For some reason lately, maybe it’s the planetary alignment or because people just want to talk to me, I’ve had a few queries about the dedication in my first novel, Molt. Inquiring minds have wondered of its origins, the who’s and the why’s.

For Cody

In Memory of Cody. And if you’re now wondering too, here’s the answer.

When I was in the 12th Grade, there was a new student at my high school. After a brief conversation in the hall one day we quickly became very close friends. And it was at a time when new friends were difficult to come across and very much appreciated. He and his two brothers were social animals, which was definitely unfamiliar territory to me, but I was seen as a welcome addition at their house parties and other gatherings. Though most everyone there would be drinking and/or smoking as typical teenagers did in these settings, I didn’t. It simply was never in my character; I had no interest, and no one ever felt the need to pressure me on the matter.

During these gatherings, my friend’s father would generally always be present. Not acting as some sort of adult supervision. Quite simply, he just lived there. That was his home. His name was Cody and he was a quiet man, certainly not unapproachable or unfriendly, he just liked his space. He would sit on his favorite chair oftentimes playing solitaire on a tiny card table. Drinking whiskey and smoking. I liked to sit with him sometimes; the both of us not really talking as much as watching. I liked his company, and I enjoyed the idea that he liked mine as well. I don’t think I ever knew what he did for a living, but that never mattered much at all. He liked to talk about his four sons (the oldest of which I’d never met) and their many moves along the way to where they’d currently landed.

It was within one of these moments that we got to talking and I learned how he was – and had been for quite some time – writing a book. My mind was blown. I’d never known anyone with the ambition to write an actual book. At the time I think I assumed there were only like a hundred people who have ever written a book. Ever. Obviously I’d never really thought about it much before then, but I assumed only really incredibly special people would ever consider doing so. But this was just a hobby for him. He was attempting to write a book about his family history; family trees and lineage and stuff like that. To be honest, I never really learned much more about it, but I always made an effort to ask him how the book was coming every time I saw him.

Let’s jump ahead to many years later. Cody and his sons had all gone their separate ways, as families inevitably do. I didn’t even talk to my friend much at all anymore though I thought about him often and fondly recalled the few years we grew up together. Cody was certainly a part of those memories too. On a whim of creativity I began to write a screenplay. And then another. And another. I soon hit the proverbial writer’s block and needed a jump start. I entered a 3-Day Novel Writing contest where I wrote a 65-page novella. From there I wanted to challenge myself further so I began work on a full-length novel. And all along the way I continued to remember Cody and how I always thought writing a book was an impossible task only to be taken upon by very prolific individuals. But this quiet man was not going to stop at anything to write about his family history. And now I’d done it too. It took a few years, a few battles with confidence, a few rewrites and a few lapses of judgement but I was slowly finishing the edits on my first full-length novel.

As it happened, this old friend of mine was getting married and he contacted me and invited me down to California for the wedding. Of course I knew that his father would be there and I was so excited and surging with energy at the thought of telling Cody what I’d been up all these last few years and what I was on the verge of finishing. I knew as I was nearing the end of my novel that I wanted nothing more than to thank Cody for sparking something from somewhere within myself. I knew he’d be proud of me. And then I saw him. And I told him. And it was an awesome feeling. I’m ashamed to admit it but I’m pretty sure this was the highlight of the trip, more so than the actual wedding. His approval was extremely meaningful to me. I promised to get a copy of the book to him as soon as it was done.

I don’t think it was any more than three weeks later that my friend called me to tell me Cody had died in a motorcycle accident. DIED. It was horrible and devastating and I still get choked up thinking about the very last time I saw him, more than five years ago. The book was done very soon after. Molt was finished. And there was no question that I would be dedicating it to Cody.

I can’t believe sometimes how lucky I was to have seen him so soon before he died. I wish I could have sent that copy of Molt to him that I’d promised. But life’s roads take unexpected turns and its streets intersect more often than we think they will. Horrible things will happen and happy coincidences will occur. To me, Cody will always represent both and I’m very proud to have his name in my book.

Thanks again Cody.

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