Mark

I had breakfast with one of my favorite people yesterday morning. Mark and I have been friends for three decades. It’s a comfortable friendship. We meet every few weeks to catch up on the news, talk about our families, about politics and movies and books, and share our ideas. We enjoy the time we spend in each other’s company.

Like all friendships, ours has been transformed over the years, shaped and reshaped by our changing circumstances. At first, he was my boss, but even then we recognized shared ideas and ideals and that made us close. He’s been a mentor and a cheerleader. He was best man when Lynne and I got married. He stayed my friend even when I disappointed him. He has protected and aided me in a hundred different ways since I’ve been diagnosed.

During these years, we’ve shared the joy we find in writing. Mark is a successful businessman. He’s made a more-than-comfortable living as a business writer and a ton of money creating direct marketing copy. But he’s happiest, I know, when he writes his poetry and short fiction.
And he’s good. He’s one of the best writers I’ve ever read. Some of his lines are good enough to make my breath hurt. And I let him know that as often as I can. But I also tell him (and so does Lynne, who has edited much of his work) when he’s off target.

And he lets me know what he thinks of my work – good and bad. And in that, he has made me a better writer than I ever thought I could be. In fact, Mark edited the early chapters of my book about the Sea Venture, chopping out what I later knew was a major flaw.

It was Mark, too, who first encouraged me to write a memoir. He told me it was a worthy project and I believed him. So I wrote my story and he read it and said it’s not bad.

And now he’s encouraged me to write a novel.

I’ve had one inside me for a while and now seems to be as good a time as ever to put it on paper. I can write without worrying about hurting anybody’s feelings and without worrying about selling the book because, hey, I’ll be gone, right? There’s no real risk of failure.

That’s freeing.

Anyway, when we walked to our cars after breakfast yesterday, I gave him the first chapter to read. Then I started to drive away while he sat in his car for a moment. I didn’t know it, but he was looking at the first page of the manuscript. He drives faster than I do, so he was able to catch up with me about a block away, his lights flashing and horn blaring.

"I read the first paragraph," he hollered when he pulled up next to me and rolled his window down. "I read the first paragraph and it’s outrageous!"

I smiled. He doesn’t throw praise around just to hear his own voice.

"Keep it up!" he said.

So now I have a new project, just when I needed one. Who wouldn’t want Mark for a friend? I hope he knows how much his friendship means to me.