The café bell tolls, as the door is spread ajar. A lonely man steps inside.
The café is his favorite place to be on a Sunday afternoon. There’s something about the atmosphere that he quite liked. Perhaps it was the rustling around and chatter that served as white noise in an otherwise chaotic life. It also could have been the infectious creativity bug that flew around and bit its victims one by one, as they worked on their passion projects.
Damon Earling was a middle-aged man, who like all others enjoyed peace after a long week at the office. The office life wasn’t particularly favored in his mind and he often fantasized for his way out.
Being an IT technician of London’s biggest tech company, NeuTech Industries, was a miserable undertaking. Four painful years he spent in college, forced by his parents to follow their footsteps in the working force. Dreaded, he was when his father “pulled a couple strings” and landed him his current position in techs fabulous new prison. Promotion after promotion he received. None of which he ever applied for.
Damon felt misery from the second he scanned his key card, and rode up the elevator, until the time he exited the monstrous glass tower.
Sunday afternoons in Mother Mary’s Tea Emporium were very cherished to him. Damon always ordered the same thing, a black tea, no sugar, and always sat at the same rickety table just below the heating unit. It gave him a perfect vision of the front door and allowed him to take a break for the toilets as discreetly as possible.
Today of all days was different. Damon’s, somewhat private suite, was surrounded by a party of giggling females. Laughing at jokes that weren’t even funny. He knew he was behind the times but these jokes were, pathetic.
Damon laid out a red leather-bound notebook, along with a black fountain pen and proceeded to scribble. Damon scribbled about ideas that floated into his head, about books he wanted to read and anything that really caught his fancy. He was writing about visiting Dublin which he had only done once as a young boy on holiday with his parents. He was saving a month’s worth of holiday time off at work so he could take a trip this autumn.
Damon thought about the places in Dublin he wanted to see: the pubs, the architecture, the green hills. They all caught his fancy in such an elegant way. A way in which he longed to satisfy.
All was well in the headspace of Damon when he was interrupted.
One of the females let out a laugh so loud, that he mistook her for a roaming city cow. Shaking his head in disapproval he carried on reimagining the places he went to with his family and cherishing the moments, but damn, he was distracted again.
The woman let out another laugh and the entire teahouse gazed at her. Damon couldn’t take any more of these rude interruptions.
“Ma’am mind keeping it down? Some of us want peace this Sunday.” He said.
The lady turned around, looked directly into Damon’s eyes, and said, “Oh piss off you twat!”
Damon choked on his tongue.
How could someone be so rude? He was astonished to find that this “person” had a husband.
Surely no one would want to marry her, she was, well, obnoxious and impolite. Above all other things, she was un-lady-like.
Damon scribbling paused to eavesdrop on their conversation.
He found out rather quickly that the rude woman’s name was Summer, and she talked a lot about her husband Ben, who was a swine.
“He comes home late every night and smells of… other women,” Summer said. “I’ve tried to just ask him where he goes but he always finds a decent excuse. I just don’t trust that twat anymore.”
“Sounds like you need to hire someone to watch him. You know like a private investigator or something. I hired one for my husband when he was missing my phone calls around lunchtime every day. Found out he was selling drugs to his co-workers,” another woman said.
“Didn’t you talk to him about it Poppy?” Summer asked.
“Well, no I haven’t found the courage to ask him. I mean we make good money doing it. He always buys me new designer handbags and shoes. I’m not sure I’m ready for that to stop. If he finds out that I know, he’ll be furious,” Poppy said while sipping her tea.
“Makes sense. Your husband is not completely a pig, but mine is! He needs to be caught red-handed. I think it’s his secretary, Jessica. She always answering the phone with joy in her voice like she’s happy to do it. No one is that happy to answer a bloody phone call. She’s guilty. I know it.”
Damon was still listening intently. As much as Summer pissed him off with her impolite attitude, he enjoyed hearing the gossip.
“So what do you do when you find out? Rumor has it that Rachael and her husband Humphrey had a nasty divorce. They had to split the kids and all the money. Almost led Rachael to tears, but we both know she’s too cold to cry,” Poppy said.
“Maybe it isn’t what you think,” said a third woman, named Isla. “Perhaps you are overthinking this entire matter. He’s always been a good husband it seems.”
“Oh for the life of me, how could this all be just a misunderstanding? He smells like another woman! How’s that even possible?” Summer said.
“Does he take the tube?” asked Isla. “When I do, sometimes I smell like old used socks. It’s quite a cesspool in there sometimes.”
“Isla could be right. Men aren’t even smart enough to have an affair. Their brains can’t process such complex things,” Poppy said with a chuckle.
Damon laughed in his head. He wasn’t condoning Summer’s husband’s behavior, but bewildered by what Poppy said. What wasn’t considered too complex for a man’s brain?
Damon took another sip of his tea and pondered. He hadn’t much interest in their conversation any longer. Instead, he thought about the complexity of the male brain vs the female brain. He had always been taught they were equal, but if others indeed thought differently, was he wrong?
Summer, Poppy, and Isla stood up and pushed in their chairs.
“Ben keeps saying there will be massive layoffs at his company. Perhaps that secretary will be one of them. I hope so,” said Summer.
“Layoffs? At NeuTech? Thought business was good,” Isla said.
“Not good enough it seems.”
Damon’s ears perked up. He wondered if he was to be one of the layoffs.
A blue jay flew by the window. A Cyanocitta cristata as my avid bird-watching father would have said. On my tenth birthday, he gifted me my first pair of binoculars and together we went on a retreat entirely dedicated to the birds. Dad had a sketch pad full of every bird his eyes ever set on, and although he wasn’t much of an artist, I deeply enjoyed flipping through them. He had a certain style that was uniquely him. I wonder if he’d ever seen this one before. A blue jay isn’t entirely rare, but the thought still came to my mind. I would sketch it down right away for him if I knew for certain.
