Katdish.net

This will be my final giveaway of Paper Angels by Billy Coffey. Thanks to everyone who has helped spread the word about Billy Coffey’s second (and in my opinion) best book to date. I truly believe this is the kind of book that, once you read it, you will want to share with others. . You may enter as often as you like, and there are several ways to enter:

• Leave a comment here indicating you would like to be entered into the drawing.
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to this post. (Please be sure to let me know you’re doing so by adding @katdish and the #PaperAngels hash tag to the end of your tweet or sharing the Facebook link with me.)
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to the Paper Angels Amazon page letting people know it is available for pre-order.
• Ditto Barnes & Noble
• Ditto Books-a-Million
• Ditto Indie-Bound

Each of the aforementioned actions will constitute one entry into the drawing.Enter early, enter often.

This week’s winner is Jamie Worley. Congrats, Jamie!

Thanks again to everyone for participating and helping spread the word about Paper Angels. And now I’ll share one more Christmas story from Billy.

Christmas Wishes

A few days ago, the local newspaper dedicated a few of their pages to children’s letters to Santa. It’s been a tradition with the News-Leader ever since I can remember, and I applaud them for it. Not only are the letters informative and at times very touching, they also bring back a little nostalgia. I was six when my letter to Santa appeared in the newspaper. I knew then I wanted to be a writer when I grew up.

If you look at these letters every year, and I do, you realize some things. First, toys have changed over the years. Footballs and baseball gloves have been replaced by i-Pods and Playstations. Things are a lot more electronic now. Still, there are presents that defy time and reach across generations. I was happy to see that both doll babies and Legos were still in high demand.

But though the toys have changed, the children haven’t. Say what you want about test scores being lower than they were twenty years ago or kids being more lethargic than they once were. Kids are still kids, and always will be. This is a good thing.

And you realize this, too: these letters to Santa could well be prayers to God. They are full of longings and wishes, pleas and hope, all directed to someone they know can help them. And the sorts of things these kids ask for aren’t really all that different than mine.

Things like faith in the midst of doubt. Take Jackson, for instance:

“Are you real, Santa? Or are you a phony? People say you are, some say not. I don’t know if you are, but when I’m older I’m going to find out…I hope your real that’s my belief…But one thing I want to do, to make proof that Santa’s real. So I can keep my belief.”

I’m right there with you, Jackson. “I believe, help my unbelief,” said the man to Jesus. And so say we all.

There is also the nagging sense that I’m not measuring up. “I hope you think I have been good this year,” says Sarah. A sentiment echoed by a lot of other kids in a lot of other letters. Some are more honest: “Sometimes I’m good, but sometimes I’m bad,” wrote Kevin. Aren’t we all? Which is the point, I think. We’re not good enough to deserve all the things we ask, and yet there they are, under the tree every year. Why? Because Santa knows even though we’re not so good sometimes, we’re still worth much. To kids, this sort of thing is called love. To adults, it’s called grace.

Of course, prayers are not all about me. There are plenty of other people who need help, too. They range from the small (“I wish you can help my mom get the tree out of the attic,” writes Megan) to the big (“All I want is my six teeth and my papa to feel better. I want my Meme to get to Maryland fine, and my family together for the holidays”–Jasmine).

And then there are the prayers that are said out of pain (“My daddy back. My daddy leave and we lonely have mommy, me and my dog”–Brittney).

There are also the ones said out of pure love (“I know this is going to be a bad Christmas for some kids. so I want you to give my presents to the kids who won’t be getting anything this year. God bless everyone!”–ZayVon).

I’m not sure if all those letters were answered the way the kids wanted them. That’s okay. Not all of our prayers get answered that way, either. But even if they weren’t, I feel pretty confident that all those kids will be writing letters again next year. Santa always come through in the end.

God, too.

Yep. The giveaways continue, but only until Christmas. Enter early enter often. Thanks to everyone who has helped spread the word about Billy Coffey’s second (and in my opinion) best book to date. I considered ending the giveaways after the release date, but I truly believe this is the kind of book that, once you read it, you will want to share with others. . You may enter as often as you like, and there are several ways to enter:

• Leave a comment here or on subsequent “Best of Billy Coffey” posts each Monday indicating you would like to be entered into the drawing.
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to this post and/or subsequent posts. (Please be sure to let me know you’re doing so by adding @katdish and the #PaperAngels hash tag to the end of your tweet or sharing the Facebook link with me.)
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to the Paper Angels Amazon page letting people know it is available for pre-order.
• Ditto Barnes & Noble
• Ditto Books-a-Million
• Ditto Indie-Bound

Each of the aforementioned actions will constitute one entry into the drawing. If you don’t win this week, each of your entries will go back into the drawing. Winners will be chosen at random and will be announced the following Monday. Enter early, enter often, and check back here each week for new opportunities to win.

