, in order not to make a mistake.
Then again, if he did make a mistake, he’d say, “Oh, well,” and go back to the drawing board. He didn’t believe in beating himself up. His view was that you should save your energy, fix the problem, and go right on as you were. (More of us should be like this. Including me.)
Perhaps most importantly of all, Michael had a great sense of humor, and could laugh at nearly anything, given the chance. He used all sorts of devices, including puns, witty remarks, and situational humor to exercise his inborn literary gifts — though if I had put it this way when he was alive, he’d have told me I was putting him too high on a pedestal and to knock it off already.
Anyway, that was just a little bit about my husband the writer. I wish he were still here on this plane of existence, writing up a storm, telling me just how Joey Maverick and Belinda Simpson managed to get together, and what, exactly, was missing in “Columba and the Crossing” that I now have to figure out…but I’m glad I got the chance to be with him, and try to complete his work as well as I can.
Because Michael mattered. And his stories matter, too.
Anniversary Thoughts — and Book Recs (from me)
Folks, it’s my fourteenth wedding anniversary today, as I write this. (Actually, it’s nearly over, as it’s after eleven p.m. as I type this out.) And while I’m happy to remember my late husband Michael, and the happiest day of my life — our wedding day — spending my anniversary alone, again, is not the world’s most pleasant thing.
Grief is a very strange thing, you see. It’s a personal journey of sorts; how well can you cope with the pain? How well can you go on with your life, and all its vicissitudes, and yet do your best to honor your loved ones…honor your memories?
Every person’s grief-journey is different. Mine has been long, protracted, and difficult, but along the way I’ve met many wonderful people and reaffirmed long-standing friendships. I talk about Michael with my friends, and about how much I miss him, and about how much he did to help me as a writer and editor…and also about how much he enjoyed listening to me play my instruments (usually I played my clarinet, sometimes the alto sax), or discussing the music I was writing, or really anything at all.
Michael enjoyed so many things, you see. He was a strong, vibrant presence, even though he, of course, did not see himself that way.
I’m glad to have met him, married him, and been together with him until he passed — way too soon — in 2004. I will honor our wedding day every day of my life, but most especially on our anniversary.
That said, I also wanted to talk a little about writing today. Michael was a writer, and he loved to write. He also loved reading my stories, and talking with me about works in progress; I like to think that he’d be ecstatic that ELFY is out in two parts, AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE and A LITTLE ELFY IN BIG TROUBLE, because Michael thought Bruno’s journey from discarded orphan to worthy hero was well worth reading. (Plus, it’s funny, and Michael, like me, was always partial to that.)
My publisher has priced AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE at ninety-nine cents, so it’s quite affordable. And if you enjoy that, you can go grab A LITTLE ELFY IN BIG TROUBLE for only $2.99 — the two together are less than the price of most fast-food hamburger meals, and are far more satisfying (with far fewer empty calories, too).
That being said, I also wanted to point out that several other stories are available right now, including several that Michael had a great deal of input in (actually writing two of them). All are ninety-nine cents to buy, but are free to read with Kindle Unlimited. (I still plan to get up versions for other sites, but that hasn’t happened yet.)
TO SURVIVE THE MAELSTROM is a novella featuring Peter Welmsley, one of the few survivors of the Battle of Hunin. How can he continue to live while his best friend, much less his fiancée as well, are dead? And what does an empathic were-mouse have to do with Peter, anyway?
Note that the Marketing for Romance Writers Group on Goodreads featured TO SURVIVE THE MAELSTROM as its book of the week for June 21, 2016…thank you so much for that!
Also, considering I’m talking about my husband this evening, the main impetus for me to write this story was a 2,000 word story fragment Michael left behind. I wanted to figure out the rest of the story…so I did. (And I do hope you will enjoy it.)
Next is Michael’s fantasy-romance novella COLUMBA AND THE CAT. This story features Princess Columba of Illnowa; she does not want to be a princess, as she’s suited to be a musician-sorceress instead. She’s been looking around for a familiar animal — someone to help her with her mage-studies — and happens across a small cat with unusual markings while out riding. She rescues the cat, and then magical things start to happen…including dreams of a near-perfect suitor (not young, not overly handsome, but smart and funny and interesting). But the cat is a shapeshifter…when, oh when, will Columba figure that out?
And, finally, there are the two stories of spaceman and adventurer Joey Maverick, written by Michael (with the second story being finished and expanded by me), A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT and ON WESTMOUNT STATION.
I hope you will give these books and stories a try, as it’s the only present I want for this, my fourteenth anniversary. (And thank you.)
Divorce Can Be Beneficial
For the past several days, I’ve been pondering one question given to me by a new friend — someone I’ve known for less than a week. That said, this person is remarkably perceptive, and she asked me this penetrating question:
“Can divorce, contrary to popular opinion, actually be beneficial?”
Here is my answer:
“Why, yes. Yes it can.”
“But Barb,” I can almost hear you protest. “Divorce is painful. Why would I ever want to go through that, and why do you say it can be beneficial?”