I scrambled inside my “vintage” leather bag for my fountain pen (also a gift from my father) and a scrap of paper which actually turned out to be the back of a takeout receipt. I had to draw a rough outline. The breasts were puffy white, and the wings were the color of ripe blueberries during the summer months. It’s hair cropped in the back as if it had just awoken from a deep slumber and the pattern on its––
“…Emma…Emma…Are you listening?”
My fantastic not-life-draining daydream came to a halt.
“Emma, will you answer my question? Have you thought about suicide?”
How dare she interrupt me? If I lose my train of thought, it will all be her fault. I need to sketch this bird. I need to, my father wouldn’t want me to miss it, but she was persistent. Her question distracted me. Yes, I had thought about suicide, frequently, but I didn’t want to tell her that. It wasn’t any of her business. So, I lied in a way that felt right.
“No, not particularly— it’s not my way of things,” my eyes drifted back onto the skyscrapers that could be seen beyond the windows of this office searching for the blue jay.
“That’s all part of the grieving process if you have,” said my therapist. “Death makes us question whether the world we live in is truly worth it. It strips the very happiness from us and fills us with terrible thoughts. Just remember that you cannot act upon them. It’s normal to have bad thoughts but it’s not normal to act on them. Does that make sense?”
“I’m not an idiot,” I blurted out. The words left my mouth faster than my filter could stop them.
Her pen wrote vigorously beneath her face. What was she writing? The client becomes rude when asked about suicide. Possible suicide watch required or perhaps a recommendation for medication.
“Emma, remember, I am here to help you,” she tried to reassure me that the object of these meetings but somehow it felt like a reminder of what she wasn’t doing; helping me. We’d made no progress since my first session and I was becoming bored with attending.
“Suicide will not bring back your father and it will cause more harm to the people around you. Just think of your family and watching them grieve for your loss. Think of your mother losing first her husband, and now her daughter. Would you want her to live with the suffering of losing you both?”
No answer came to mind. My mother hasn’t been the same since dad’s passing. She stares into white spaces a lot and her siblings take shifts staying with her. They’re afraid to leave her alone at night. It was hard to imagine her grieving sometimes. I’ve only seen my mom cry once before dad’s death and that was after his initial diagnoses and it’s usually in private.
“No,” I said still trying to pass off the impression like I wasn’t suicidal in the first place. It was as if she could read through the lines of my face because every question she asked, I felt as if she didn’t believe the response I gave. We always circled back to the same question, just a bit reworded the next time so that she could determine if my first response was actually the truth. Unfortunately for her, I had a great memory. I could establish precisely when she tried to use that trick on me.
“If the feeling ever feels real, would you tell someone before you acted?” she asked. This time I ignored the question. I’d had my limit with these sorts. How many times would we circle the same question over and over again until she became satisfied with my answer? I knew that unless I said exactly what she wanted, she would never dismiss it. I was starting to feel like a helpless insect stuck in a spider’s web. Luckily odds were in my favor, this session was just nearly over, which made me happy. I could hardly stand it anymore. If it wasn’t for my family doctor, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. Not to mention the recommendation at work, and the one from friends and family. Actually, every person in my life thought I should be here, with the exception of me. I loathed it. Father would have never made me go through this torture. He was compassionate and he would have recognized how detrimental this therapist was to my mental health.
“Will it ever get easier?” I asked to steer the flow elsewhere.
She took a moment to search her file cabinet brain for a suitable answer, with the amount of time she spent schooling and earning her degrees, I expected her answer to be a bit more sensitive.
“Easier isn’t the right word. I believe you’ll be able to manage the feelings if you want to, but if you decide to dwell on it, well you’ll never move on. Clinically, these sessions help you break down what is real and process them effectively.”
“Have you ever lost a parent?” I asked.
She pushed the glasses on her nose preparing himself for some educated response.
“Asking me questions isn’t how this sort of thing works. We’re here for you,” she said with a quick smile behind her pen.
That smile bugged me. I grew this feeling like I wanted to knock out her front teeth whenever I saw it, and it wasn’t because I was a super aggressive person, her smile just got under my skin. There’s no way to explain the feeling unless you saw it for yourself. It gave me the impression that even in all of the education, she couldn’t have learned what I was going through because she’d never ever lost someone special.
“A parent or even a friend?” I prodded.
“Emma—”
“Have you or have you not?”
“No—I haven’t. I’ve been fortunate,” she said after a deep breath was released.
“Then how, of all people are you giving me advice? You don’t even understand what it’s like,” The rage in me was unleashed. “I lost my father, who was the kindest man alive. We did everything together and now I don’t even leave my house. I don’t talk to my family because it pains me to remember all the memories of him that they’re avoiding. Do you know what that’s like?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“Like hell—it feels like I’m in hell. I would give anything to see him one more time; to see the lights shine in his eyes one more time. Do you get that?”
Her pen fluttered under her nose again. Why did I even bother? None of this gets me anywhere. None of it.
“And how does it feel when you try moving forward in a positive direction?”
My blood boiled. How will I move on without it feeling like I’m forgetting him? It’s not like my brain wants to put myself into this state of sickness. I don’t welcome the hurt, I want it gone, but it won’t leave. My eyes glazed over and I stopped listening. She wasn’t even respecting my thoughts.
The timer on her phone when off.
“––think that we should continue our sessions until this suicidal feeling goes away. We’re really making progress I can feel it. Why don’t we say this time next week?” she said while scribbling away in her leather-bound calendar.
The bird on the window returned. It was tapping at the windowpane. This time I had to check it out. I felt a magnetic pull towards the window. A beautiful blue jay. I reminded myself that you don’t see birds like that around here. That usually falcons pick them off for Sunday bunch. Its small little beak was pressing against the glass as if it was requesting to be let inside. I pressed my stubby finger against the glass and the bird stopped to stare at me. Its little eyes were looking right through me. I could feel a sense of warming over my heart like I was connecting with the little one.