This week’s winner is Jenn from A Love Affair with Words. Congrats, Jenn!

As we get closer to Christmas, I wanted to share a letter from the perspective of Joseph–Jesus’s other dad–as only Billy could write. Enjoy.

Joseph’s Christmas

image courtesy of photobucket.com

Hey folks.

Name’s Joseph. Joseph who, you ask? Joseph of Nazareth. Jesus’s Pop. The other father. No, no. That’s okay. No offense taken. I’m used to kind of being the guy in the corner, the mystery man. I don’t mind, though. Promise.

I just wanted to tell everybody Merry Christmas, and thought this would be the best way to do it. Computers. Who could have dreamed that one up back in my day? It would have seemed impossible. But I’ve seen plenty of the impossible. Nothing much surprised me after that night.

Everybody considers Santa to be the father of Christmas, but I guess I could share that title. Which is funny, because I tend to be left out of things. The focus is on Jesus, as it should be, and then Mary. Angels. Shepherds. Wise men. There’s a lot going on in the Christmas story. But me, I’m just the guy standing beside the manger in the Nativity scene. Not a lot of people understand my side of the story. Which is another reason why I’m here.

Christmas is a lot of things to a lot of people. For many, it’s the greatest time of the year. It’s a time for joy and togetherness, for peace and love. For some, though, Christmas isn’t what it should be. It can be lonely and depressing and scary. I knew both sides of Christmas on that night. I knew both the magic and the hardship.

You have to remember, Mary and I were far from home. Bethlehem is about seventy miles from Nazareth. The going wasn’t easy, especially for her. There she was, nine months pregnant and having to ride a donkey all that way. We slept on the hard ground and had to deal with the weather. It was tough. And to make matters worse, we were travelling that far just to get taxed.

Love,
Joseph

November 9, the official release date for Paper Angels has come and gone. Thanks to everyone who has helped spread the word about Billy Coffey’s second (and in my opinion) best book to date. I considered ending the giveaways after the release date, but I truly believe this is the kind of book that, once you read it, you will want to share with others. . You may enter as often as you like, and there are several ways to enter:

• Leave a comment here or on subsequent “Best of Billy Coffey” posts each Monday indicating you would like to be entered into the drawing.
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to this post and/or subsequent posts. (Please be sure to let me know you’re doing so by adding @katdish and the #PaperAngels hash tag to the end of your tweet or sharing the Facebook link with me.)
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to the Paper Angels Amazon page letting people know it is available for pre-order.
• Ditto Barnes & Noble
• Ditto Books-a-Million
• Ditto Indie-Bound

Each of the aforementioned actions will constitute one entry into the drawing. If you don’t win this week, each of your entries will go back into the drawing. Winners will be chosen at random and will be announced the following Monday. Enter early, enter often, and check back here each week for new opportunities to win.

This week’s winner is Louise Gallagher. Congrats, Louise!

Since I’ve yet to pull out the Christmas decorations, I thought I’d revisit this post from Billy in the hopes that it would inspire me to do so.

The heart of the tree

I’m a linear guy when it comes to decorating for Christmas. That means working from the outside in. Lights on the trees, garland on the porch banisters, wreathes on the windows, spotlights in the yard. When all that is done and right—and it always has to be right—we’ll move to the inside: nativities, candles, lights.

The tree comes last. Always has, too, even when I was a child. I think that’s as it should be. The manger is the soul of Christmas and the reason we celebrate our blessed assurance, but the tree is its heart. I firmly believe that. It is in most instances placed in the room in which we gather and spend our time together, whether living room or family room. We wrap them with lights that by some magic seem to cast a glow upon us that seems warmer than any sun and more comfortable than any blanket. We place stars or angels at the apex to remind us of what shone in that bright sky so many years ago as heralds of the Good News to all men.

But if the heart of Christmas is the tree, the heart of the tree is its ornaments.

It was only this year I realized that, and I have my children to thank for it. The tree had been set and straightened in its stand, the lights had been strung, and the star had been put up. Both kids were in the throes of the seasonal hyperactivity that seems to pour out of them once the Xs on the calendar creep toward December. But the constant torrent of that excitement began to ebb and flow once the box of ornaments was opened.

They quieted.

It was not the sort of silence that signifies boredom or joyless work. It was instead an almost holy stillness, the sort of which I would imagine accompanies some great discovery long buried by dirt and time.

