Keep Breathing, An Interview with the Author

Thank you for taking the time to discuss your new novel, Keep Breathing. I suppose we should start with the obvious. Why are you interviewing yourself?

Well Len, Oprah hasn’t called, nor has C-SPAN’s Book TV, and not a peep out of the Nolensville Dispatch. 

You’re surprised? Never mind, what’s this book about?

Two men embark on a road trip, heading south along the I-95 corridor. It’s a last gasp for Miracle Morgan. In his highly compromised physical condition, it is a dangerous, even foolhardy journey. But a letter from a lover he hasn’t heard from in 40 years energizes Miracle. She’s kept a secret from him all these years and now, out of options, she is pleading for Miracle’s help.

Miracle convinces his best friend Ray, an itinerant tennis pro, to help him make the trip. Accompanied by Tara, a beautiful and much younger woman, Ray is more than willing to help…for a price. With each mile and with every harrowing roadblock the trio encounters, Ray’s plan to get his aching bones off the tennis court for good seemingly unravels.   

As they make their way down the east coast, the complexity of Miracle’s and Ray’s lifelong friendship is revealed. Miracle also uncovers Tara’s secrets. She is about to rock the world of two men.

Why did you write this story?

I was inspired by the loss of a very close friend who had pulmonary fibrosis. 

Is your main character based on your friend’s life?

No, but I learned a lot from what I saw and we talked almost every day. He fought courageously until the very end to live his life to the fullest.

 

Is that why you’re donating 20% of the book’s net proceeds to the Pulmonary Fibrosis Foundation?

I’m donating to the Foundation because the vast majority of donations they receive are used to find a cure. It’s considered a rare disease but the prevalence appears to be growing, in some cases due to pollution. A lot of first responders at the World Trade Center on 9/11 have been diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis. I believe it is a very worthy cause. If you’re interested, go to www.pulmonaryfibrosis.org

Does your story contain a message for people with pulmonary fibrosis?

As a writer, my job is to tell a good story. If someone with pulmonary fibrosis reads the book and finds inspiration to continue the battle, so much the better.

There is also a strong tennis component in your story. Why tennis?

I love the game. And I think Ray, Miracle’s best friend and itinerant tennis pro, gave me a chance to say a little something about the game, although I’m not sure I knew that when I was writing. He is a rogue but not on the tennis court. He was all business on the court. Maybe the game is a metaphor for who Ray wishes he was.    

You worked in the durable medical equipment, homecare industry for a long time. Do you think you were rough on them?

Not at all. One character made a serious mistake and the other was, to put it mildly, a jerk. As I have written previously in a homecare journal, every industry has its scoundrels. They don’t define the industry. On the whole, the thing that I hope comes across, because it’s the truth, is that when it comes to patient care, there is no room for compromise. The vast majority of homecare providers and manufacturers are patient advocates at heart.     

What are your hopes for Keep Breathing?

My hopes are completely separated from reality. That said, I hope it’s a best seller and then a major motion picture. Of course, I was hoping to win the last big Powerball lottery too.

 

Are you working on another project?

Yes, I am.

Care to tell us about it?

It’s too soon but I’ll give you a hint. It will improve your tennis game dramatically.

Last question: How can someone buy Keep Breathing?

It’s available at on line book stores like Amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com. Or, if you prefer, via Kindle. 