I tilted the glass pane to coax the bird on the bridge of my finger. The glass squeaked as it slid open and the bird hopped to my index finger. It stared into my gaze, a wink followed. This bird was the calmest I’d ever met. It remanded fixed on my finger for some time as we stared deep into the eyes of each other; waiting for something to follow but my overpaid therapist stood up and scared it off. I felt the rage come back.
“Birds are always tapping at those windows. You shouldn’t let them land on your finger, they carry diseases,” she said pushing the glass pane closed.
“Why’d you do that!” I yelled. It was a moment ruined because of an inadequate reason. I wanted to strangle her for doing it and I almost did.
She took no notice of my infuriated question and proceeded to re-ask her original question about scheduling a session for next week. I had no desire to come back to this money-hungry bad advice giver. My money could be spent better elsewhere.
“That won’t be necessary. This will be our last session,” I said confidently in the decision. She hadn’t helped at all in the last three sessions, what more could she do going forward? My dad was still dead, I still wanted to kill myself, and her help was terrible if you ask me. It would be a waste to give her even a one-star review.
“But your doctor has––”
“That will be all,” I said once again establishing that I wouldn’t be returning, regardless if my doctor wanted me to or not. “You can call the doctor and tell him that I’m better if you please.”
“I will most certainly not do that,” she said with a pound of her fist on the inside of her white pad like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum.
“Whatever suits you,” I said collecting my coat from the coat rack in the corner. “This was entirely a waste of my time. You haven’t helped at all. A drink would have been much more beneficial.”
I slammed the door to her study and met the eyes of every other victim in her lobby. Maybe they had thought about doing the exact same thing that I had done. The lobby receptionist in one last attempt tried to persuade me for another session but she rather quickly met the bird on my hand. She twitched at the sight of it. It was like she had never seen it before.
I emerged from Ms. Janet Wilken’s office with a lighter weight on my shoulders. Finally, I didn’t have to force myself to talk about my feelings in a roundabout sort of way. I could be honest with myself. I was broken on the inside and nothing could repair me. Not the works of a doctor, no matter their credentials, and I was okay with that.
I decided that for once in my life I would feel out my emotions and let them control me until they thought things were okay. I was tired of being persecuted for them. There was no way I’d listen to anyone else when it came to offering advice.
Do you need a beta reading for an upcoming project? Looking for someone to give you honest feedback about your work in progress?
Look no further! I will give you the feedback you’re honestly looking for and the feedback you never thought you’d need. Via Fiverr, I will proofread your work, create written content, and perhaps score you an awesome dream job!
As an avid writer myself, I’ve worked on short stories, poetry, and written a book. I’ve taken various college courses revolving around the ideology behind fictional writing and English proficiency. In my spare time, I enjoy reading just as much as I do writing with fantasy being my biggest genre consumed. I’ve assisted in my day job working for the State of Washington with many content writing projects that were targeted towards leaning the number of words into a much more manageable communication style. I look forward to tackling any project that meets my desk.
If the front cover of the book isn’t enough to grab your attention, then I’m sure all the testimonies and Instagram posts would certainly lure you in. Hint hint. This book is a fantastic resource and you won’t regret reading it, ever!
Save The Cat! Writes a Novel written by Jessica Brody is derived from books of a similar title by Blake Snyder that have helped screenwriters write successful movies for years. All Jessica Brody has done is expand upon the same idea in an adaptation focused on the writing of novels.
So, what’s the books purpose?
Save the Cat! attempts to correct the mindset of amateur and experienced writers alike. It provides you the necessary tools to improve your craft and write something that is soothing on a page and to the eyes of a reader. If you’re having trouble with book blurbs or short synopsis’s, then look no further. Save the Cat! Is the answer to all your writing problems.
One of the things I carried with me from Save the Cat!, was a new understanding of how story structure works. I know now, that this knowledge doesn’t come naturally to us. It was taught to me though these pages over the course of several chapters. This was my first victory and the first of many Ah-ha moments.
This far in my life, there hasn’t been a montage of amazing writing sessions or off-hand chances at the luck that made my books an instant bestseller on the New York Times List. The phrase “writers aren’t born, they are made” cannot be any closer to the truth I live now. Sadly, we don’t fully understand what that means until we’re hit with a reality check. Well, this book can be that reality check for you in some ways as it was for me.
This book gave me three important questions:
Prior to this read, I’d come off the heels of my first writing adventure, Out of Curiosity, and I was deep into what seemed like the fourteenth draft at that point before I began asking myself questions. Does my story structure matter at all? Will my bad story structure break my novel?
To test my doubt, I’d decided to had to go through as many beta readers as possible to gather information. The results were just as I thought. Almost all of my beta readers came out saying the same thing. “Structure? What structure?”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit let down when I review the first couple of forms of feedback. They said the story structure in my book was awful. It didn’t make any sense and after reading it, I couldn’t have agreed more. The story felt like a pointless Hollywood cash grab like the ones that are typically reboots or reimaginings. There was no structure holding up the story and the characters were dull as dirt. It was discouraging, to say the least, but then I heard about Save the Cat! from my writing friends.
I immediately placed a hold on it at my local library and once the wealth of knowledge was in my hands, I read and I read. I took notes, made astonishing discoveries, and even felt letdown about my writing style while reading, but something happened.
I was no longer focused on the big picture of becoming a successful writer, it was at that moment that I just wanted to be a good writer. Success was my primary objective, but it should have been learning and improvement.
And after that moment I dedicated myself to education on the craft. If I wanted to be any good at it, I had to learn it first. I had already made all the mistakes, so now it was time to do all the real work. Simply doing what I had been doing for so long wasn’t going to work anymore. My fake it untilyou make it mantra had failed me. It only took my 75,344 words and four years of work to realize that.