My answers:
“Yes, divorce is painful. But if you and your spouse do not understand each other, have grown apart, or worst of all, he’s brought another child into this world outside of your marriage (which my second unlamented ex-husband did), you need to be gone. It’s not good for you to stay. And if you have children, your children will see all your pain, all your anger, all your dysfunction, and start to model it for themselves in their own relationships…something you truly don’t want.”
In other words, divorce in some ways is like a rebirth. It’s hard. It is not for the timid, no. But it allows you to restart your life, reassess who you are and where you’re going, and get yourself back on track if nothing else.
(Again, if you have kids, be sure to be civil to one another. For example, I understood that my parents were divorcing; I would not have understood them bad-mouthing each other. Thankfully, I do not remember either of them doing that, which in retrospect was a huge blessing.)
Mind, in case you’re sitting there thinking, “Your divorce must’ve been the easiest on record,” my answer is, “Um…no.”
My divorce was brutal. I remember eating baby food, because nothing else would stay down. I saw my soon-to-be-ex-husband parading around town with the woman who became his second wife, and I could do nothing but swallow helpless rage. (It took me some time to realize that I was enraged, mind, because at first I was so saddened by all of this, and wondered how it could have ever come to pass.) I played in a group with my soon-to-be-ex-husband and his new girlfriend, the woman who became his second wife, and it sometimes was agonizing…yet I refused to give up the comfort of music, as I knew I needed it to help me somehow get past the pain.
I did not enjoy going through the divorce process at all. But eventually there was light at the end of the tunnel…and it wasn’t an oncoming train.
In other words, I found Michael (or, as he would no doubt want to have it, he found me). And finding him, being with him, being married to him, was worth every other pain in my life, past and present. He understood me, he was creative and funny and helped me be my best self, and I did my best to give him all the support, encouragement, laughter and love that I could, too.
Because that is what love is.
So, if you are divorcing right now, try to avoid giving in to despair. Divorce gives you the opportunity to find someone who is truly right for the you-who-is right now, rather than continuing to fight the same old battles in the same old ways.
In other words, do not see yourself as a failure if you must proceed with a divorce.
Instead, see yourself as a survivor. Someone who will do what’s necessary, so you can have the chance to meet the person who truly is right for you down the road…just as I met Michael.
——————
**Edited to add: I am not ashamed to say I was twice-divorced before I finally found Michael, my late husband. I just didn’t want to bog down the narrative, which I would’ve, so I didn’t discuss my second ex hardly at all. Seems appropriate. (I know who mattered to me in this life, and my ex-husbands did not, except as shining examples of what not to do.)
A Sunday Thought…and a Thought
Folks, when I woke up earlier today, I thought hard about life. About what my place in the world is (nay, bigger than that — the entire universe!), and whether or not what I’m doing is my best course of action.
Then I snorted, sat up, and started laughing in near-hysteria.
I’m a writer. An editor. A musician. A scholar of arcane disciplines, and a student of history. Also a daughter, a friend, a colleague…
And, of course, the widow of Michael B. Caffrey.
This last is my most precious joy, not because of the widow part — far, far from it! — but because Michael was the most amazing person I have ever had the privilege to behold. He was funny, smart, self-educated, gifted at many things, and a person of remarkable wit and consequence. Michael mattered so very much; what had formed him, what had shaped him, into the man I feel in my heart was firmly destined to be my husband and other half of my soul interested me greatly.
Because we didn’t have that much time together, there are some things I will never know from his perspective. (I have picked up on some additional things since his untimely passing from his sister, his nieces, a few of his friends, and his ex-wife, who was possibly his very best friend in all the world besides myself.) But one thing I do know…Michael was special, and important, and being with him was worth every last bit of pain I’ve suffered since his untimely passing.
Much less the pain I endured before I ever met him, as I’d been previously — and quite unhappily — married before I had the privilege to meet him.
I mention all of that because it’s important to me. Important enough that I’m willing to put it out there, for all to see, in a format that will last as long as the Internet does…and perhaps longer.
But perhaps that seems obvious to you. If you’ve been here before, you know this about me by now; I have suffered, but I have learned, and I have been deeply loved. These things cannot help but mark a person. And in this case, I hope they have made me a better person.
That said, I can’t help but reflect on how life, all in all, marks us. We are all the sum total of our experiences. If we are wise, and learn from our mistakes — and celebrate our joys, no matter how brief and evanescent they may be — we may become our best selves, and worthy of the highest love our species can bestow.
This Sunday, I want you to consider your own highest gifts and blessings. From where did they spring? What are you doing with them, now, and what will you do with them in the future?
Now, as for the additional thought…this was my original post on the subject at Facebook, a few short minutes ago (if you want to read my public posts at Facebook, go here):
One of my best friends just pointed out that everything in life, good and bad, is a learning experience. As a writer, I tend to observe much, even when I don’t seem to be taking it in…the hope is that it gives my stories more weight, as I can’t help but do it anyway.
That said, as I’m in the month of June — my wedding anniversary rapidly approaches, the 14th (and 12th without my beloved husband by my side), I marvel at the changes life has brought. Some have been horrible. Some have been remarkably good.
But to get to Michael, to be with him, to hear him laugh and to create works with him was my most precious joy. I’d not change any of that for the world.
Thus are today’s Sunday thoughts.
Any questions?
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.
Barb Caffrey's Blog 