They didn’t reach for the shiny baubles purchased on sale at Target, not even the Star Wars or Winnie the Pooh ornaments from the Hallmark store. What my kids reached for were the treasures wrapped in paper towels and tissues that had over the last eleven months slipped through the cracks to the bottom of the box. The ones that cost nothing but time and effort. The ones they made themselves.

Chances are you have the same sort of thing on your own trees. The house made out of a school milk carton. The reindeer made out of clothespins. A bell made out of a Styrofoam cup.

They sorted these ornaments into their own separate pile. Only after they were secure (and only after repeated pleas by both of them for me not to sit on them) did they reach for the fancier accessories. They tied bows and plugged in the mechanical ornaments. My daughter hung the colored bulbs by rainbow order. It was all lively and punctuated by jokes and cheer—the flow. But every few trips to the tree would be to hang one of their own ornaments onto the tree, ones made in kindergarten or pre-school or even last year. Those trips would be made in that awed silence–the ebb.

I didn’t ask my children why they acted such. I wasn’t sure if they knew, and I wasn’t about to spoil their unknowing. They’ll learn that soon enough.

In a few short years what my children see as the magic of Christmas will yield to a new understanding. They will know that Santa isn’t real, but that their memories are. They can see them each year as they hang them on the tree and all their outward talk turns to talk directed inward. They’ll remember where they were when they made them, whom they were with, what they were feeling. They will glimmer in the sun during the day and in the bright lights during the evening. They will look and they will remember.

Maybe that’s where all the warmth of a Christmas tree comes from. Not from the lights, but the thoughts.

That’s what I think now. Christmas is a time where memories are made tangible and we glimpse the thin line of life that connects our yesterdays and tomorrows, all wrapped up in milk cartons and pipe cleaners.

They’re fragile, like us.

Precious, like us.

November 9, the official release date for Paper Angels has come and gone. Thanks to everyone who has helped spread the word about Billy Coffey’s second (and in my opinion) best book to date. I considered ending the giveaways after the release date, but I truly believe this is the kind of book that, once you read it, you will want to share with others. . You may enter as often as you like, and there are several ways to enter:

• Leave a comment here or on subsequent “Best of Billy Coffey” posts each Monday indicating you would like to be entered into the drawing.
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to this post and/or subsequent posts. (Please be sure to let me know you’re doing so by adding @katdish and the #PaperAngels hash tag to the end of your tweet or sharing the Facebook link with me.)
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to the Paper Angels Amazon page letting people know it is available for pre-order.
• Ditto Barnes & Noble
• Ditto Books-a-Million
• Ditto Indie-Bound

Each of the aforementioned actions will constitute one entry into the drawing. If you don’t win this week, each of your entries will go back into the drawing. Winners will be chosen at random and will be announced the following Monday. Enter early, enter often, and check back here each week for new opportunities to win.

This week’s winner is Joseph Baran. Congrats, Joseph!

This week’s post is from August of 2009. Billy reminds us that big plans and good intentions are all well and good, but the mere act of showing up often first and foremost.

Showing Up

November 9, the official release date for Paper Angels has come and gone. Thanks to everyone who has helped spread the word about Billy Coffey’s second (and in my opinion) best book to date. I considered ending the giveaways after the release date, but I truly believe this is the kind of book that, once you read it, you will want to share with others. . You may enter as often as you like, and there are several ways to enter:

• Leave a comment here or on subsequent “Best of Billy Coffey” posts each Monday indicating you would like to be entered into the drawing.
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to this post and/or subsequent posts. (Please be sure to let me know you’re doing so by adding @katdish and the #PaperAngels hash tag to the end of your tweet or sharing the Facebook link with me.)
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to the Paper Angels Amazon page letting people know it is available for pre-order.
• Ditto Barnes & Noble
• Ditto Books-a-Million
• Ditto Indie-Bound

Each of the aforementioned actions will constitute one entry into the drawing. If you don’t win this week, each of your entries will go back into the drawing. Winners will be chosen at random and will be announced the following Monday. Enter early, enter often, and check back here each week for new opportunities to win.

Thanks in advance for helping get the word out about Paper Angels. If you’re not big into contests, I still encourage you to head over to Amazon or another online retailer and order a copy. I know once you read it you will recommend it to a friends and family, and word of mouth advertising is the very best kind.

I chose this week’s post because Mr. Chen shares a common thread with the main character of Paper Angels, Andy Sommerville in that he is broken and trying to find his way. Both serve to remind us that God’s light often shines the brightest through those broken vessels and that we need not be whole in order to help others.

Mr. Chen

image courtesy of photobucket.com

His name is Mr. Chen.