Enter the Save the Cat! Beat Sheet
The proven method of the 15 beats will help guide you along your written journey and put you on the path to success. Jessica Brody not only goes over them completely in detail but she also offers templates on her website here. She includes examples from popular books to help guide you through understanding.
Here are the first 5 Beats:
The strongest part of any book is an opening. The opening of any novel needs to hook the readers as soon as possible. Literary Agents and Publishers will often only read the first couple of chapters if that. I cannot stress the importance of the opening of a book. This was one of the areas that needed a lot of improvement from my own work. The opening is always tricky because you’re still trying to figure out what your story will be, and usually it won’t arrive until your finished with it. More often than not, you’ll change a large portion of the beginning part of your book once you’ve written the ending.
All in all, my piece of advice is to think critically about the first 5 beats of your story (the opening of your book). They set a lot of things up that will come in later chapters and they will always be your reader’s first impressions of your work. You gotta sell em’ quick!
Now the rest of the beats can be found inside the book. I encourage all those who are just starting out or have been writing for years, to give this book a read. If you read through it and already knew most of it, good for you! But if you’re like me, then you’re going to learn a lot more than you signed up for, and you’re going to want to tell your writer friends about it just like me!
Do you need a beta reading for an upcoming project? Looking for someone to give you honest feedback about your work in progress?
Look no further! I will give you the feedback you’re honestly looking for and the feedback you never thought you’d need. Via Fiverr, I will proofread your work, create written content, and perhaps score you an awesome dream job!
As an avid writer myself, I’ve worked on short stories, poetry, and written a book. I’ve taken various college courses revolving around the ideology behind fictional writing and English proficiency. In my spare time, I enjoy reading just as much as I do writing with fantasy being my biggest genre consumed. I’ve assisted in my day job working for the State of Washington with many content writing projects that were targeted towards leaning the number of words into a much more manageable communication style. I look forward to tackling any project that meets my desk.
Take a deep breath. Don’t panic. Everything will be fine. These are the thoughts running through my head as I write this, and as simple as they seem, they are not. A cape of venerability drapes itself over me with each new word I type, with each part of the information I reveal, but in the midst of the typing, I find myself gaining confidence and letting go. This won’t be for everyone. It might not be for you to read, but if you’ve ever lost someone dear to your heart, then this will be for you. A sort of letter that you will be able to interpret and relate to. My hope is to offer you a helping hand that you may have not had, and if you decide to take it, give you comfort in those dark times.
Death is the hardest obstacle you will encounter in life. The loss of an important person creates a ripple effect that changes the course of your life indefinitely. You will never know what kind of person will come out at the other end of the grief. And maybe you never move past grieving. Death follows you wherever you go. Hide all you want, it will still find you. You may find yourself losing interest in things, your taste buds will turn bland, and you’ll feel gutted inside. The world’s colors will be stripped down to negatives, and you’ll be left feeling entirely alone. Your mind will give birth to anxiety and depression will soon follow. There is no escaping that either. I lost my father at the worst time of my life, and each passing day, I discover more pain, yet in all the misery I found a silver lining.
My father’s health deteriorated faster than I could process. It all started on my way home from a long day at work when I received the call. My heartbeat grew unsteadily and the blood drained from my cheeks leaving a pale canvas. How do I process this news? Why is this really happening, I had just spoken to him yesterday?I promised to spend the weekend with him. I wasn’t prepared for what was to come next. I had so many things that remained unsaid. There were memories we hadn’t made yet. I just become a husband, I needed his guidance more than ever. How was I supposed to be a father without his council? My children would never get to meet the man who made me who I am. To laugh at his jokes like I had. And I wanted to make those memories before the end came.
Childhood was what any person could imagine. My father taught us, children, how to throw the football, gave us a taste for rock n’ roll, and lectured us constantly about the value of morals and values. As his sons, he prepared both my brother and me for the wife we would wed. Manners, chivalry, and respect you name it. He made me promise countless times that I would love her every day like it was my last, and I did. He made me promise that I would take care of the love of his life after his time had come. I never imagined there would be a day where that promise would be tested. What if I couldn’t handle it? What if I wasn’t mature enough to be in charge of such an important task?
Cancer was foreign to me. A colleague’s mother died from breast cancer, and whenever she talked about it, I sort of tuned her out because I didn’t know how to empathize. What can you truly say to mend someone’s wounds? Nothing bad had ever happened to me. I couldn’t begin to comprehend what it meant to have something tear your life apart. When we received his diagnosis, it was August 11th, his birthday. An ironic way to celebrate life with the news of a death in your not to distant future. When my mother informed my wife and me, the words left her mouth like poison, all of our lives changed.
“The doctors found something. Your father has stage IV kidney cancer,” she said with tears streaming down her face, hardly able to hold it together.
What was kidney cancer? Was it lethal? Why did he have it? Was stage IV bad? I couldn’t find an answer to those questions. I was left hopeless. My father was a good person with a loving family, who made the world a profoundly better place. He worked for the state government to provide for his family. He attended a catholic college later in life to have a higher earning power so that his family had what they needed. He was the dad who came to all his kids sporting events, the one who acted interested in all of our conversations, and most importantly, whipped our butts into shape when we were out of line. (I am thankful for that.)
After hearing the news, I convinced myself that the doctor made a mistake. And in my mind, I truly believed that was true.
This time period was difficult for me emotionally, I had yet to put my life completely in God’s hands, and if I had, I would have prayed endlessly to God to heal my father. Month after month, my dad asked God, “Why me?” He told me he cried for months feeling defeated in his sick body, and his concerns bled into my thoughts. I lost my appetite, resulting in loss of weight, I didn’t want to play drums because he gave me that passion. My performance at work noticeably slipped and there were many days I called off just so I could sit in bed and digest. I wanted to be left alone.