Tennis Players: We’re a Different Breed

The French Open, one of tennis’s major championships each year, is nearing the final rounds. This one’s claim to fame, aside from being played in Paris, is the red clay courts. Watching the power, speed and unfathomable shot making of seeded and unseeded players alike, I found myself thinking about the game and club level play. I’ve been playing tennis now for seven years, not long actually. Unlike my golf game which I gave up for tennis, I occasionally see some improvement. One of the beauties of the game is that older people can play it and in some cases, play with considerable skill. While games like basketball, baseball and football are meant to be watched after a certain age, tennis is a game you can play with gusto even as an octogenarian. Yes, golf is another game you can play well into your later years and for those who enjoy chasing a little white sphere through all corners of manicured parks I say, hit ‘em straight. For me nothing is more exhilarating than a good tennis match even if I’m not very good. Tennis players I think are a different breed. There is a good deal of camaraderie on the court between games, especially in doubles. Yet, once the server sends the yellow ball over the net, the battle is on. For my money, tennis may be the last game where combatants who face off against each other, manage to remain civil at all times. Civility is integral to the game and it’s evident at all levels of play from the pros to club level. Players don’t scream at each other. The chair umpire is highly unlikely to be called upon to break up a fistfight between the players. That’s not to say that I would mind seeing a fight break out between say, Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe just for old time’s sake. Of course, tennis players can be a bit quirky. It’s rare for players to brag about an incredible backhand. Few players will gloat over wiping the floor with an opponent 6-0, 6-0. But there is a tendency to brag about how much your knees are killing you or the tennis elbow you’ve been playing through for eleven years. My favorite opponent, by the way is the one who starts the match by informing me he is playing with only one knee and forgot his prescription glasses, so would I please go easy on him. I like this guy because I know I can relax. I am about to get a colorful, stiff beating. The guys who are really good at this (or sadistic if you will) are the ones who let you take the first game or two, actually hitting the ball as if the object of the game was to hit the ball into the net on two bounces. Just as you begin to feel sorry for him, he suddenly starts hitting miraculous passing shots. By the time you adjust, the match is over and he’s having a cigarette. It’s common too for players to prescribe remedies for various ailments. Over the years I’ve learned that a shot of cortisone is a complete and total cure for tennis elbow. On the other hand I’ve also learned that cortisone is useless and may cause me to see three balls coming at me instead of the usual two I see after hydrating with Jack Daniels instead of water. And don’t get into a discussion about the wonders of Aleve with anybody. You can spot the players who have crossed over from tennis enthusiast to a warped, obsessive compulsive tennis disorder by the way the OCD player talks about Aleve as a dietary supplement. One thing that is different about tennis players versus golfers is I have never met a tennis player who secretly thinks he could be on the professional tour. Some golfers will suggest that if they had more time to hone their game, they could be on the tour, at least the senior tour. Tennis players don’t suffer such delusions about their game. For one thing most players peak before they reach 25. For another, when you’re playing mixed doubles and a 50 something woman who just took the game up three weeks ago cleans your clock, perspective dawns easily. If you’ve never picked up a tennis racquet, I encourage you to do so. You can’t beat the exercise and you cannot help but meet interesting, kind and encouraging people who want nothing more than to ace you on their next serve. Copyright 2012, Len Serafino. All rights reserved.