I would never know of him if it weren’t for the article in GQ, a nine page account of despair and hopelessness that, when finished, convinced me of this one irrevocable fact—Mr. Chen is an overweight, black-toothed, chain-smoking, borderline alcoholic. And he is also my hero.

Most days you will find him on the South Tower of the Nanjing Yangtze River Bridge in Nanjing, China. A big bridge, that one. One hundred and thirty feet high and four miles long, with a four-lane highway on the top deck and two railroad tracks on the bottom. Five hundred thousand tons of cement and a million tons of steel.

He stands guard there, sometimes up to six hours a day, armed with a pair of binoculars and a moped. What Mr. Chen does isn’t his job. That’s reserved for the transportation company in the city proper. I suppose it couldn’t be considered a hobby either, given the seriousness of what he does there. Consider it his calling, I suppose. A holy one.

Because every day, every day, at least one of the citizens of Nanjing comes to the bridge for one purpose: to jump. And Mr. Chen is there to stop them.

It began some years ago when he read an article in the newspaper about the suicides on the bridge. Mr. Chen took up his post at the South Tower soon thereafter. Since then, he has pulled 174 people from taking the leap into the river or onto the concrete below.

There are others he cannot reach in time.

“…middle-aged man jumped off bridge where the body fell to the flower bed,” says one of his blog entries. “…died on the spot.” “Speaking in northern accent, man gave me a cigarette, said: Alas! Wives and children…” “Next to statue at southwest fort, man died jumping to concrete, one leg thrown from body, only blackened blood left behind. Meaningless life!”

Day after day this man stands guard, peering through the smog with his binoculars, looking for someone who lingers just a bit too long at the bridge’s edge. He will calmly speak with some, offer a cigarette to others, and some, he says, respond only when he hits them. Whatever it takes to get them off the bridge.

Mr. Chen scoffs at the idea that he’s a guardian angel. He’s no angel, he says. Yet for those who live in a city full of emptiness and empty of hope, that’s exactly what he is.

I read that article and wondered of that emptiness. I remembered the kind I felt once upon a time. The sort that now at a distance seems small but then certainly seemed jump-worthy.

And I wondered this, too:

The emptiness Mr. Chen fights is the same emptiness that lies not just in me, but in everyone.

The question isn’t whether we have holes.

The question is what we do with them.

Mr. Chen came from a broken home. An empty one. He says it’s that brokenness that keeps him on that bridge day after day. I wonder if he’d be there if his childhood had been full. Somehow I don’t think so.
That’s what I want to say to you today. Yes, you. Because I can’t take a peek into your life, can’t see what you see or feel what you feel, but I know you need the reminder. Your troubles and worries may lead you to believe you’re meant for the river or the concrete, but you’re not.

You’re meant to be a Mr. Chen.

You’re meant to heal your wounds by bandaging the wounds of others, to pull others from the brink while knowing you could well be there yourself.

Like him, you’re not perfect. That’s good. You’re not supposed to be.

Because I think only the broken can help the broken.

To a Twitter party tomorrow to celebrate the official release date of Paper Angels by Billy Coffey.

Be sure to follow @faithwords, @billycoffey and yours truly, of course. Look for the hash tag #PaperAngels

There will be reviews and interviews by Glynn Young, Cathy LaGrow and Amy Sorrells

And yes, there will be FREE BOOKS!

Thanks for your continued support and encouragement.

I’ll be back to the regularly scheduled ridiculousness here very soon…

Order early. Order often.

In two short days, Billy Coffey’s second novel will be released. Thanks to everyone who helped get the word out about Paper Angels. Hopefully, those of you who have already received a copy of the book have had a chance to at least read the first couple of chapters.

As many of you know, not only do I consider Billy a friend, I also am, for lack of a better term, his virtual personal assistant. As I mentioned to my friend Brian on Twitter the other day, I liken myself to Chloe to his Jack Bauer. He takes care of the important stuff–the writing–and I do my best to take care of all the other stuff that comes with being a published author and maintaining an author platform. It is a job I enjoy immensely, and despite the fact that he probably wants to yell, “DAMMIT, KATDISH!” on a fairly regular basis, he rarely does. The thing about Billy Coffey is that he really is as humble and unassuming as he appears to be. When talking about the main character in Paper Angels, Billy mentions Andy Sommerville is a better version of himself. But I disagree. Andy’s circumstances may be different from Billy’s, but they are both great, honorable and humble characters. It’s just that the latter is a real person.

Billy has a dream. A dream which many writers have but very few ever realize–he would like to write full time. To sell enough books to be able to quit his day job. I would like nothing more than for him to realize that dream. I don’t think any of us deserve much in this life, but if hard work, sacrifice and dedication to the craft garner any favor (not to mention an incredible gift), I think Billy is due for a dream come true.