Over time silence became my remedy. It allowed me time to heal, but with each new piece of information, those wounds would spread open again. At the time, I started a new job and within the first six months, I already used all my allotted sick leave. I burned through it the second it became available. Management noticed a pattern emerging but I never told anyone about it. I couldn’t be known as that person. The person who used personal dilemmas to dictate their work. Unfortunately, everyone was intelligent enough to see through the ruse. They knew that there was much more than I lead on. But I wouldn’t talk about it, a trait that I inherited from my father. And so I never did, even until the very end.
Two years from his initial diagnosis, my father trudged through his cancer. He burned through treatment after treatment. When one stopped working, another took its place. He was determined to win. And we would be there every step of the way, as a family.
The cancer was first located in his kidney. The doctor performed a complete nephrectomy and said himself that the kidney was the size of a large football. I felt in my heart that after that surgery everything would be okay. They removed the kidney that contained the cancerous cells. His other kidney appeared to be cancer-free. It was the longest day of my life. I hadn’t slept the days proceeding the procedure.
Several months later, cancer returned, but now in different parts of his body: the spine, the sternum, and his right eye. I accompanied a visit with my parents to an Oregon hospital regarding cancer in his eyes. The atmosphere was terrible and the way they treated my father was hard to watch. A lab rat. The scraping of his eye with their imagining machine haunted him. And as a result, the appointment wasn’t a positive one. Cancer rested on the optical nerve. Evidence pointed to a possible spread into his right eye in the future. The defeat in his face was difficult to witness. It killed me. At that moment I had a first-hand account of the difficult news they repeatedly received.
Treatments went on after that appointment, none of which proved to have any lasting results. He got sicker. The color of his hair changed from the salt and pepper color that I’d known to love into to silver-white. His skin turned frail. The treatments were poisoning him. I’d tried to visit as much as I possible could. It was my duty as his son to be there for him, but watching him battle this disease was painful to witness. It open grew harder in time because I knew with each passing day I’d eventually have to say goodbye, and I would never be prepared.
He felt like a burden to his family and his will to fight was slipping. Death seemed the only way for his pain to end. In his final weeks, breathing without the support of a machine grew difficult. His lungs were betraying him.
The last conversation with my father I will never forget. No matter the pain he was in, he always remained happy at the thought of his family. He always asked how we were doing and never let a passing moment go by without telling each one of his children how proud he was of us. And the last moment we had as a family, huddled around his bedside, he said his last conscious farewells. This would be the end. He would look me in the eyes no longer. But we all knew, he would be in pain no more.
And on Sunday, June 9th, my childhood hero passed away from his cancer in the presence of his loved ones and surrounded by love from afar at a hospital that he didn’t care for. God sent nurses with compassion to help us grieve. Tears, runny noses, and whimpering plagued the long colorless hallways and at that moment I faced my biggest fear. The last breath that came from his chest I will never forget. Seeing the glow in his eye fade away into memory broke me beyond repair. I held his hand as long as I could because I knew this would be the last time. I studied every inch of his face so I could remember the man who made me everything I am today. He was no longer a slave to his pain. He was at peace.
As I looked at my father one last time, I was reminded that a piece of me would always remain absent. There was a piece that felt gone. Perhaps it was the part that pained to see him suffer. The part that I carried daily with me and felt while I thought of him. It was guilt I told myself. Guilt that if there was something I could be doing, I should be doing it. I just didn’t know what it was.
The following days after his death, I felt like a ghost inside my body. Every moment I was reminded of him. I crawled my lifeless body upstairs to see the indent where he slept and laid my head in it, wishing that if I fell asleep it would all be a dream. It seemed easier to cope knowing that at any moment all my pain and suffering could be forgotten by the opening of my eyes. But I was left to this reality. It wasn’t the one I wanted to be a part of.
Everyone says, eventually, it gets easier, but it never does. There will never be a day where you don’t miss the ones who have left you. Your wounds will never heal no matter how hard you bandage them. Death destroys all that it touches. Flowers wilt in its presence. Dark days linger year-round. And happiness seems impossible. Your emotions will betray you. One moment you experience a glimpse of happiness but you’re quickly reminded that you cannot be happy, you’ve seen death. Your life will feel like an endless emotional rollercoaster expect there is no exit.
Welcoming death into your life takes adjusting. You will change, but with the help of love and family, none of life’s events seem impossible to cope with. I was reminded why in times of trouble love truly triumphs overall. And although I do believe we all carry this burden to our graves, I do know that with the bonds between us, we are able to move forward productively. The gift of cultivating spouses, mothers, brothers, and friends will always be there to help when we need it.
One of the brilliant lines Albus Dumbledore said in the Harry Potter books was, “Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.” Experiencing your emotions, feeling out what you’re going through with others will help. Holding in your pain will cause permeant damage. My father would have never wanted that, and I know that. I remember the best things about him. All of the jokes he told, the witty smiles he made, and the memories he gave to me.
My father was the greatest man I’ll ever know. There won’t be a day where I won’t miss him. He has left a lasting impression on all of those he has touched with his laughter, joy, and love. There are moments when it will be harder to move forward because he is gone. Becoming a husband and a father in the future will be different without his wise counsel to fall back on. But if there’s one thing he did perfectly as a father, it was giving me all the necessary tools to succeed at both of those roles. His lectures, words, and wisdom will stay close to me, to pass down to my son when the time is right, so that he knows what kind of man his grandfather was.
What is our infatuation with living a perfect image in other people’s heads?
Why do we want people to look up to us?
What is it about impressing people, that we’d go bankrupt to do so?
Idea of impression
The idea that based on what we have, people will like us more is a lie. Unfortunately, It takes some serious life experience in order to understand that.
We live in a society that is built upon materialistic principles. We’re born to believe that the nicer things we have, naturally the more people will be interested in us.
