On a flight home from Boston, I found myself watching Bill & Ted Face the Music. It was Thanksgiving, and Jocelyn and I had just spent the holiday with my family, catching up with old friends and reminiscing about the past. As I settled into my seat and let the movie play, something about Bill and Ted’s journey stuck with me in a way I hadn’t expected.
For decades, we knew they were destined to save the world with their music. They knew it, too. And yet, by the time we catch up with them in this final film, they’re almost 50 years old and still haven’t figured it out. They’ve tried, they’ve failed, they’ve time-traveled and faced death itself, but their big moment had always eluded them. Then, in their last shot at fulfilling their prophecy, they don’t do it alone. Their daughters step in, assemble a supergroup of musicians, and together, they finally create the song—the one that unites the world.
That story hit close to home.
For years, I knew The Dog Story was a book worth writing—a story of faith, family, resilience, and rediscovering hope after a life-changing diagnosis. But no matter how many times I wrote, rewrote, and edited, it always felt like something was missing. I couldn’t figure out how to tie it all together. Like Bill and Ted, I had the pieces but struggled to complete the journey.
Then came Christmas break. My son Mason, now 17, was deep in the college application process, and over dinner one night, he casually mentioned that he was looking for an internship to strengthen his submission. He plans to pursue law, excels in speech and debate, and loves to read—so in a rare moment of brilliance, I asked, “How would you like a writing credit on The Dog Story?”
To my surprise, he jumped at the chance. And let me tell you—he didn’t hold back.
Mason approached the story with fresh eyes and a sharp critical mind. He told me he loved the first half—the hospital scenes, the emotional weight, the stakes. But then he hit me with a truth I hadn’t fully realized: I rushed the ending. The character arcs weren’t fully completed. The story needed a stronger resolution.
His feedback changed everything.
Because of Mason’s insights, I went back and filled in the missing pieces. I wrote the expanded hospital scene. I added the USS Cole flashback—one of the most powerful moments in the book—because he saw the gap and challenged me to bridge it. He made me step back and ask myself: Have I truly finished this story? And the answer, before his critique, was no.
But this experience became about more than just writing a better book. It became a bonding moment between father and son. At an age where teenagers often pull away, Mason leaned in. He embraced the challenge, and together, we made The Dog Story something greater than I ever could have on my own.
Much like Bill and Ted, I didn’t fulfill my creative prophecy alone. This book is the result of collaboration—with Jocelyn, my steadfast editor and partner, and now with Mason, whose fresh perspective helped bring it to life. And that, to me, makes it all the more meaningful.
If Bill and Ted taught us anything, it’s that great things take time. It’s never too late to create something meaningful. And sometimes, you need help from the people who matter most.
To everyone who has followed my journey with The Dog Story, thank you. It’s been a long road, but I’m finally reaching the destination. And I couldn’t have done it without my family—or without you, my readers.
And remember, as Bill and Ted would say: “Be excellent to each other.”
