I've spent the last week or so setting up a Word Press version of this blog. My original intent was to launch it at the New Year, but now that I have it up and ready to go I'm anxious to get started.

What will that mean to you, the handful of friends who follow this blog? Besides a new look, not much. Right now, the fatherhoodetc.com link points here. After I post my first entry on the new site, I will redirect the URL to the Word Press address and post a note here redirecting people.

So if you have this blog bookmarked at http://apps.ozab.com/blog please change to http://www.fatherhoodetc.com. I will also reset the Facebook fan page to download posts from the new location.

What will it mean to me, the author? Another opportunity to make this blog into something special. When I started over a year and a half ago, the blog was a catchall, and I posted infrequently. I tried imposing a theme on the blog, changing its name and focus, hoping I would provide myself with an incentive to write more. It didn't work, so now I'm trying a fresh start and a whole new change of scenery.

What will you see at the new Fatherhood Etc? It will be similar to here: reflections on parenting, stories about my daughter, Anna, and occasional commentary on social, political, or religious topics that pertain in someway to our lives or the lives of parents and kids in general. I'm also adding a new category "The Daily Dad" highlighting interesting stories, or comments from around the blogosphere. Excepting holidays and serious illness, I will post a "Daily Dad" entry, well, daily. I hope this will provide an incentive for you to check the site regularly.

What won't you see? The posts from the old blog. I will keep this site up as an archive, but will not be moving them over. As I said above, this will be a fresh start.

Why? Because I had no idea I was done.

The hardest part of narrative non-fiction is knowing when the story ends, because in life it never really does. Chapters might end, sections might end, but the story keeps going until it "falls apart at the end."¹

The strange part is that I should have known when this particular story ended. The day I came up with the idea for the book I had the whole story in my head. It started the day I found out Julia was pregnant. The came the cleft diagnosis, the birth of my daughter, her surgery, her recovery, her difficulties with speech, her Apraxia diagnosis, and her starting speech therapy. That was the whole story.

The story ended, but life kept going. In 2009, it kept going until it ran us over. The crises began even before I put a single word to paper. With so much drama going on in my life, it's not surprising that I kept waiting for a resolution and thus kept pushing back the end of the book.

I also should have figured it out as I wrote the story. The early chapters came quickly, even though I didn't know what I was doing, and by May I had reached what I thought was the two-thirds point.

Then I bogged down. Despite numerous pledges to pick up the pace, I averaged about a chapter a month. So I tried to kick start my pace by setting the crazy goal of finishing the book in one month.

If only I'd known I'd succeeded in November, I'd have gone out to celebrate. Instead I tried to psych myself up, determined to write the "last section" in December. After four days of spinning in place, unable to write even one decent sentence, I finally figured out my problem.

I was starting the first section of the next book.

So now my task has changed. The first draft is finished, but just like life it "falls apart at the end." The draft as a whole needs revisions, and the last section needs major revisions to bring the story to a close.

I begin revising tomorrow. Tonight, I'm celebrating.

1) I can't remember who said life was "a long, meandering story that kind of falls apart at the end." I wish I said it, but I didn't.

Some Catholics call themselves Conservative Catholics as a way of setting themselves apart; a way of claiming to be the "more faithful Catholics." Others call themselves Liberal or Progressive Catholics as a way of setting themselves apart; a way of claiming to be the "more open minded Catholics." These terms are used as epithets too, with each side hurling adjectives at the other: the Conservative Catholics are "narrow-minded bigots" while the Liberal and Progressive Catholics are "Cafeteria Catholics."

I reject all those labels. Just call me Catholic. No adjectives, no modifiers.

The name Catholic (meaning universal) was first applied to the Church early in the second century to contrast the true faith, which offered salvation to all, with Gnostic sects, which offered salvation to a select few. To be Catholic is to take anyone—no matter how low their station in life, no matter how numerous their sins—and offer them the chance of a new life in Christ. During his earthly ministry, Jesus turned no one away; the Church should turn no one away either.

When Catholics qualify their Catholicism, specifying that they are conservative or liberal, traditional or modern or post-modern, they diminish their Catholicism. They imply that the Gospel that we are called to witness to the world can be contained in a human philosophy. The Gospel we witness to is the Good News of the Word of God, incarnate in our flesh, crucified for our sins, and risen to the right hand of God. This news is the biggest news, the only real news, since the creation of the universe. How can something so large, so universal—something bigger than the universe itself—be qualified without being diminished.

I've seen diminished Catholicism first hand, through the Anglican tradition I was raised in. From almost the moment of its break with Rome, Anglicanism has been divided into parties. First it was the Prayer Book Anglicans vs. the Puritans, then the High (and Dry) Church vs. the Latitudinarians, and finally a three-way split between the Anglo-Catholics, the Evangelicals, and the Broad Church Liberals.