Goodbye Youth

My friend Ann sent me an email the other day describing her sister Patricia’s application for Social Security. I think Patricia’s words on the subject of reaching this milestone, one that few of us ever thought would actually arrive, captured the essence of the baby boom generation. When she completed her on line application she hit the send button and said, “Goodbye youth."
Yes it’s a funny line, certainly uttered tongue-in-check. The reason I’m sure Pat’s words were said tongue-in-cheek is that no respectable boomer is prepared to acknowledge old-age and we probably never will. Never mind that Social Security was specifically designed to assist the elderly in their later years. Remember that Social Security may also be described by the acronym OASDI, as in Old-Age, Survivors, and Disability Insurance, a term younger people and more than a few baby boomers are probably not familiar with. Not that baby boomers would actually cotton to the alternative definition.
Baby boomers invented the youth culture. We’ve been pushing back the boundaries of age for many years now. Many of our contemporaries are as active as they were in their 30s. Some are probably more active, still brimming with ideas, hopes and dreams. Believe me a simple matter like a monthly check from the Federal Government is hardly enough to make us feel old! Did you know there are now 13 million people under the age of 65 receiving Social Security thanks to the program’s disability provision? Obviously eligibility for Social Security alone isn’t a useful guideline to determine old age.
I don’t know very many boomers who act like senior citizens. As it turns out there is a great deal of truth in the saying, “You are only as old as you feel.” The Pew Research Center surveyed 3,000 people between the ages of 18 and well over 65 to get their views on old age. On average people suggested old age begins at 68. But if you ask people who are 65 and older they will tell you old age begins at 74. The survey also found that only 35% of respondents 75 and older said they felt old.
One of my friends, 63, is spending countless hours trying to land an executive level position in a high tech industry. The obstacles are many but after a full year of searching he soldiers on. Don’t bet against him. He doesn’t see his age in a youth oriented business as a barrier. Why should he? He considers himself youthful.
Another guy, over 70 recently spent a hefty sum for a top of the line electronic Lowrey organ. He takes lessons and occasionally performs. Frank would no more sit on the front porch watching life go by than any hip 40 year old.
I know a 60 year old woman who works long hours managing a medical practice and still has the energy to go ballroom dancing three or four nights a week. I play tennis several times a week and the vast majority of my playing partners are also in their sixties.
I know still others who volunteer their time, like my friend Bob who drives chemotherapy patients to and from their treatment sessions.
Too soon old, too late smart is a proverb, reportedly Dutch, which many people of a certain age fully appreciate. In the case of baby boomers, and perhaps generations to come, some of the sting may be taken out of the old saying. We do have a lot more energy in our later years than our ancestors did and we have many, many more opportunities to do useful, important and even smart things. More than ever the world needs wisdom and willingness to set right what has gone wrong. The fabled ‘60s were an exciting time. How grand would it be to come full circle and make this time our generation’s finest hour? And we’ll know we are groovin’ when someone coins the phrase, “Don’t trust anybody over 80.”

Copyright Len Serafino, 2012. All rights reserved.

Boogie Oogie Oogie

I’m 64 now. Yeah it happened about 3 weeks ago. I can’t say that living six plus decades has made me wiser. But, to paraphrase something novelist Kurt Vonnegut once said, why ask me what to do? The earth has been around for billions of years. I just got here. One thing I am certain of though is that there are some things you shouldn’t do after a certain age like dancing fast to a song like say, Boogie Oogie Oogie in public. Take my word for it you don’t move the way you did when you were twenty-something. You may remember the song, recorded by A Taste of Honey. My favorite line is “We’re gonna boogie oogie oogie until you just can’t boogie no more.” In the privacy of my own home I tried to do just that. Thirteen seconds and I couldn’t boogie-oogie no more. I never would have made it that long had it not been for the oxygen my wife was feeding me.
You know, you can play a mean game of tennis at 64 (Not me but I’ve seen it done.) You can cook a gourmet meal complete with a rich dessert and select an elegant wine to go with it. What you can’t do is eat it. You have to choose between the Chateaubriand and Chateauneuf-du- Pape. While everyone else is enjoying cherries jubilee, you’re nibbling on a ½ inch square of dark chocolate and I do mean 80% cocoa.
Another thing that never really looks good after the age of 60 is a man behind the wheel of a sports car even if it’s a Ferrari. As you’re turning the corner with your lamb skin gloves wrapped around the steering wheel, you can’t help notice that heads are turning. Feels good but deep down you must know the girls…and the guys are snickering. If you’re over 60 and you have that kind of bread, give it to charity if you want to impress. Remember: When you get out of that little red car your knees will still hurt.
Then there are the long working hours we used to take for granted. Business travel, time zone changes and high pressure stakes made your heart sing. Long distance travel in the twilight hours of your career gives you heartburn and high blood pressure makes your ears ring.
A friend of mine pointed out that Hillary Clinton, also 64 is still a globe trotter who keeps long hours and is at the top of her game. Yeah, but I’ll bet she doesn’t cut her own lawn on Saturdays. And let’s face it, she is a world leader constantly stimulated by global crises and the march of history. Suppose she was selling yogurt franchises, promising prospects a new flavor every other month? How stimulating would that be for someone just a year shy of Medicare eligibility? Her best hope for stimulation in that situation? Accidentally dropping her hair dryer in a stopped up, water filled sink in her motel room.
Here’s something else you shouldn’t do in your sixties. Criticize younger people for their work ethic, their manners or their lifestyles. Of course we don’t understand them. We were born under drastically different conditions. The world has changed so much and more than once in their short lifetimes. Most of them are doing the best they can. I recently had a job change that brought me into regular contact with young co-workers. Know what? They are smart and hard working. They’re ambitious and respectful, even patient with an old timer even if he just can’t boogie no more.

