Ken Fite

New Year’s Eve is my wife’s birthday, which always makes the day extra special around the Fite house. But I didn’t spend last New Year’s Eve celebrating with her or with family or with friends.

I spent it in a hospital, sitting next to my dad, watching the Alabama game and giving him the play-by-play as his favorite team beat Michigan State and headed to the national championship.

After the game, I stood at the window and watched the fireworks from the eighth floor of Florida Hospital. After a while, I glanced at the clock and saw that it was fifteen minutes until midnight.

I’ve never really been a big fan of New Year’s resolutions. They seem to last for a little while. Eventually, most of us fall back into our old habits and ways of doing things and living life.

Still, I wanted to be a better husband, father, and son. But I wasn’t sure what that would even look like. I knew I’d eventually fail at all three, probably before the weekend was even over.

So I sat down, turned the TV off, and listened to the beeps and whirs of hospital equipment while fireworks popped in the distance behind me. I watched the clock strike midnight. I felt broken.

And that’s when I realized that there was a resolution I could make, one within my control.

We’re all broken in one way or another. Some of us just hold the pieces together better.

But a funny thing happens when you let go: you find yourself with a set of hands free from the past and able to reach for and hold onto something new, something completely different and exciting.

The sad part about New Year’s resolutions is that only eight percent of us will keep them. What’s sadder is that the other ninety-two are still holding onto the very things that are holding them back.

I made a decision that night, one that I’ll be reaffirming again tonight, and one that I hope you’ll consider making with me as well. And that’s to make peace with your broken pieces.

Let go of the shards of a broken past that you’re still holding onto. Make peace with the pain by forgiving someone that doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. And be honest about who you really are.

Because if you know your weaknesses, you can be strong. If you know your flaws, you can be beautiful. If you learn from your mistakes, you can be wise. And when you realize that you’re the one holding yourself back from being a better version of yourself, you can simply just let go.

If 2016 left you broken, good. Because until you are broken, you don’t know what you’re made of.

I only have one good picture of my dad from last Christmas. I would have had more, but last year I wrote a post about how the best present you can give someone on Christmas is your presence.

I hate it when I write myself into a corner like that. Not wanting to be a hypocrite, I left my phone in my pocket most of the night when my family and I went to my parent’s house for Christmas dinner.

And I’m glad I did. Because 72 hours later, he was in the hospital. A week after that, he was gone.

I’ve felt bad for a long time, because there were so many gifts I could have given him that last Christmas together. He really wanted a prepaid cell phone. I went to three stores, they were sold out. He loved pistachios. I should have bought him a years’ supply. I should have, but I didn’t. “If only I had known it would be his last Christmas,” I’ve told myself a thousand times this last year.

Yesterday, I decided to look through my saved emails and read the notes my dad sent me over the years. Many of the emails he sent were “forwards” with corny jokes I’ve read a million times before.

But the most emails he sent by far were him asking when I was coming over again and bringing my two boys with me. It’s what he looked forward to. It’s what he wanted more than anything else.

Especially on Christmas.

So this morning, after being reminded about what really mattered to my dad, I felt differently about that one picture from last Christmas and not finding the right gifts I should have given him last year.

Because we talked with him. We laughed with him. My boys climbed all over him and played with him. We listened to his best stories for the millionth time, but without any distractions this time.

And most importantly, we were there. And we were there. All of us.

It’s the one gift he really wanted. The one gift we all have to give that a store can’t run out of.

Your presence is the best gift you can give someone this Christmas.

Well, I’m plugging away at novel #3. I have a title, a location, and a really good plot. Every day, it seems, I get an email asking when the next Blake Jordan will be ready. I’m writing as fast as I can!

Okay, that’s not true. I could write faster. I’m on chapter 20 of a planned 60, so I’m about a third of the way there. I guess I’m taking my time because I really want this book to be the best one yet. My trusty laptop is whizzing and whirring and making all kinds of noises. If she can just make it another 40 chapters, we’ll be okay. This week I figured out the last piece I needed to work out for the evil plot to make sense. My bad guy is really bad. And I found the perfect location in New York City for the showdown between him and Blake to take place. I’m really excited to write this thing!

One of the themes I’m exploring in this novel is how bad decisions tend to come back to haunt us. And in character development, the hero usually makes pretty bad decisions, at least at first.