I was an Anglo-Catholic, and within my party I heard people speak of the "Catholic Tradition within Anglicanism," as if the whole of Catholic Tradition could be contained within a subset of a denomination.

Suppose I try to capture the ocean in a bottle. The contents of my bottle—sea water—will hold much in common with the ocean. It will be wet, salty, and filled with little creatures. If I use a large tank instead, I might catch a school of fish, or an octopus, or even a whale. But unless my tank is the size of the world, I won't capture the whole ocean.

In the same way, Anglicanism has tried to capture Catholicism in its Anglo-Catholic bottle.  It got the bishops, and the sacraments, and the smells and bells among other things, but the bottle isn't big enough to hold the Catholic Church.

Likewise the bottles of conservatism, or traditionalism, or liberalism, or modernism aren't large enough to hold the Catholic Church. No political party, no man-made philosophy, no country, no culture is big enough.

So please call me Catholic. no adjectives, no modifiers.

A phrase comes to mind: "Please sir, may I have another."

What is up with this country? It's like someone who's house is on fire. He calls the fire department but when they come to put out the fire, the homeowner complains about the water damage. The arsonist returns to the scene of the crime, offering to clean up the mess. The homeowner agrees and the arsonist sets it all on fire again.

What was it George W. Bush said? "Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice . . . um  . . . we won't get fooled again!" Remember that? Well his buddies are back in power in the House of Representatives thanks to:

1) The Tea Party, who complain about tax increases that are actually tax cuts, government-run health care run entirely by private insurers, and socialism of the kind not seen since the tyrannical reign of that dreaded Communist despot Ronald Reagan.

2) The so-called Liberal Media, which is only liberal compared to Fox News. Fair and balanced? Soviet-era Pravda was more fair and balanced than Fox News.

3) The Man (or Men and Women, who knows?) Behind the Curtain pouring millions of dollars of unregulated and untraceable donations into Republican campaigns at a 9-1 margin. No one spends that kind of money not expecting something in return.

4) The Supreme Court who made #3 possible.

5) The Party of "HELL NO!!!" lead by Orange Man. Seriously, give up on the tanning bed, Mr. Soon-to-be Speaker. Every time I see you on TV, I think the color's screwed up.

6) The Democrats who expected Obama to solve all the country's problems by the end of Inauguration Day. What was it Hillary said? "The sky will open, the angels will sing, the unicorns will fart rainbows . . ." OK, I added the rainbow-farting unicorn part.

7) You if you didn't vote yesterday, but I promise to forgive you if you don't make the same mistake in 2012.

In return, I'll apologize too, for taking out my anger on both Twitter and Facebook and generally acting like a jerk online today. It's out of my system now, and I can get back to writing.

Someday I may try it myself, but not this year. What I need to do this year is finish the manuscript for Her Name is Anna. I thought I was in good shape last May, when I reached the two-thirds mark, but since then I've slowed to a crawl. For about a month I was completely blocked. I started the same chapter nine separate times, only to hit a wall each time.

In July, I enrolled in an eight-week humorous essay workshop led by Melissa Hart. I wrote two solid essays, which I've since sent out to numerous publications, but I got nowhere on the manuscript.

At the Willamette Writers Conference in August I set myself the goal of finishing the manuscript by the end of the year. I created a writing schedule and within two weeks it completely fell apart. I tried to pick up the pace through September and October but hit more walls and more distractions.

It's been five months now since I reached the two-thirds mark and in those five months I've written five chapters. Better than nothing, but at the pace of a chapter a month I won't have the draft finished until next summer, leaving me no time to edit before next year's conference.

So if the realistic goal of a chapter a week that I set back in August isn't happening, why not set an unrealistic goal? Get me some real pressure and let's see what happens.

Toward that end, I am declaring November 2010 as my Personal Memoir Finishing Month (or PerMemFinMo—catchy, isn't it?). Looking at my outline and my word count to date I estimate that I have about 25,000 words to go. That's half of the total of NaNoWriMo. If other writers with busy schedules can crank out 50,000 words I can certainly manage half if I focus on that one goal.

So no TV (not hard given what's on TV), no political websites (too depressing), and a lot less Facebook and Twitter (healthy under any circumstances). Just my family, my prayer life, and my manuscript in that order.

She set an appointment for a sleep study, and I'm glad she did. It turns out I have severe sleep apnea and needed a CPAP to help me breathe regularly. Part of the problem is my weight and I knew I had to do something about it for my health.

I'm 44 years old and my greatest fear is that I won't live long enough to see Anna grow up, graduate from college, get married, and possibly have kids herself. Julia's six years younger than me, but she was having similar thoughts:

"I want to make a serious effort to lose weight for Anna' sake," she said, "and I need your help."

"I've been thinking about this too," I replied. "Let's work on it together."

So we cut out sweets and fried food. I focused on portions, eating smaller more frequent meals. Julia was a bit more strict with herself, tracking calories and carbs in particular.

