When Dad was in his twenties, he started writing a novel about a boxer. He said he wrote about fifty or so pages, before abandoning the project, throwing the pages carelessly into a dresser drawer before eventually tossing the words spun from his mind into the trash can like so much rubbish. I always was disappointed that the ending of the story was never created, having been rudely terminated with my father’s lack of drive.
Of course, many people at that age tackle fleeting careers as writers, artists, musicians. A few lucky and talented souls are able to exist on that charmed path for the rest of their lives, while most of us are forced to step onto a more realistic, humdrum path of responsibility. My dad was no different than the rest of the world, taking a stab at a fleeting dream.
Still, I wonder about the story. Who were the characters that my dad was fleshing out and bringing alive in his unfinished book? Was there a character based upon his brother-in-law, a fairly well-known Irish boxer by the name of Dixie McCall, whose boxing career was cut short by a drowning and burial at sea, never to be seen again by his family?
The novel’s characters are mere ghosts now, just like my father.