Pat McGauley

I went to a gathering of former classmates tonight. Some of them were readers of mine up to and including ‘Lester’s Gift’. A few of them were of the belief that i had finished with my writing career. Understandable. What most hadn’t realized was that i had published a story titled, ‘The Final Chapter’. They didn’t know about my 15th novel because I didn’t contact any of the media outlets to promote it. Covid was the major reason, but most of the major sales events had been canceled in both Hibbing and Virginia. So the only place anyone could have learned was if they went to this website or heard about it on Facebook. I had two outlets for sales, The Sunrise Deli on First Avenue (all of my titles) and Sullivan’s Supply with my last three titles, including ‘The Final Chapter’. I might add that my last title was the end of my Father Mickey series — and from the feedback i’ve received by those few readers, it was a wonderful story.

Anyhow, I have not quit writing. It remains a part of my every day. With ‘Joe’ I’ve gone out on a limb — no Morans and no Officer Trygg. Joe was an obscure character in my last novel and not someone most would consider the type of person that novels are made of. Joe is a janitor at a Duluth mall. I’ve allowed Joe to tell his story in his own words, and then critqued the story through the eyes of another character that has never appeared in any of my novels to date.

Writing ‘Joe” was a challenge with no carry-over of familiar characters. The story is nearly complete and I will have the first of my readers have a crack at telling me what’s wrong with the story . . . what doesn’t work. You will see that Joe has a serious personality disorder. That’s all I can say now. If everything goes well, ‘Joe’ will be published later this year — before Christmas for sure.

Keep in touch with me through this site. I love to get feedback on any of my novels. Without the input of readers I’ll keep making the same mistakes over and over. Thanks.

It’s been over a week now and I’ve put some things in perspective. The trial of Derek Chauven has concluded and a ‘guilty of murder’ charge is in the books. Rightfully so. Riots were averted . . . for now.

I’ve imagined that I was a juror in the Chauven case. After the defenses final testimony on Friday’s I was told that closing arguments would be coming on Monday. So Monday would be crunch time for all twelve of us jurors. The judge did not sequester us. Surprisingly, we all were allowed to go home. I couldn’t help but watch the news on WCCO and/or KARE . . . or any local or national network channel. On TV I saw the demonstrators in the streets. Hundreds, maybe thousands. Then I watched crazy Congresswoman Maxine Waters (D-CA) tell the crowd, “If it ain’t murder, we’ll burn this town down . . .” Or something to that effect. I switch channels and see the BLM signs everywhere. Since day one, I’ve realized that the crowd of protesters knows who I am and where I live. More of the same calls for murder on my social media sites. Scary! Add to the matter of justice, the issue of race. One could argue that George Floyd’s race was not a factor . . . but was it? Or, Floyd’s criminal history? It’s complicated.

Now I’m human and I’m smart enough to know there is very good reason for fear. What if one of my fellow jurors won’t find Chauven guilty? It sure won’t be me for two reasons: first I’m convinced that the cop is guilty, and secondly I don’t have the courage.

Then I wonder. Is the intimidation of the protestors and the media a form of ‘mob rule’? There are twelve men and women on the jury. All of whom, like me, know the potential reprisals if Chauven isn’t found guilty on the 2nd and 3rd degree charges which can bring forty years in prison.

Of course, I’m just thinking. But I’ve got a headache.

Today is a Sunday and the 93rd day for my brother John.

About three months ago I got a call from my brother — the third of the four McGauley boys — telling me that his doctor had given him four months to live. He was in the Saint Cloud hospital at the time. Since then we have talked daily. Talked and talked about everything imaginable. Over these months I have come to know my brother in ways that I never imagined. I knew that he lived on the ‘wild side’ of life for many years. By that I mean he was a biker, used and sold drugs, had been busted several times, did time in jail, been married and divorced . . . and been reunited with a son he had never met before. Any one of his many episodes in life would make for an interesting, and sometimes tragic, story. And, as an author, I live for story lines.

What has surprised me the most about John’s life so far, is his love of the Bible. I wouldn’t say that he has become a Biblical scholar by any means, but the ‘Good Book’ has been a significant part of his life for the past twelve years. I might add that his interest has brought me back to reading the Bible as well — Psalms, Hebrews, and Revelations have given us both many important insights to discuss. Mix into the Scriptures our mutual interest in the current affairs of the United States and the world. An interesting topic for us has been ‘How close have we become to the ‘end times’? Bear in mind that the key word in the above sentence is ‘interesting’ — not that they are upon us.

I believe that irony is a writer’s best friend. The irony of our rediscovering of each other is that I was well into a new novel. Some of the events in John’s life were given to my main character, a man named Joseph. Not that my brother and Joseph have lived similar lives, but rather both have been sharing their life with me at the same time. John’s earliest memory from childhood was his mom’s giving him an ice cream cone. He can’t recall how old he was at the time, but my story begins with Joseph’s first memory in life. I borrowed that experience from John. And a few others as well. I’ve always believed that a writer is the thief of any he/she finds in life.

Like all of us, John will die one day sooner than later. This morning he was in strong voice as we talked about the U.S. and China, our penchant for believing what the media says about this topic and everything else, and where we can find the truth. John is more left, and I am more right, which more often than not, adds an ingredient to our conversations. The important thing is that we can discuss our differences. I mean that the truth is always somewhere in-between perspectives.