I have fallen victim to this and it has followed me into all stages of my life. Whoever had the coolest car, nicest house, or the newest technology was always the most popular.
In order to combat this idea, we need to change our own perspective. We need to be comfortable with the idea that we won’t be liked by everyone and that’s okay. We need to save ourselves from financial strain by learning before it’s too late.
Buying a nice car to impress a male or female, wearing clothes or jewelry that we cannot afford, and being embarrassed by it, needs to stop.
No one ultimately will care what you own, and if you get in the mindset of one-upping others, you’ll go broke with debt and unhappiness.
Shifting your mind away from others can help you fix this mentality.
Perspective
So what’s the purpose of changing your perspective?
Being that everything has a price in society, the cost of material items can add up rather quickly.
Instead of looking at items in a way that puts us on a higher scale in society, we should look at each item for its practicality. Basically, will it serve a purpose that’s useful to me, or will it just be there for others to see?
If you answer yes to the last question, then you should walk away from that item.
Save yourself before you can barely keep your head above water.
Why?
We all want to feel important, useful, and/or followed by other people. Unfortunately, there isn’t a point where one will stop in order to achieve this. They will hunt at any cost.
We not only lose ourselves in the process of impressing others, but we often can overshadow our own self-worth. We will beat ourselves up because we can’t meet those demands, which in turn will damage us. We will overlook our own needs and desires so that someone else’s is met.
So, why do we try so hard to impress others?
It’s because our society has taught us to do so. The world thrives off of this idea. The big-name company makes millions of dollars and collection companies stay in business because we will often try to buy something we can’t afford using credit. (Which is a talk for another day.)
And what do you do about it now?
Take positive steps in other directions. Ones that do not include “those” groups of people. Make different friends.
Look to do something for yourself. Like achieving a personal goal.
Plan out decisions, rather than making ones at the moment.
Know when to say no, and understand that people won’t like it.
The world of Harry Potter has contributed a great deal of happiness to many people. It has created a community that welcomes anyone. With the creation of Fantastic Beasts, The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, and Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Harry Potter is the idea that we can all carry our imagination firmly into adulthood. That the thoughts we had as children are never too childish to abandon, and I think that’s powerful. Powerful because our world lacks the amount of imagination and creativity that it needs. I say with certainty, that when people explore a love for Harry Potter it ultimately makes the world a better place.
Now the character of Harry was one that I had very little in common with. I lacked the physical appearance (although I greatly resembled that of Draco Malfoy), had both of my parents living, and did not live in Little Whinging, a fictitious town in Surrey just south of London. We did however share the uncertainty of a new world and aching for it’s true purpose. Harry encounters many situations that each one of us do in life: the death of family, being different from the status quo, and living up to people’s expectations. That’s something I adore about the character, he is just as human as we are. He isn’t rich, doesn’t have super powers, isn’t the most popular person in school, and doesn’t always get things right the first time. All of these I can admit to sharing.
During my childhood I had a strong imagination, and I used that imagination to establish worlds that I found in my favorite children’s books. Lucky enough for me, I was raised on a farm that had lots of land to play. This land gave me the space to do whatever I wanted. It was during this period of time when Harry Potter entered my life. I quickly learned to love the books. Even going a step further to reenact scenes from the story in my backyard. I was convinced that these stories were written for me. I remember having friends over and dressing up as our favorite characters, mine was always Harry. I had his house robes, his replica wand, and even a can of black hair paint so that I could look like him. Those were the best of times. Thankfully, my parents were very supportive in this period of time.
The films first entered my life at the age of five. My sister and cousin were headed off to the premier of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, and although I was absent from the screening, my sister gave a detailed review. At that moment I hadn’t realized how much of an impact it would ultimately have in my life. Sorcerer’s Stone would be the only movie from that point forward that I missed. I went to the premiere of all the following movies (often seeing it multiple times). Stretching ten spectacular years, I grew up with the films. I matured with the films and entered adulthood when the series concluded just as the actors had. It was sad to see the final film, as I knew something truly special had ended, but I was grateful that I could have been a part of the phenomenon from the very start.
Something I value greatlyabout this franchise, are the themes that J.K. Rowling incorporated. Friendship, love, and sacrifice to name a few. The friendship between Harry, Ron, and Hermione taught me that friendship is the strongest bond that any person can make with another. Friendship was something to trust, and something to value close to your heart. The theme of love in the story was done in a way where sacrifice became necessary. It was after all Lily’s love for Harry that saved him from He Who Must Not Be Named. It was love that made the story of Harry Potter possible. Love is an element that all humans look to find. Love is something worth sacrificing over. I did not understand just how important love was to the world around us until Harry Potter taught that to me.
The question I’ve received the most times from other fans has always been what my favorite book in the series is and without a doubt it’s book three. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban hit me at a rough patch in my life. I was the age of nine, and started to become more aware of the world around me. My innocent idea of the world was slowly being muddied away. I started to experience fear for the first time and realized that eventually I’d have to grow up and face those fears. Just like Harry does in the story. Another part about book three that ranks it number one is the message about depression. Rowling has expressed that the idea of the dementors came from her constant depression and although I didn’t understand the concept at that age, I could feel the darkness enter my life. Depression is something everyone struggles with at some period of their life, and the story shows us that it isn’t something to lose hope over. It is something to fight and push forward against. Albus Dumbledore said in the screen adaptation, “Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.” Although book three is quite darker than some of the other books, I believe it to be the best.
When I entered adulthood I, without knowing, was slowly abandoning my imagination. I forgot about Harry Potter, the childhood that I created, and the person I truly was. It was not until years later when I reread the first book that I realized I was missing something important in my life. It was at this point that I reread the series, rewatched the movies, and entered the community once more. It was also at this moment where I would finally determine who I wanted to be for the rest of my life; A writer. From that point on I’ve welcomed back my true self, and wiped away the person that society wanted me to be. Each day writing gives me a nostalgic feeling from my painted black hair and robe wearing days. I can smile knowing that Harry Potter was at the nucleus of it all.