The example I keep thinking about as I write the next-in-series is Peter Parker in the Spider-Man movie. If I asked you when Peter becomes the webbed wonder, the precise moment, I think you’d tell me that it was when he was bit by the spider. I don’t think that’s true. I think Peter became who he was supposed to be the moment he stood over his dying uncle and realized that he had the chance to use his newfound abilities to catch the criminal who killed Uncle Ben, and he decided to try and right that wrong (watch it here). Only after Peter catches the guy that shot his uncle does he realize that it’s the same criminal he let get away minutes before, after making the bad decision to not help the bookie who stiffed him while he was being robbed (watch the realization here).

Those moments in our lives when we realize we’ve made a bad decision, they’re pivot points.

They’re moments that really do define us, one way or the other. The sad part is, most of us let these moments go to waste. We live with regret. We lose our confidence. We enter a downward spiral and the bad decisions that we make (and we all make them) continue to come back and haunt us, making us question our own abilities even more like a vicious cycle that we can’t escape.

Maybe that’s why I like the Peter Parker story so much. It shows us that our past actually does define us, but even if our past stems from bad decisions, we can use it for good if we want to.

That decision, if you choose to make it, becomes another pivot point in your story.

One of the best parts of writing a novel is creating a pivot point in each chapter where a character has to make a decision. Then the following chapters show the consequences of those good or bad decisions. And in the first half of any good book, the decisions are usually bad. It’s fun to write, because it’s like the choose-your-own-adventure books we read as kids, only there’s just one path: the one the author chooses to take the reader down. The path Blake will decide to take is a path to redemption. He’ll do the right thing in the end, though it probably won’t be what you think it’ll be.

Because our past does define us, in a way. But just like my hero Blake will need to figure out by the end of the story, who we were, who we are, and who we will be are three different people.

Gotta get back to working on chapter 20 now. Ol’ Bessy’s whizzing and whirring a lot louder now and I’m not sure how much longer she’ll put up with me (I just named her that). See you next week!

Let’s face it. When you were little and someone asked what you wanted to be when you grew up, you didn’t say, “Business Analyst,” or “Project Manager, or “Team Leader,” or “Accountant.”

We didn’t know what those things were. And if someone had told us, we would have ran away.

No, we had bigger dreams than that when we were younger. My dream, as far back as I can remember, was that I wanted to be a disc jockey and talk on the radio.

So on Christmas day, 1985, Santa brought the best Christmas gift ever — a wireless microphone that I could talk into on my parent’s home stereo. To an eight-year-old little boy, it was amazing.

I played my Mom’s 45s and DJ’d for hours. I’m sure my squeaky voice reverberating all over the house in between the likes of “Wild Thing” and “The Tears of a Clown” drove my parents nuts.

So it didn’t surprise them, I’m sure, when I started riding my bike to the local rock station in Orlando when I turned 14 asking for a job. I ended up DJ’ing on-the-air there ten years later.

But then a funny thing happened. I graduated from college. I got married. I got a kid. I got a mortgage. Then I got another kid. And, as you might expect, I got a real job to support all of that.

That’s usually where our dreams die… and if they don’t die a slow death because of our increasing responsibilities, then they die a quick death for a different reason: Because we’re scared to fail.

But if we’re completely honest with each other here, we’ll admit the truth about failing: We’re not really scared to fail, what we’re really scared about is failing in front of someone who will judge us.

I failed at the rock station I worked at. After they decided to automate the music, the other DJs were let go. I was the last man standing for a long time.

But eventually, they came for me, too.

What we forget about failing is that it gives us the chance to reinvent ourselves.

If you have a dream you’re scared to pursue, you need to admit something: The real reason you’re scared isn’t because you’re afraid to fail. You’re scared of who you’re going to fail in front of.

We live like we only get one chance to step up to the plate, like we need to choose wisely because if we give something our all and we fail at it, we’ll never be given another chance to try again.

That’s a lie. If you strike out, and you will, there will always be another at-bat.

Failing and living to tell about it gives you experience. You learned something. The battle scars are there to remind you that what you tried and failed at was real.

But battle scars are attractive.

I’ve failed many times in so many different ways and it’s only made me a better son, father, husband, human, and yes, writer.

So I’m excited to fail in front of you.

I’m excited to give this writing thing my all, win, lose, or draw. Because I’ve learned that the only good writing is honest writing.

And I’ve learned that if I’m gonna fail, I need to fail big. I’ll learn. I’ll grow.

There’ll be another at-bat.

So call up that person you’re afraid of failing in front of. Tell ’em about your dream.

What you just might find is that they, and the rest of the world, will respond with, “Good — that’s what we’ve been waiting to hear.”