I won’t be giving away a copy of Paper Angels today, but if you head over to my friend Maureen’s blog, Writing without Paper, not only will you read a wonderful interview with Billy, you will also have another opportunity to win a copy of his book. Look for more interviews, reviews and book giveaways in the days and weeks to come.

A very special thank you to the members of what my friend Mike Ellis affectionately refers to as The Billy Coffey Mafia, whose unwavering support and encouragement have helped move Billy a little closer to realizing his dream. Y’all are the best.

Congratulations to this week’s winner Kely Braswell aka @kelybreez.

Look for some more giveaways here in the weeks to come. Better yet, go order yourself one from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or some other fine online bookstore or support your local economy by heading to your nearest bookstore. Rumor has it some store already have them in stock.

And thanks again for helping to get the word out about Paper Angels.

It’s week seven of The Best of Billy Coffey! If you’re new here, in Week 1, I shared a snippet of Billy’s second novel Paper Angels along with a few ways you can enter to win a copy of Paper Angels. As promised, I’m still choosing a winner each week. You may enter as often as you like, and there are several ways to enter:

• Leave a comment here or on subsequent “Best of Billy Coffey” posts each Monday indicating you would like to be entered into the drawing.
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to this post and/or subsequent posts. (Please be sure to let me know you’re doing so by adding @katdish to the end of your tweet or sharing the Facebook link with me.)
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to the Paper Angels Amazon page letting people know it is available for pre-order.
• Ditto Barnes & Noble
• Ditto Books-a-Million
• Ditto Indie-Bound

Each of the aforementioned actions will constitute one entry into the drawing. If you don’t win this week, each of your entries will go back into the drawing. Winners will be chosen at random and will be announced the following Monday. Enter early, enter often, and check back here each week for new opportunities to win.

Thanks in advance for helping get the word out about Paper Angels. If you’re not big into contests, I still encourage you to head over to Amazon or another online retailer and pre-order a copy. I know once you read it you will recommend it to a friends and family, and word of mouth advertising is the very best kind.

The winner of Week Six is Amy Nabors. Congrats, Amy! I’ll post next week’s winner next Monday.

Now on to another one of my favorite posts from Billy. And since it’s Halloween, of course I’m going to share a ghost story with you:

A Specter of Love

photo courtesty of photobucket.com

The thing about Virginia is that it’s old. There is history here, more than in most places, and that history isn’t confined to places like Williamsburg and Jamestown. It spreads westward too, over the piedmont and the mountains, right to my proverbial backyard.

Some say that our history is still alive in one way or another. I guess the story Jeff Jackson told me a few weeks ago could be classified as “another.”

Jeff and his father, Larry, are hunters. Big time hunters. The sort of Virginia boys who elevate it from sport to near religion.

Always looking for an edge as to where the best game is, Larry heard through the redneck grapevine there was a section of the mountains full of the biggest bucks anyone had ever seen. There was, however, one small problem—those woods were haunted.

Superstitions run deep in the mountains here. Larry and Jeff knew that. They also knew many of those superstitions were tales spun by moonshiners to keep prying eyes away from their stills. Besides, both of them had been in those woods before, and both had never seen anything other than squirrels, snakes, and the decaying foundation of an ancient cabin.

So they went. Hiked in one Saturday morning just before sunup. Jeff left his father under a stout oak on top of a ridge and then made his way another mile down the mountain. Walkie-talkies would keep them in contact, the woods would keep them at peace, and the prospect of a trophy buck would keep them watchful.

Larry sipped coffee while the mountain threw off its dark blanket and began the morning. The rising sun brought the woods to life slow and easy. Birds sang and critters scurried for breakfast. The cool wind was enough to keep him alert but not cold.

And then it all stopped. Everything. The birds, the critters, the wind. Life one moment, not-life the next.

Larry exchanged his thermos for his rifle, thinking that maybe the sudden stop in activity meant a bear or mountain lion was making its way through the area. But he heard and saw nothing.

Then from the corner of his eye Larry saw movement through the trees. He peeked from behind the oak and fingered the trigger.

Then he went numb.

There, no more than twenty yards away, was a woman. Not a big deal, usually. Plenty of women hiked the mountains. But two things set this particular woman apart from the rest. One was that she was wearing a wedding dress. The other was that there was empty space from her waist down.

Larry couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk, couldn’t shoot, couldn’t breathe. All he could do was stare as the legless bride floated past him and disappeared into the woods.