In closing, Harry Potter is just as brilliant as the mind behind it and her mind is brilliant. I think it’s one of the reason I can connect to it so much. J.K. was at a point in her life when she made a decision, took a risk, and showed the world her dreams. I think that if anyone is to take anything from this it would be this statement. J.K. Rowling will leave this world better than when she entered it. Don’t we all want to leave the world better than it was before us? Whether it’s with literature, music, or perhaps just some honest kindness. The world has truly benefited from Harry Potter, I know that I have and I am truly thankful for her story telling.
People will argue that not everyone deserves to be happy, but I would disagree. Everyone deserves happiness at some point in their life, if not all throughout. Happiness is such an important concept for individuals to achieve because ultimately that is the human goal: to achieve our desires, to have the ones around us to share those successes with, and to be able to worry less and live more.
What are the basic qualifications one must do to meet this goal?
First, we need to understand what happiness is and know that it does not have a uniform meaning or message. It won’t be the same for everyone.
Happiness is the feeling of warmth around one’s heart and the enjoyment of constantly knowing that they’re doing the best that they can.
Happiness is different for each person and there is no universal definition as to what brings us the feeling. There are several things that make me happy but only a few that top them all. They include exploring with the ones I love, creating memories with my family, and finding a good inner relationship with myself. These things make me feel complete and provide me with peace.
Now more people than just myself could agree that those things make them happy as well, but do they have to meet those requirements to be happy? No, those are just things that bring my individual happiness. As a person needs to find what those are for themselves. No one has the ability, with confidence, to tell another what to do to make them happy. (I dare not try).
How through suffering we can find a deeper meaning
Through out life we are hit with events that stray us from the path of happiness. These events persuade us to think that it is truly impossible to be happy. Events as stated could be the loss of a loved one, losing your great job because the economy tanked, or getting into an accident that leaves you needing to take care of yourself medically. You can agree that these events are forms of suffering and misfortune.
Suffering, like happiness, is a point of view. We can look at terrible events and learn from them in a healthy way or we can simply do nothing. Understanding why things happen will ultimately change our lives forever, because you’ll never find that answer. There won’t be an explanation.
When a parent loses a child, that parent believes that all is lost. And although I believe no parent should have to bury their child, our world is cruel and wicked. The parent of a lost child will suffer but ultimately they will need to decide what to do next. They can forever put themselves in misery about what happened or they can make their child’s life meaningful.
My father passed away with cancer, and I ask myself often why he deserved that diagnosis. He, himself, asked that same question but there was never an adequate explanation, even from his doctors. As of lately, my happiness has dramatically dropped. I feel gutted on the inside. And what little feeling I have left inside me, is pain. It’s easier to let that pain consume me, but I know, now, in my heart that my father would have never wanted me to live a life of misery over this. Instead, he would have wanted me to enjoy life, smile, inside and out, and honor my wife and family. As hard as it is without him, and truly it is hard, I know that he will always be with me on the inside. And I find happiness in that thought.
Everyone deserves to be happy, but deciding what kind of happiness we want is the real question. We can search for a truer sense of happiness that lies in much more complicated things.
When you understand that happiness is a fluid, ever-changing and diverse concept, which applies to everyone in unique ways, you will gain the best piece of evidence to show yourself that you’re onto something special.
The Beatles caught on to something interestedly special with this song. As I get older, I find myself thinking about the meaning behind this song more often. When I first heard the song, it was on my father’s “louder than required” home stereo, and I just recollect the smirk on his face. Once the song was finished, he turned to me to see my expression. I had a grin from earlobe to earlobe. Wow, what a great song! I thought. That’s where a true love for the song originated, with my father.
In twenty-three years of life, I’ve seen the crueler side of people. Strangers who yell at you, who are aggressive, and verbally damaging to your moral. As if you don’t already have a feeling that the world has lost all of the good bits. Sadly, you only come across this more and more everyday you grow up. This brings peoples guards up which can result in surface level relationships, back stabbing, and gossip. Don’t you ever want that to stop? Is your guard up constantly from previous verbal trauma? The only sort of cure or remedy that I’ve discovered is love.
Love is the most powerful and complicated sensation that exists. It binds us all together and it could tear us all apart. It’s fragile, delicate, and requires a bit of nurturing, but it’s rewarding. Rewarding in the way that you’re surrounded by people who cheer you on in life’s difficulties. A support system that truly heals the body and mind. Love can make the cruelest person modify their behavior.
Everyone must think that we are meant to be surrounded by other people, and when you see people who choose to isolate themselves you should ask yourself why. Why is that person choosing, perhaps not willingly, to separate themselves from everyone? Isolation can breed into many other things: hate, insecurity, and pain. Why would you want any one to go through that, let alone at your own hands?
The answer to the question could lie in the very environment that surrounds you. Ask yourself these three questions:
Do people around you lift each other up in support?
Is there negativity or toxicity that prohibits people from showing their emotions?
And finally, how are you treating others around you?
If any of those answer make you uncomfortable, then you need to correct it right away. Why should anyone have to deal with those kinds of feelings? It’s painful and leaves scares that in time will hurt themselves or others.
I’ve always found socializing tremendously difficult. I’m awkward, weird, and I don’t live like most people my age which makes it difficult to have a relationship that exists deeper than the surface. But I want to do things differently. I want to put love into this world and never leave a situation where I wished I should have acted differently. I want to put the time in to a relationship that is bound by love.
I’ll leave you with the following question. How much love do you see in your world? Could it possibly benefit from more?
I know that my wife and I travel uncharted seas into the unforeseeable future, but we know that love is all we need to make it through.
