So I’m running the other night after work. I’m not killing myself because I’m still sore from a previous jaunt. As I run up a slope, I see a woman parked beside a fallen stop sign in the middle of the road. The sign has been rammed and its wooden post is jagged and broken. She’s moving the broken sign out of the road. I look at the front of her car. A dent in her bumper shouts: GUILTY!
I don’t stop. Don’t want to be rude. I wonder if she’s going to just leave it, though. There are very few cars nearby; no one to see. And then I wonder, What would I do, if she were me? Would I tell someone, if there were no one to see?
What would you do?
When I passed back by, the above picture is what I saw.
T-Wall — near where I fell
Most people I tell my rock-climbing story are more impressed by my story than I am. Sure, I’ve got scars. There’s a white mark just above my lip that annoys me every day. And?
That’s why it always surprises me, though, when readers suggest I turn my story into a book. After re-reading my story this past January, my friend Vance sent me a message: “So, I just finished rereading your ‘How Not to Die‘ story, and I’m asking myself: How is this not a book? Or, at least, the beginnings of one? It is truly an amazing story, however you take it . . .”
In the past, I’ve always brushed such suggestions off. That’s what I did to Vance. “To be honest, I’ve already written nearly as much as I know to say about my rock-climbing accident. I have no idea how I’d turn it into a book . . .” is what I told him. And that was the truth. In “How to Not Die,” I’ve given the reader everything I can — from my perspective. Continue reading