The silence remained behind like a whoosh of air after a car has passed. Then a cardinal sang from far away, a signal that all was safe. Other birds joined in. Critters went back to scurrying. The breeze returned.

And Larry discovered he could talk again.

“GIT UP HERE BOY NOW!!” he screamed into the radio.

Jeff, one mile down the ridge, had been oblivious to everything that had happened. All he knew was that his father was screaming for help, which to him meant Larry had either been shot or was in the process of being eaten.

“What’s wrong?!” he said through the radio. “DAD? WHAT’S WRO—”

“—Git. HERE. NOW!!”

Jeff ran.

He found Larry still peering from behind that oak tree. All his father would say was, “We gotta get the heck outta here, boy.”

A year has passed. Larry’s spent the majority of that time obsessed with what he saw. He’s researched and read, spoken with writers and professors. All to find some sense of what happened. He thinks he has.

According to Larry, the decaying foundation he and Jeff found was once the home of the Walker family in the late 1700s. Father, mother, son, and a daughter named Abigail, who just so happened to be hopelessly in love and engaged. But war came to the colonies. Abigail’s love joined Washington’s army. He never returned.

Larry’s convinced it was Abigail he saw that day, destined to forever roam the mountains in search of the man she lost and to be dressed for a wedding she’ll never have. There are some who snicker when he says that. And there are more than some who think that rather than stumbling upon a ghost, Larry stumbled upon a still and got sauced.

Me, I’m not so sure. I think Larry just might be telling the truth. Because there is ecstasy in finding true love, and there is torment in losing it.

It’s week six of The Best of Billy Coffey! If you’re new here, in Week 1, I shared a snippet of Billy’s second novel Paper Angels along with a few ways you can enter to win a copy of Paper Angels. As promised, I’m still choosing a winner each week. You may enter as often as you like, and there are several ways to enter:

• Leave a comment here or on subsequent “Best of Billy Coffey” posts each Monday indicating you would like to be entered into the drawing.
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to this post and/or subsequent posts. (Please be sure to let me know you’re doing so by adding @katdish to the end of your tweet or sharing the Facebook link with me.)
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to the Paper Angels Amazon page letting people know it is available for pre-order.
• Ditto Barnes & Noble
• Ditto Books-a-Million
• Ditto Indie-Bound

Each of the aforementioned actions will constitute one entry into the drawing. If you don’t win this week, each of your entries will go back into the drawing. Winners will be chosen at random and will be announced the following Monday. Enter early, enter often, and check back here each week for new opportunities to win.

Thanks in advance for helping get the word out about Paper Angels. If you’re not big into contests, I still encourage you to head over to Amazon or another online retailer and pre-order a copy. I know once you read it you will recommend it to a friends and family, and word of mouth advertising is the very best kind.

The winner of Week Five is James Williams. Congrats, James! Your persistence has paid off! I’ll post next week’s winner next Monday.

Now on to another one of my favorite posts from Billy. Billy is quick to point out when asked that he is more concerned with Truth (big T) than truth (small t) in the stories he writes. And while he takes some liberties with what he writes for you, I happen to know that the one you’re about to read (or re-read) pretty much happened the way he wrote it. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent–or the guilty, depending on your perspective. Enjoy.

Loving thy Neighbor

image courtesy of photobucket.com

My friend Pete loves everybody. It’s a matter of pride to him, I think. He’ll tell you that he loves you the first time you meet him. Doesn’t matter who are or what you look like, either. “I’ve never met anybody I didn’t love,” he’ll say, “’Cause I love Jesus and Jesus loves me. So I gotta love you, too.” Then he’ll grab you in his gargantuan arms and lift you off the ground, shaking your bones like a pair of dice.

That’s Pete.

Pete is also as traditional as they come. Church every Sunday and Wednesday, and not a morning goes by without scripture and prayer. The combination of the two has infused in him and his family a bedrock of faith that for years refused to be shaken by anything life could throw at him.

Until the other day. Until my phone rang and he said in his breathless, forty-four-year-old voice, “You gotta get over here. Now.”

Pete was on his front porch when I got there, rocking back and forth in a lawn chair that was not made for rocking, looking thoroughly displeased. He offered me our usual snack—a Coke and a bag of peanuts. I proceeded to dump the latter into the former and take a sip of the salty sweetness.

“What’s up?” I asked him.

“Don’t believe it,” he said. “Don’t believe it, don’t believe it, dontbelieveit.”

“Don’t believe what?” I asked. Another sip.

“Johnson house sold there, across the street,” he said, pointing.

I turned around and followed his finger. Sure enough, the FOR SALE sign on the house across from his had been topped with another that said SOLD. The Johnsons had moved three weeks ago, and everyone figured that the house would be empty for a long while given the economy.