“And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”
― Sylvia Plath
Writing is, in its truest form, a beautiful picture that you get to paint inside the heads of your readers. Before long, they will know the characters as if they’re real and believe that they too had a part in something much bigger. A real sense of belonging and purpose. But why would anyone want to spend most of their lives typing behind a computer to entertain others? Are people who have a passion for writing crazy? Is it truly worth all the hard work?
A passion for writing is powerful. Having the opportunity to voice your opinion, share your stories, and dream about what could be, is so fulfilling. I remember when I first discovered my interest in the subject. In college I read many fantasy books, old-fashioned literary stories, and lots of self-help books. I was hooked. The way words could be arranged on a piece of paper and have such a profoundly deep impact on the reader was like nothing I had ever experienced before. No matter where I was in life, happy or sad, scared or depressed, literature offered an escape.
Some of the toughest moments in my life were medicated with a good book. As funny as this may be to admit, books saved my life. I no longer felt alone because Harry Potter felt alone too. I no longer felt like a directionless compass because Gandalf taught us, “Not all those who wander are lost.” Words are fantastic things. You write them about people and they can hurt. Words can admit joy, laughter, and sometimes even tears. All of these feelings I felt compelled to share with others. If you as a writer can capture their emotions and take them along with you on a journey outside of their norm, then you’ve truly succeeded. Replacing the chaos in everyday life with an emotion that makes them feel better about themselves is something special.
Unfortunately, being able to do that as a writer is super difficult. It’s often even more so embarrassing because you have to be terrible at it, before you can be any good. There is no “he/she was just born with it,” you actually have to work your butt off to learn all the rules, all the genres, and most importantly, the practice of writing. You have to write when you want to sleep, write when you’d rather be on vacation, and write even when you don’t have the urge to do so. What separates a true writer from those who just love the idea is discipline. You need to set routines, schedules, goals and keep to them strictly. First rule you need to learn is to not put all your eggs into one basket. You’re most likely not going to write a hit novel your first time. (Boy did I have a tough time with this one. I believed I had a gold mine story, and then three years later I was still working on it. I excused my behavior with the normal statements, but the idea itself wasn’t very compelling to anyone other than me.)
So why choose to write you ask? Writing seems extremely difficult to be any good at it and it is not the most prestigious career to fall into, but the freedom is worth it. In the private or public sector of work you’re told what to do, how to do it, and when to do it. It’s incredibly difficult to infuse new ideas into a system that has worked for so many years, but the truth is not everyone is the same. Having a free thinking mind is powerful. You pick the direction you want to focus on, and you choose when the world will see that vision. If you want to stop midway through your project and work on something else, you’re certainly entitled to. What a beauty that is? Fantasy one month or a murder mystery the next. The possibilities are truly endless.
As a writer you will challenged yourself to always be the best you can be. You will fail a lot, something that I myself am waiting to figure out. You’ll be rejected by many. But if you are to make one person happy with your writing then the rest will melt away. Always have faith that you can achieve the impossible, because if you don’t, no one can.
I want to leave you with one more inspirational quote for you to think about, and remind you one more thing. The sword is just as mighty as the pen like Edward Bulwer- Lytton said, and I believe, even more so influential.
Catastrophe stars Rob Delaney and Sharon Horgan as Rob and Sharon, two people from different cultures. Rob is an American businessman whereas Sharon is an Irish primary teacher living in London.
Rob comes to London on a business trip and bumps into Sharon on a late night. They quickly start to acquire a liking for each other, and decide to mess around for a couple days, no strings attached. But quickly, strings do become attached as Sharon realizes she’s pregnant.
Catastrophe follows Rob and Sharon maneuvering parenthood together while they clash culturally, and face problems from each other’s past.
Catastrophe runs 4 seasons with Rob Delaney and Sharon Horgan as writers and actors starring.
My thoughts
After watching all four seasons of Catastrophe, I would say that this show is brilliant! And it’s brilliant on so many levels. The humor is always present. The dynamic between Rob and Sharon is exciting. They bounce jokes and humor off of each other in a way that’s interesting to watch. Many times I had to pause the show just to laugh. The humor is a mix of American and British, which for those who are not accustomed to, can take some getting used to.
Rob
The character of Rob is one I admired greatly. He, at times, doesn’t know what to do with his life. He struggles with being a father, and a good husband in the twenty-first century whilst battling an alcohol addiction. I think that Rob’s character is a great representation of many twenty-first century men. His level of humanity made the character much more relatable to watch.
Sharon
Sharon is down right hilarious. Her Irish accent and Irish heritage make her easy to like. She’s pretty bad ass. She’s the coolest teacher you wish you’d had growing up, and has a carefree mindset that constantly gets her into tight situations.
The Core of Catastrophe
Even though I did not write this show, Catastrophe really thrives on its honesty, and I believe that’s what the show was really written to show.
The picture television shows paint these days is always a perfect one. Everyone lives in beautiful homes, drives awesome cars, and never seems to have to work. Seriously, no one in TV ever goes to work. Are they even normal people? The answer is no, they are not normal people.
However, Catastrophe is the complete opposite. It does feature people who have money struggles, don’t drive awesome cars, and live a pretty normal life.
Catastrophe’s success is built off the idea that these people are very accurate representations of the real world.
They’re faced with scenarios that we all encounter in our day-to-day lives. They hit rock bottom, fight and argue, and mess up constantly.
It’s easy to sit back and watch an episode play out, and think “yeah, I’ve been there before” or “I can relate to that”.
Seasons 1-4
I’ve seen more often than not, that the longer a show runs, the more watered down it becomes. After a couple seasons, people leave and faces change but in Catastrophe that’s not the case.
The show starts on a high note, and indeed ends that way too.
Although I would enjoy more seasons, I believe it was a great decision to end at season 4.
You probably should call it quits before it totally starts to suck.
Overall, I would greatly recommend watching this show. If you’re looking for something that will make you laugh and something you can actually relate to, Catastrophe is that show.
Alexander Richter 