Then two weeks ago, I had my followup appointment with the sleep specialist. He prescribed a CPAP with a nasal pillow mask (the smallest and least claustrophobic one). The nurse checked my weight that day and I found out I'd lost seven pounds in about a month and a half.

I brought the CPAP home and started acclimating to it. I wore it an hour or so at first, increasing each night, and after a week I managed eight hours of sleep with it on. Now I wear all night, every night.

I thought giving up sweets and junk food would be hard, but it wasn't, I thought adapting to the CPAP would be hard, but it wasn't. Julia said it best:

"When it comes to Anna, it's an easy desicion."

Seriously, both Julia and I were concerned when we found out Anna was the only girl in her class. This is her first preschool class and she's been looking forward to it all summer, but she's also in a very "girly girl" place right now. She wears dresses and skirts all the time and plays with lots of girl toys like fairies and princesses, so we were both afraid she'd refuse to play with her classmates and possibly start acting out.

Well, yesterday was her third class and she is doing great. Yes, she still gravitates to the girl toys at playtime, but she jumps right in at the sand table and the building blocks and plays games with all the boys. I'm sure having a female teacher helps, along with a great teacher to child ratio (3 - 5: special ed has advantages). Plus she's in a class with other kids dealing with speech issues, so there's something in common. For the first time she's not the only one struggling to communicate.

She's has ballet class on Saturday, so she's still around girls her age at least once a week. I've reminded her of that each week and I'm sure it's helped as well.

After a few moments, I saw someone alone up on the rocks on the far end of the bay. I couldn't tell male or female. but I noticed this person's shirt - long sleeved to protect against the cold and a blue as vivid as the cloudless sky. Without the slight haze hugging the horizon, the shirt would have faded into the background. Black pants stood out against the rock, and dark hair formed a striking silhouette against the sky.

I thought about this image for a moment. It seemed like an ideal writing prompt. One could easily write a poem or a short story based on this lone figure. I'm a non-fiction writer, though, so instead I found myself wanting to ask questions: "What's your story?" "Why are you here on this rock?" "What are you thinking as you stare out over the ocean?" The answers are probably mundane, but they might be profound. I will never know.

And that got me thinking about fiction vs. non-fiction. A fiction writer would come up with an interesting story - that's the job of a fiction writer - and ninety-nine times out of a hundred that fictional story would be far more interesting than the truth. But what about that hundredth time? Did I see some one just hanging out at the beach or did I see a small part of a story that might never be told?

After Mass, I was walking through the parking lot to my van. As I walked to the driver's side door, I heard a voice behind me.

"I'm surprised to see you here with those on your bumper."

He was referring to the three well-worn Obama campaign bumper stickers that have adorned our van for the last two years. This wasn't the first time I've heard a rude comment about them, but it was the first time I heard one in a church parking lot after Mass.

How Christian of you, I thought, but I refused to counter his comment with one just as rude. Instead, I got in the car and started backing out.

The parking lot is quite narrow so it took a few tries to pull out of the spot and straighten up without hitting someone. As I was about to drive off, I glanced over my shoulder. He stood there staring at my bumper stickers, like he could peel them off if he glared at them hard enough.

"What?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"What?" He sounded surprised that I was challenging him.

I paused for a moment, wondering what I'd say next. When I opened my mouth again, I think the Holy Spirit was guiding me.

"God bless you."

His scowl transformed into a smile. "God bless you too."

The Retiree Writer—Fundamentally different from a "retired writer," which as far as I can tell doesn't exist, the Retiree Writer is someone who always wanted to write a book, and now has the time to do so. Usually female, 65 or older, this is the most common writer I met at the conference.

The Striving MFAs—Not all of them actually hold MFAs, but regardless of the degree, these are the aspiring career authors. They skew younger than the other attendees, usually in their twenties or thirties, almost always write fiction, and have a specific and well-researched genre. The Sci-Fi writers are mostly male, the Young Adult (YA) and Romance writers are mostly female, and the Fantasy and Mystery writers split down the middle somewhat. This group includes a small subset of "Striving J-School Grads" who write non-fiction.

The Storytellers—This is the most unusual group. They may be young or middle-aged, male or female. The one thing they all have in common is a great story to tell. One is a missionary living and working in Zimbabwe, another walked the Camino de Santiago in Spain, and another tried to write about the loss of her first husband for almost eight years before the story finally poured out of her. Often they start out writing a blog or short essays only to discover the outline of a book.

This was my group, and not to boast or anything but I found the most interesting people and interesting stories among them. Of course, I heard some great story ideas from the Retiree Writers and the Striving MFAs, but in both cases I saw people who had a compulsion to write and then found or created stories. The Storytellers are the ones who had the stories first and then felt compelled to write them.

The best part about being a Storyteller, though, is that once you start writing you discover all the other stories in your life. Build your craft and you can have something you never planned—a career as a writer.