“Great,” I said, facing him again. “You have new neighbors. What’s the problem?”

“Dontbelieveit dontbelieveit dontbelieveit.”

“Pete, you swallow something you weren’t supposed to?” I asked. “You been in the moonshine?”

“Lookie!” he almost shouted, pointing again. “Lookie there and see what the cat done dragged in. Dontbelieveit!”

I turned again. Standing on the front porch of the Johnson house were Pete’s new neighbors. Older lady, slightly younger gal. They were attempting to arrange an assortment of rocking chairs and tables just so and not quite getting it. An aggravating situation for some, though they seemed in bright enough spirits.

“Pete, I don’t—”

“—LOOKIE!”

The older woman, now utterly confused by the configurations of her new porch, simply gave one of the rockers a hard shove into the younger lady. The act of frustration was met with laughter from both, who then proceeded to fall into one another’s arms and share a very long, very deep…kiss.

“Dontbelieveit,” I said.

Pete buried his head in his hands. “Lawd,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he was praying or merely dumbfounded. “Lawd Jesus God help me.”

Praying.

“Lawd, why’d You do this to me?” he moaned. “Thissa sort of thing that happens out in Hellywood, Lawd. Not ’cross the street.”

I shook my head in amazement, and the sheer irony of it all made me laugh. Pete, God-and-mama-and-apple-pie Pete, I-love-everybody Pete, had gotten a gay couple for neighbors.

“Huh,” I said. “Ain’t that something.”

“Somethin’?” he retorted, raising his head to look at me. “Don’t you know this ain’t good? Ain’t you read your Bible, boy?”

“Yep,” I said.

“Well, there then,” he answered, as if that explained things.

“You a little homophobic, Pete?” I asked, with a sip of my Coke and a smile.

“Homophobic?” he said. “Homophobic? Boy, I gotta eat a corndog with a knife and fork.”

I snorted out my drink and bent over, wiping it from my mouth and blue jeans.

Pete stared at me, unsure of what had just transpired that would cause me to make such a mess of myself. “What am I gonna do?” he asked. “What. Am. I. Gonna. Do?”

I thought about that. What was Pete going to do? Fume and pout, I supposed. For a little while, anyway. But then Jesus would come calling. The Jesus Pete loved and Who loved him more, Who said that hate was never really any good for anything other than eating up your own insides. He would come calling and tell Peter that it’s easy to love those who are like you, that everyone does that. But that love Jesus wanted from Peter was the hard love, the kind that’s not easy.

It’s okay to not like what they do, Jesus would say, because He didn’t like what many of us do. But Jesus also loved those two women, and He wanted Pete to do the same. Because Pete had faith, and because that faith just might be the closest thing to Jesus those two women ever see.

“Just wait,” I told him. “It’ll come to you.”

We stared across the street. The two women resumed their rocking chair arranging, then stared at us.

They waved.

We waved back.

It’s week five of The Best of Billy Coffey! If you’re new here, in Week 1, I shared a snippet of Billy’s second novel Paper Angels along with a few ways you can enter to win a copy of Paper Angels. As promised, I’m still choosing a winner each week. You may enter as often as you like, and there are several ways to enter:

• Leave a comment here or on subsequent “Best of Billy Coffey” posts each Monday indicating you would like to be entered into the drawing.
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to this post and/or subsequent posts. (Please be sure to let me know you’re doing so by adding @katdish to the end of your tweet or sharing the Facebook link with me.)
• Tweet or post to Facebook a link to the Paper Angels Amazon page letting people know it is available for pre-order.
• Ditto Barnes & Noble
• Ditto Books-a-Million
• Ditto Indie-Bound

Each of the aforementioned actions will constitute one entry into the drawing. If you don’t win this week, each of your entries will go back into the drawing. Winners will be chosen at random and will be announced the following Monday. Enter early, enter often, and check back here each week for new opportunities to win.

Thanks in advance for helping get the word out about Paper Angels. If you’re not big into contests, I still encourage you to head over to Amazon or another online retailer and pre-order a copy. I know once you read it you will recommend it to a friends and family, and word of mouth advertising is the very best kind.

The winner of Week Four is Deborah. Congrats, Deborah! I’ll post next week’s winner next Monday.

For this week’s edition of the Best of Billy Coffey, I decided to include the introduction he provided on his own blog. The last time I checked, the Old Man had not paid Billy a visit in a very long time. I have my own theory as to who this unwanted visitor was and why he no longer haunts Billy’s dreams, but some things I’d just as soon keep to myself. I’m mysterious like that. Here’s Billy:

There is truth and there is Truth, and the big T usually trumps the little one. At least it does in my writing. The tiny details in my life are often sacrificed in favor of the big ideas within them. I like this. If there’s one thing I want to share with people, it’s that every life is filled with holiness; all we have to do in order to see it is slow down and take a deep breath.