I didn’t become a writer when I received my 400th Amazon review.

I didn’t become a writer when I received my first Amazon review.

I didn’t become a writer when I received my first negative review.

I didn’t become a writer when my book downloads passed 50,000.

I didn’t become a writer when my book was downloaded for the very first time.

I didn’t become a writer when my sales started to cover our monthly groceries expense.

I didn’t become a writer when my two sales a month barely covered a cup of coffee.

I didn’t become a writer when I switched from nonfiction to fiction and published my first novel.

I didn’t become a writer when I wrote a second novel to prove to myself that I could do it again.

I didn’t become a writer when I broke the top 100 novels in the Thriller category.

I didn’t become a writer when my novels ranked higher than the pros when they debuted.

I didn’t become a writer when my first few books ranked so low I couldn’t even find them.

I didn’t become a writer when I wrote my 10th book.

I didn’t become a writer when I wrote my first book.

I didn’t become a writer when I got my 800th email subscriber.

I didn’t become a writer when I got my first email subscriber.

I didn’t become a writer when an agent responded to one of my emails instead of ignoring it.

I didn’t become a writer when I got my first email from a fan.

I didn’t become a writer when I got my first email from someone who was clearly not a fan.

I didn’t become a writer when a reader told me that I was their favorite author.

I didn’t become a writer when I shook the hand of my favorite author and told him I was a writer.

No, I became a writer early in the morning of June 13th, 2014 when I decided to open up a new Word document and I just started to write, no matter how good or bad the words would be.

Whatever your dream is, DO SOMETHING today to make that dream come true. It will take time. And it won’t be perfect. But perfect is the enemy of good. Then circle today’s date on your calendar so that one day you can look back and say, “December 3rd, 2016 is the day I became a _______.”

Seventeen-year-old Jamal Hinton was sitting in class at Desert Vista High School when he heard a text message alert. He reached into his pocket, grabbed his cell, and checked the message.

“Thanksgiving dinner is at my house on Nov. 24 at 3pm. Let me know if you’re coming,” it read.

Jamal stared at his phone before setting it face-down on his desk, trying not to attract attention. Then he got curious and decided to text back. “Who is this?” he replied and watched the screen.

A few seconds later, the response came. “It’s your grandma.”

Did grandma get a new number? Jamal thought to himself. He looked around the classroom before deciding to text back and ask for proof. “Can I have a picture?” he typed and sent the message.

A minute later, the picture came back of a woman sitting at a desk in her office. Jamal smiled. It was definitely not his grandma. So Jamal decided to have some fun with this and send a picture back to the woman he was texting with. “You’re not my grandma,” he replied with his own picture.

Later, Jamal decided to send one more text. Half kidding, half serious. “Can I still get a plate?”

The response was immediate. “Of course you can. That’s what grandmas do — feed everyone.”

If you’ve followed this story over the past week, you know how it ended. But as a writer, I know that I have to dig deeper and figure out what every story is really about, what everyone else writing about the text message mix-up just doesn’t seem to see. So let me tell you about what happened to Wanda Dench — the grandma — a few minutes after she exchanged texts with Jamal Hinton.

The high schooler wanted to share the kind exchange with Wanda, so he posted screenshots of the texts on Twitter. But he didn’t mask her cell number. The tweet was shared 200,000 times.

And that’s when the text messages started to roll in while Wanda was still at work.

There weren’t too many at first. Wanda read a few texts from strangers saying thank you for being so kind. Then more texts arrived from people asking if they could come over for Thanksgiving, too.

By the time she left work, Wanda had over 600 text messages asking to join her family for Thanksgiving. Grandmas feed everyone, she must have thought to herself, but I can’t feed 600.

Wanda changed her phone number the next day. She had to. The texts wouldn’t let up. But she saved Jamal’s number and kept her promise, welcoming him into her home on Thursday at 3pm.

When I thought about what Wanda did, I thought about the great quote from Andy Stanley:

Do for one what you wish you could do for everyone.

That’s what this story was really about. Thanks for the very kind reminder, Grandma Dench.

Yesterday was a great day. Birthdays usually are. So when I went to bed last night, still unsure of what I would write for the blog when I woke up today, a thought popped in my mind. You’re 39 years old so write 39 things you learned over the past year, I thought to myself. No! That’ll be too hard — I can’t possibly come up with 39 things, I countered. Then I thought, Exactly. Nobody said writing would be easy. (I apparently like having argumentative conversations with myself). Anyways, here’s 39 things I learned over the past year. It’s a long one. Apologies.