In these days, weeks, and now months, I have fallen in love with a brother that I knew . . . but didn’t really know. Does that make sense? I’d encourage anybody that reads this post to connect with someone they should be loving but haven’t taken the time to do so. And, I’d recommend reading the Bible.

God bless . . .

I was walking the neighborhood when I encountered an elderly woman whose name I couldn’t remember. She stopped me and asked if I’d written anything new. She’s read all. of my books up to ‘Lester’s Gift’ (2020) — which means all but the last one. Now the last one was published last fall which was deep into Covid season. Because of Covid all the marketing sites were closed, including Craft shows in Hibbing and Virginia that were my best sales opportunities before leaving for Florida in early December. There was no publicity when ‘THE FINAL CHAPTER’ came on the market. No publicity means little or no sales. No book-signings, no public events, nada …nada…nada.

I told the woman about my last book and assured her that I was still writing. Anyhow, I have had all of my titles at the Sunrise Deli and my last three books at Sullivan Supply. Neither site has has many sales, largely because nobody seems to know they are there. Alas, we are still in Covid times. Despite that sad reality, my books are still out there. Perhaps, more importantly, I’ll sign and send out copies of any title if you contact me through this site or my personal email address: shatiferin@aol.com. THE FINAL CHAPTER can be yours for $20.00 which includes sales tax and shipping and handling. I don’t expect to have any public signings for a while so please help me out and visit the two Hibbing sites or order online.

I hate to sell this way but . . . I’m not going to go broke advertising in the local paper or go door to door or cold sell on my cell. Help! I might add that if you’ve enjoyed the Mickey stories, THE FINAL CHAPTER is Mickey’s final appearance. At least for a while. I’m still pounding the keys on a new story yet untitled but very, very, different from what I’ve done in the past. It’s setting remains up here but travels away as well and has an entirely new cast of characters..

Ahhh, ’tis so good to be home again. Perhaps this time, after twelve winters in Southwest Florida . . . perhaps this time for good. I’ve put my house up for sale, sold my beater car, and boxed all of my personal effects and shipped them home. Parting is bitter-sweet nonetheless. I have had some wonderful friends in Naples Land and Yacht Harbor these past six years and parting is such ‘sweet sorrow’. Along with friends, I have family in Naples that I’ll miss even more. Erin and Grace and Jack, who is going to be a senior at Babson College in Wellesly, Mass, and Erin’s boyfriend, Josh.

Being back in Minnesota, however, is much closer to my brother John who is coping with a terminal cancer. And friends who are sick with one ailment or another are only minutes away so I can easily visit. And, to be candid, it’s been a financial quagmire running two residences — so economics plays a major part in my decision to face the northern winters again. If my property sells I can buy a used pickup and pay off my Florida loan. Plus, Gail and I can do more roadtrips and eat out more often and (once Covid is put in the past) enjoy life as it has always been in the past.

On Sunday I made a list of ”must do’ matters for this, my first week back. Car insurance, medical checkup (and MAYBE a covid vaccination), changing my TV service so I can watch the Twins games this season, and unpacking several boxes of all my accumulated junk. I’ve also got the beginnings of a new story to work on. Well, Sunday added one thing I hadn’t expected — about six inches of snow. And as Minnesota often works, Monday soared into the high 50’s only to be followed by a brutally cold and windy Tuesday.

On my first appraisal of the old town, very little has changed over the past few months — in sharp contrast to what is going on down in Naples. But that’s been true after every winter in the sun. Like me and my generation, a city shows its age and the incumbent decline. On the uptick, the HHS boys basketball team had won a trip to the state tournament — congratulations players and coaches — and the PeeWee hockey boys just won the state tournament — more congrats and high hopes for the future of HHS hockey. As is obvious, I’m a sports junkie. And a news junkie as well. I’ll talk sports till the sun goes down but politics and my views on current events have to be kept under my hat. That may change in the near future, but everything changes.

I’ll have more on the Twins before Thursday’s opener, and more on my new story one of these days soon. Let me know if you’ve read this blog as any comment is fuel for the next message.

Over the year I’ve enjoyed many song writers and musicians and those who sing the lyrics. For years I enjoyed the soulful lyrics of Kris Kristofferson more than any artist. When sings one of his own songs . . . nobody sings better. Not Willy, nor Johnny Cash, or Whalen, Kris’s best friends on the ‘old’ country scene.

There is a relative newcomer whose spiritual songs I’ve come to greatly enjoy. He is Alan Jackson. Recently I found a title I hadn’t heard before, and I want to share the lyrics as the song truly touched my soul. The title is: “The Older I Get’ . . .

The older I get, the truer it is . . . it’s the people you love,

not the money and stuff that makes you rich

The older I get, the longer I pray . . . I don’t know just why,

I guess it’s that I, just got more to say . . .

And the older I get the more thankful I feel, For the life that I’ve. had

and that I’m living still . . .

And, if they found the fountain of youth, I wouldn’t take a sip . . .

that’s the truth . . .

I could get emotionally wrapped up in lyrics to share with whomever is reading this blog, but I won’t . . . except for Vince Gill singing, ‘Go Rest High on That Mountain’. Just one line: “Go rest high on that mountain, Son . . your work on earth is done, Go to heaven a-shoutin’ before the Father and the Son.” Enough for this afternoon, February 25th. More to come.