I finished the final edit for the LIFEFLASH book this morning. I've been crying through the last of it.
I wanted it to be a moving story. At this moment, no one else has read it, but I know that for me it is.
Someone I worked with once said that everything I do has some aspect that's colored by how important my role as a father is to me. This book is definitely that. I look at kids I see in public and I imagine how different their lives are from the childhood that I enjoyed and the ones we gave our sons and it breaks me. I wanted a book that brought that out even inside a near-future setting with the action that I love to write.
I'm working on the cover next and should be ready to release LIFEFLASH within a few weeks.
I wanted to share something interesting that happened during our trip to Colorado a couple weeks ago.
I'd picked out the town of Trinidad for a possible setting for the book and we had planned to go there and see it firsthand. I picked Trinidad out months before using the population and some of the scenery I found on the web. I needed a smallish town with about the same population as Trinidad and that's all I knew about Trinidad at the time. er of people. We actually found several other towns as we drove all over Colorado that fit the look I'd envisioned before we reached Trinidad, so I wasn't sure it was worthwhile to go there and we had some other places that we wanted to see as our vacation time came to a close.
So we flipped a coin, it landed and we went to Trinidad after all.
On the way to our hotel room, we passed a table beside the elevator. The table was filled with purple candles and printed handouts (see below). Beyond the table, there was a small conference room with rows of chairs. Inside, there were quiet women sitting in the straight-backed chain-hotel chairs waiting for the small conference to start. It was a candlelight vigil for women that were victims of domestic abuse.
We spoke with the people at the table and asked for one of the handouts.
It's hard not to be amazed by the circumstance. For me, it felt like a gentle encouragement; that I had done something I was supposed to do.