1. When your kids ask for a piggy-back ride, try to say yes. Your body’s tired and your knees will hurt, but you’ll miss these days when they’re gone.
2. Losing a job is hard, but losing someone you love is much, much harder. Your job doesn’t define you. Your relationships are what define you.
3. How you wait on God matters even more than the thing you’re waiting for.
4. Prayers are usually answered only after you’ve learned what you’re supposed to learn. So stop asking when, and start asking why.
5. Sometimes, standing up to bullies requires nothing more than confidently standing your ground for what you believe in. Because courage doesn’t always roar.
6. Failure doesn’t have to be fatal. Sometimes — no, most times — it gives you the chance to succeed at the right thing.
7. Doing the right thing is never the wrong thing. Pray for direction, be bold, and let the chips fall where they may.
8. If you care about people, get better at remembering names.
9. If you want to be interesting, be interested. Listen with the intent to understand, not to reply.
10. Time spent with a child is never time wasted.
11. While writing nonfiction books was comfortable, writing novels scared the crap out of me. And that’s why I knew it was what I had to do.
12. No matter what your ‘day job’ is — if you have a hidden talent — you have a responsibility to get better at it. And then you must share it with the world.
13. Tell people what you’re passionate about. I wrote books for a year before I ever told most of my family or friends. It’s not being egotistical. It’s being vulnerable. They’ll love you for it.
14. There’s a big difference between a boss and a leader.
15. Be careful who you work for. If they lack integrity, your workplace will be toxic. Understand that, given enough time and exposure, we all adjust to the dark. That’s a dangerous thing.
16. Don’t vote against someone. Vote for someone. And most importantly, vote your conscience. Not everyone will agree with your decision. Love them anyway.
17. Don’t compare yourself to anyone other than the person you used to be.
18. Visit your parents, even if it’s inconvenient. I almost skipped seeing my dad last Christmas. 72 hours later, he was in the hospital. A week later, he was gone. FIND THE TIME.
19. Ask your parents questions about their lives. Have them tell their favorite stories, even if you’ve heard them a hundred times. Take notes. You’ll want to remember them one day.
20. The best present you can give someone this Christmas is your presence. Leave your cell phone locked away in the car. Life can’t be lived by looking through a 4-inch screen.
21. One of the best ways for dealing with losing your father is to try to be a good father yourself.
22. You don’t need cable as much as you think you do. Cut the cord and start reading all of those books you say you never have time for.
23. You don’t need to check Facebook as often as you think you do (except if it’s your birthday — then you should check that thing all day long).
24. Being a friend is inconvenient. Sometimes it means dropping everything you’re doing to go and help them. You’ll be glad you did the next time you find yourself needing help.
25. If someone is down on their luck, give them a call. Ask how they’re doing. Take them out to breakfast. Pay for their meal. Do it again. They’ll remember your kindness.
26. You have a personal brand. We all do. So if you say you’re going to do something, do it. Because people forget the promises you make, but they don’t forget the promises you break.
27. Read the obituaries once in a while. Learning about how people lived their lives can motivate you to want to get up and do something amazing with your own life.
28. Published is better than perfect. Our projects are never really finished, just abandoned. Learn to discern when it’s time to abandon a project and move on to the next adventure.
29. A ship in harbor is safe, but that’s not what it’s built for. If you don’t do what you were created to do, your work will never bring a smile to someone’s face or change their heart.
30. Writing a thank you note to your parents for everything you’re thankful for, and handing it to them to read with you, is something you’ll never regret and will always remember.
31. If you ever get sucked into one of those ‘pay it forward’ things in the Starbucks drive-thru, always pay for the guy behind you, even if their order is ridiculous. Don’t break the chain.
32. You will always have haters and people who aren’t fans of yours. If you don’t, you’re not doing something right.
33. Being a superdad is less about ability and more about the choices we make with our kids. (As I wrote that, I just yelled at my son for being loud when his brother is sleeping. Oops.)
34. If you’re lucky, you’ll find a good friend to share life with; if you’re even luckier, you’ll find that friend to be your wife. Never underestimate the value of having a good, supportive wife!!!
35. You are an artist. Whatever it is you create in your day-to-day life, that is your art. Not everyone will get your art. That’s okay. Just shrug your shoulders and say, “it’s not for you.”
36. Send someone a text today thanking them for something they’ve done for you. Because a grateful heart is a magnet for miracles.
37. Gratitude also has a really bad memory and tends to forgive and forget. So if you’ve hurt someone, send them a text, too. There’s only two words you’ll need to write.
38. Creating a list of what you’ve learned over the past year will reveal things to you that you never may have given much thought to before. One of the joys of writing. You should try it.
39. Writing this blog every week is hard. Really hard. But I’m finding that it’s good for my soul.

