by Jan Richards

I met him when he was a news announcer, at a local radio station. He was years older than I was. Somehow age doesn't seem to make a difference when you find a new friend. At that time, I didn't know I wanted to be a writer. I also didn't know my new friend would make a big impact in my life.

As years passed, Cy and I became good friends. He majored in English. I knew what I had to know and was happy with that. I hated grammar. He loved all phases of it.Somewhere along life's highway, I found myself writing. Little things, like poems, then short stories, and soon a book.

I remember Cy helping me with the grammar part, the part I hated. Many a time we had augments. He wanted to cut and I wanted to paste. He kept telling me I had extra baggage, but, that extra baggage was my writing. I spent a lot of time writing  it. I didn't want to throw it away in the trash.

Through hours and hours of editing and restoring, we finally agreed on what had to stay and what had to go.When we finally edited the book, it became a serial on a cable radio station. The serial ran for twelve weeks. Cy took the part of my husband and he really made the story come to life. I took the part of his wife. Songs I had written were incorported into the radio program.

Cy wanted me to start another book, I wasn't quite ready yet. I didn't want to go through arguments again on what had to stay and what had to be thrown out. At least not at the moment.

After a while, I wrote for local papers, Industry magazine, Romancing the Skyze, and Boston Business Journal.. I started sending query letters to magazines and publishers of books.  Query letters were returned with either they were doing that article or else they had done it before.

You have to be a writer to understand why rejection slips seem to get you down. Cy was always there for me. I wanted to quit writing but he kept after me and told me to keep sending the queries.Today, I am considered a published writer. If it hadn't been for my friend, I might never have seen my words in print.

I remember sending him my published articles. He was thrilled for me. I took him to lunch for helping me. When there was something I didn't understand, I could call him anytime. He was always there for me, a real friend.

Months pssed and we talked on the telephone. We left each other with the promise to get together for lunch again. Time passes so quickly when you are writing and somehow, you don't find the time for little things you promised to do.

One day, I found time to call him. When I asked for him, his  sister gave me the bad news,  he had died. I hung up the phone an cried a lot that day, because I had lost a special friend.

I learned time is precious, and there are a lot of things you want to do  with it, but friends are precious too.  And, sometimes, talking on the telephone is not enough, you have to find time to get together. For if you don't, they just slip away, into the sunset, and you never have a chance to say goodby.

I wish I didn't wait that long to pick  up the phone and make that lunch date with my friend. When I am writing, often times, I hear his voice, "keep writing, someday the rejection slips will stop coming, and you will find a check in the mail." And you know what, he was right.