Learning New Tricks

I found the game of tennis a bit late in life. I was 57 to be exact when I took my first lesson. For me it was love at first sight. The game didn’t exactly reciprocate. I was surprised by how demanding the sport is. The game requires physical dexterity, athletic ability and mental agility, none of which are in my arsenal. Watching the pros on television makes tennis look like a simple game, especially the way its played today with players seemingly just bashing the ball from baseline to baseline.
The speed and incredible finesse necessary to compete at that level isn’t readily apparent to the casual observer on the tube. Out on the court though, even at the club level, it’s obvious that consistently placing the ball where you want it to go is about as easy as consistently investing your money in exactly the right instrument at the right time.
Still, I press on with unabashed enthusiasm for the game. I take lessons, play in leagues and last year I attended a three day tennis camp at a prestigious tennis academy. I have loads of tennis paraphernalia and now that my left knee has begun to give me fits I’m outfitted with one of the game’s main side effect as well.
I play tennis for the exercise. It’s an enjoyable pastime, much more interesting than the loneliness of a treadmill or the frustration or the deadly monotony of a stationary bike. Tennis is so much fun I can hardly stand it. I have experienced some unexpected benefits from playing the game too. For starters, I’ve become an observer of the way I learn something new.
How many times do I need to hear that footwork is extremely important if I want to produce good, solid ground strokes? How often does an instructor need to tell me that it’s necessary to move to the ball rather than waiting for it to come to me like an obedient Bassett Hound? How often must I read a sentence that says something like, “Concentrate on the ball whenever it’s in play?” Let me put it this way: After three years of instruction I’m still struggling with the basics. Had I learned the alphabet at the same pace I would just be completing my third year of the first grade. I think adults tend to be stubborn about learning new tricks. We struggle with the notion that we don’t know how to do something, especially when it looks a lot easier than it is. I don’t mind paying for the lessons or reading instruction books. But really, how can a guy thirty years my junior really know more than I do about anything? Don’t answer that.
At least the game gives me the chance to experience athletic competition. League play, both singles and doubles, has sharpened my competitive instincts and helped me to manage performance anxiety in a positive way. I don’t mind telling you I was feeling pretty good last week when I managed to get the best of a 22 year old in an early morning singles match. The fact that he had been out all night and was drinking beer between sets didn’t diminish the accomplishment in my own eyes one bit. On the other hand, I’m still learning to accept defeat gracefully. Considering how often I lose you might think that losing was the entire point of the game. Yet, I never take losing lightly regardless of how experienced the other player is. Just last week I endured a thorough beating in another singles match at the hands of a 75 year old. To add insult to injury, when the match was over he lit a cigarette. It was probably wrong of me to let the air out of his tires when he went to the restroom.
Like golf, tennis is a game steeped in tradition. Unlike golf, the game doesn’t require that observers –or players for that matter- speak in hushed tones if they must speak at all during a match. If you’ve seen any professional tennis lately you know that the game has spawned a legion of grunters. Imagine Tiger Woods letting out a 50 decibel grunt every time he putts. Grunting is supposed to help with concentration. I’ve tried it and all it does for me is remind me that eating fried chicken fifteen minutes before the match was another thing I had been warned about and ignored.

Copyright 2008 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.