I wrote this piece the other day called, Damn It Jim, I’m a Write-A-Holic Not a Perfectionist. You can find that piece HERE. If you missed it, feel free to take the time to look at it. Just for the record, this blog won’t be even a third of that length (I hope, says the writer).

If you don’t want to read the piece, this will sadden me, but let me give you the gist of it: My friend John was attempting to write the perfect story. He wrote a long post about it to which I responded by sprinkling my thoughts throughout it.

Admittedly John and I are quite different, but we’re also the same in a couple of important aspects. He’s a lot more laid back than I am. I’m a little brasher than he is. He yells yippee and I don’t. He’s a visionary and I just have vision. John is probably loved more than I am (he’s a loveable guy).

We both believe in telling stories that not only entertain, but move people in some way or other. We both experiment a lot within our writing. We both have that free style writing speeding through our veins. We both have too many ideas than we will ever write.

John and I are friends and I think our friendship could be somewhere closer to brothers from different mothers.

We both believe writing shouldn’t be writing, but should be story telling and that stories shouldn’t be told in that same cookie cutter way that a lot of authors have chosen to write in. We both feel that it is not our right to… well, write. It’s a privilege for us to tell you, the readers, stories. We enjoy it.

My friend, John—JAM to those that know him—finished his perfect story today. He posted it in his private office for those of us that are members in it to read. It clocks in at around 6300 words. I haven’t read it yet, but I do have it printed out and I plan on reading it, hopefully, tonight.

Really, this is not about writing, but more about our friendship. And I’m not going to go into a lot of details.

You see dedications in books. This is dedicated to the one I love. This is dedicated to the person that cut me off in traffic. This is dedicated to a dead saint from the homeless shelter. Whatever the reason, folks dedicate books to other folks.

My friend, John, dedicated his perfect story to me.

Yeah, what’s wrong with him, right?

No, not so much. John’s a crazy guy, but in a good way. Ask Linda. She’ll tell you.

When I read his blurb before printing the story out, I was silenced. I was… humbled. It was a simple dedication:

I dedicate it to AJ Brown

See, not much at all. There was more before and after that, but those six words made me stop, reread it. Sure, the story has not been published (yet) but the fact that he thought to even write those words humbled me.

I hope that his thinking behind that is because I did something good, that I had some impact on him. I know John has had an impact on me and my writing and has helped me a lot over the last couple of years.

So, without going into a ton of details, I just want to thank my friend, John, for putting up with me. Holy cow I’m difficult sometimes. Thank you for being a good friend, even when I’ve lost my cool and have ranted like a drunken sailor out to sea.

And thank you for humbling me…

Until we meet again, my friends…

One thought on “Humbled

  1. Well, you’re humbled now. But you haven’t read the story. I’ll bet you’re not feel so humbled after reading the story, because it’s not the best story in the world. Yet, at the same time, for me it is. The reason it ends the way it does is directly related to something you wrote about only one person being able to write the perfect story. That one sentence bled over and impacted this story. That and your words from the past blog.

    Why do we do the things we do? Why do we write the things we write? Why do we think we have a grasp of this thing called “writing,” then feel it slipping away a month or two later?

    Sometimes I just have to shut up. Sometimes I just have to sit down and write, let the story out. Because in the end, the story is all that matters.

    Thank you.


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