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Immortality (In a Box)

An author usually doesn't strike it rich.

So, in the meantime, they often have to find alternatives to paying the bills each month. So, I do Author Services - I work with all sorts of wonderful people to make their goals, hopes, and dreams happen. So while I market and edit, format and design for everyone else, they can just write. (More on Author Services HERE)

One of the clients I have is a lovely lady from Idaho named Nita Killebrew, wife of the late baseball legend Harmon Killebrew. We started on what is eventually going to be a memoir on Harmon's life last spring with audio sessions last Spring. How does one do justice to a giant of a man? What does one do with a trove of priceless memories?

Almost at once, I knew I was dealing with something special. In a way, the spirit of Harmon Killebrew, a man I've never actually met, lingers still - in the voices and faces of countless people his life touched. In a humble way, as I work to weave all these innumerable sources into a coherent story, I'm handling a gossamer thread of immortality. Here is a person who is remembered. Entire ancient cultures hang on this single nail. Remembrance.

A box arrived through the mail awhile ago. I just finished sifting through its contents. Handmade Valentines Day cards from grandchildren. Countless newspaper clippings from across the country. Major League Baseball accolades and official thank-you's. Personal fan-mail. Eulogy copies. A paper-life. A shadow of a life. Memories. Snap-shots.

Right now, my mind is searching for a single congruent thread (but there's just so much!). It's relatively easy to pick out a card for someone - easier for those industrious Hallmark card writers to say what we struggle to say sometimes. While so many important national and international organizations sent their thank-you's and condolences for Harmon, I found it was the smudged color pencil drawings from the grandchildren which made me smile most. It was the nervous fan mail which caught my heart best. It was the ordinary people who said it best. It was the little children who were most eloquent with their raw creative talent.

I think this is something astounding.

I think this something someone needs to yell on the street-corners about.

In a world full of marketing experts and Twitter firestorms, the words which really mattered were those written in ignorminity. They are the greathearts whose words matter. They are the ones who speak with simple power. They are the ones whose works we keep, hither-thither scrap-book style, squirreled away in our secret places about the house. Posts and updates and tweets and likes and follows and shares... it seems they exist more for feeding the mortally hungry algorithms than anything else. The things that matter are the things that we physically save and consciencely struggle to remember.

I find myself now more than ever following in the footsteps of those who went on before me. I too hope that one day I will be remembered by my life by those who love me best. Because maybe I've lived a life worth a damn. One where I chased after more than just dollars and fame, power and notoriety.

Guess we'll see...

- Ryan


My next fantasy epic, Nameless, is being sent off to publishers in New York right now! Helping me with some media buzz would be, you know, really nice. Please share and comment this post, and any others you like! If you haven't already, leave an Amazon review on my books - Like me on FaceBook - follow me on Twitter - ask me questions - show those publishers you like my stuff! It'll help make traditionally publishing my stories a reality.

Also! If you or someone you know is an artist (writer, traditional art, designer, photographer, etc) send 'em my way! I do a series called #WriFri where I feature other artists! - I'd love to help share the limelight with others.


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