We all have people in our lives who we just can’t understand how they believe what they do. Forget the news, just scrolling through my Facebook feed this week confirmed that much for me.

And while our two candidates gave victory and concession speeches, both calling for unity and offering hope for America, we know there are cracks in our foundation that speeches just won’t fix.

So what do we do about the many people in our lives that we just don’t understand? Those who voted differently from us, who we just can’t see how they can believe the things that they believe?

We listen to them. Because to be a friend, to love them, that’s all we really need to do.

I don’t mean listening like we usually listen. Because, let’s admit it — when others talk, we don’t listen with the intent to understand. We listen with the intent to reply based on our own worldview.

That’s not how to listen. Not if we seek understanding.

Listening requires us to ask questions, really good questions, to drill down and get to the core of what someone believes and why they believe it. The quieter we become, the more we can hear.

When we truly listen, we will begin to understand, because listening does lead to understanding.

So start there.

Listen to others. You’ve been in their shoes (maybe 4 years ago). Ask good questions. Ask even better follow-up questions. Seek to understand and not to reply. And love those you disagree with.

Even, no, especially when they believe something different than you believe in.

Because while listening is required for understanding, there is no prerequisite for loving someone.

On Wednesday morning, Wayne Williams woke up in his North Carolina home to something he had been waiting his entire life for: the Cubs were in the World Series and had a chance to win.

A lifelong Cub fan, Williams grew up listening to the Cubs with his father, Wayne senior, on the radio. They kept the faith, always hoping that ‘next year’ would finally get here already. It never did.

But this year was different. And it was time for Wayne to keep a promise made many years ago.

He found a couple of flashlights, his trusty radio, and packed a few extra batteries — just in case. Then he packed one thing he knew he’d need, the white and blue ‘W’ flag for when the Cubs won.

The decision to drive over 600 miles and for 10 hours to meet with his father back in Indiana was an easy one. It was a pact, after all, made between father and son over 35 years ago to listen to the games together when — not if — the Cubs got to the World Series. Williams didn’t know that it would take so long to be able to keep the promise he had made to his dad so many years ago.

When he finally arrived, Williams was exhausted, but anxious to find his dad. It didn’t take long. He was relieved to see the gate to Greenwood Forest Lawn Cemetery open and he parked his car.

It only took a few minutes to grab his chair, flashlight, and of course the W flag and set up camp where his father had been laid to rest in 1980. Wayne turned on the radio, found the game, and listened. “Look dad, here’s your son. Keeping his part of the bargain,” he said to himself.

And in the early hours of Thursday morning, after ten heart-pounding innings of baseball, Wayne Williams senior shared a little glimpse of heaven with his son and the Cubs became champions.

It’s hard to believe that Halloween is in just two days. Soon, my four and eight-year-old will be dressed up like ninjas, scouring our East Orlando neighborhood for the sweetest treats on Earth.

And two hours after that, as they drift off to Candyland, their dad will display ninja skills of his own to collect his dad tax and scour their candy cache for his share of any Kit Kats that he can find.

For me, the days seem to be moving more quickly now than they did earlier in the year. In three and a half weeks, we’ll be eating Thanksgiving dinner. Eight weeks from today is Christmas Eve.

I just can’t believe it. This is usually around the time of year when most people will take their foot off the gas. They’ll sit back and coast for the next two months while things start winding down.

I’m all for enjoying the holidays. But there’s one thing that’s keeping me from coasting for the rest of 2016: my list of goals for the year. And the one staring me in the face is ‘finish writing novel #3’.

Like anything in life, that means I’ll have to deal with some trade-offs. I may be a little sleep-deprived for a while. I may not be able to write this blog every Saturday morning like I want to.

And I might not even make it. Maybe I’ll finish it in January. But would that be so bad? A friend once told me that if we try to chase perfection, we’ll usually only end up catching excellence. There’s still time left for us to catch one of the two and make a dent in this world, if we choose to.

Because our story has not been fully written yet. Most people give up on their goals before January is even over. They shrug their shoulders and think, Maybe next year. Well, how about this year?

We still have 64 more days left to write the ending we want. I’m going to try to make mine count.