Most of my posts have very little to do with me and instead tend to focus upon the people around me, folks who are a lot more interesting than I am. My life and what’s going on with me is not nearly as entertaining as the neighbor down the road or the guy who picks up my trash.

Usually, anyway. But not always. Sometimes something you’ve kept secret needs to be told, because sometimes what haunts you does so because you’re too afraid to talk about it.

For the past nineteen years I’ve known an old man in a bowler hat. He’s never given me his name, never offered. And frankly, asking him is the furthest thing from my mind.

I’ll invite you over to Katdish’s blog to read the story. It’s a good one, and one that’s offered me a good deal of liberation in writing. But since we’re tight, you and I, I’ll also give you a little warning. This isn’t my normal sort of post. There is upbeat, aw-shucks Billy, and there is the Billy who broods. Katdish let me brood today. For that, she has my thanks…

Fighting the Old Man

To me, he is simply known as the Old Man. I don’t know his name, and I don’t think I care to. Old Man is enough.

I’ve known him for nineteen years now, and he knows me. Knows me well. When and where we meet always seems to be his prerogative. He is always dressed the same—dapper pinstriped suit with a red handkerchief, black bowler hat, immaculately shined shoes, and a cane. And I am always wearing the same expression: horror.

The Old Man is my nightmare.

He arrived one night shortly after my near suicide, sitting on a park bench in my dream. He motioned me over to sit down, gently patting the section of wood beside him. I did. He offered me a deal: come with him, and all would be well. Don’t, and…well, he said, “The consequences will be unfortunate.”

I was convinced of that when he turned to face me and a worm fell out of his left eye. It wriggled onto my hand and then in, slowly crawling up my arm and into my chest, boring its way into my heart.

I woke up screaming.

He arrived again two weeks later wanting my answer: stay or go? I stayed. By the time he was finished with me, I wished I had chosen otherwise.

And that’s the way it’s been since. Not every night, sometimes not even every month. But for nineteen years now he has come for me at his whim in his pinstriped suit and bowler hat and cane, each time asking me different variations of the same theme:

Ready to go yet?

I thought at first he was the product of an overactive mind. Or too many Stephen King books. But when I wake up screaming and incoherent and then force myself to stay awake for days because I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep and never wake up, I’m not sure neither my imagination nor Stephen King’s is at fault. I’m not sure at all.

He’s tenacious, the Old Man. Smart. Knows just what to do to hurt me the most and has no qualms about doing it.

I suppose whether he’s a demon or a psychological manifestation of my vast emotional baggage depends upon whether you ascribe to God or Freud. I’ll leave that to you.

Me, I know this: there is an unseen war waged daily around us between light and dark, life and death. The world of the spirit may be hidden from human eyes, but we are all laid naked before it. I once gave this little thought. Denied it, even. But no more. Now I know better.

I’ve always suspected that the devil gets too much credit for the terrors of this world. It’s always easier to blame his wickedness than our own. Make no mistake, though—there is evil beyond this world. Darkness. I’ve seen it.

That’s why there will be nights of endless coffee. Why the upstairs light of my workout room will be on at three in the morning because I’m doing pull ups. Why I can quote movies like Grease 2, films so horrible they are banished to the wee hours.

Because I must stay awake. Because if I close my eyes he may be there. Waiting, smiling, asking if I’m ready to go yet.

My fear? That one day I’ll say yes. That soon I’ll tire of the fighting and the beating and the temptation, and I’ll walk away with him. You become willing to do most anything to find rest, even if it’s rest in shadows.

Ready to go yet?

That’s what he wants to know.

Ready to surrender? To lay down faith and hope? Are you ready to quit wanting to stand and fight, to rid yourself of the notion that you must keep going when you just don’t have to? Are you ready to stop seeking the light and instead enjoy the darkness?

Are you ready to go yet?

So far, that answer has been no. I’m not ready to go. There are people and things in my life worth the fight, worth the beatings.

I stand and fight and keep going not because I want to, but because I must. Because the darkness in my life makes the light in it shine brighter.

So today, I ask you this: Anchor your faith in the deep harbor. Set your eyes on truth. Seek God. Love. Laugh. Believe. And always, always hope.

Because in some ways, the Old Man is after us all.

“My true desire is to relieve others of their pain though I myself may fall into hell.”
–Bassui