Here are some techniques from the upcoming book, Mastering Triangle Chokes:

Over the last two years, I have visited high schools in the Pittsburgh area to talk about writing. English teachers like it because I can show students that writing and reading are not as dull and useless as reading the Scarlett Letter and writing a response essay has lead them to believe. The kids like it because they get to not have English class for a day. I like it because 15 year olds always seem to laugh at my jokes.

While I certainly hope that students learn something from my brief visit or are inspired to pursue writing as a career, I suspect that I learn more from the experience than they do, which is unfair, I know, because I already get to check my cell phone and use the restroom without asking permission. Since my policy is the same no matter where or what I am presenting, whether I am talking to middle or high school students about careers in writing or I am giving a seminar on publishing to college students, I am often answering unusual questions. That policy is: if you’re brave enough to ask it, I am brave enough to answer it, so be bold.

The questions range from off-the-wall—Have you ever been arrested? No.—to the vaguely related—How long could you last against Brock Lesnar? How much space do I have to run?—to the sincerely honest—What if you failed? What if your dream never came true?

That last one knocked me on my ass.

What if I had spent the rest of my life talking about my manuscript, my book that I one day wanted to get published, but never actually did? I know writers like this. They have written a novel, their masterpiece that they spent a lifetime crafting, but the chances of it ever being published are slim because it is either not the great, it’s not done and never will be, or out of sheer bad luck the right people never take a chance on it. As I considered my answer, trying to imagine where I might be in 40 years if I had never published The Cauliflower Chronicles, I looked at the young, awkward faces staring up at me from their desks. It occurred to me that every kid in the room had a dream, a hope for their future selves. And some of them, a lot of them, might never see their dreams realized, even if they worked as hard as possible. Bad luck alone could derail them.

“It’s hard to imagine something like that,” I said. “I would be pretty sad probably, but I think that I could be okay with it as long as I knew that I did everything within my power to succeed. If I got to my death bed and could think of a point in my life where I didn’t try my hardest or I wasted an opportunity, I would have regrets, very serious regrets, but if I knew that I tried everything and kept fighting until the very end, I couldn’t regret failing. At least I would know that I went down swinging, and that I gave it my all.”

For a moment, the class was quiet. I felt like I had been pretty profound just then. The girl that had asked the question nodded slowly. The weight of what I had said was sinking in. She was probably dreaming of becoming President or of curing Jersey Shore disease. She was inspired.

Another hand shot up. “Will you choke me out?” a student asked. “I want to know what it feels like.”

With that question, the moment—if there was every actually a moment at all because moments are very hard to capture and define without clever editing and a touching soundtrack—was gone. For me, however, the question lingered. If a few circumstances were different, I may have never had the opportunity to write for Victory Belt. Hell, it is by sheer chance alone that I was born in a place where having a public education is a given. I could very well have been born into third world poverty where I would have grown up barefoot, digging through trash to feed myself and my family until malaria inevitably strikes. To have a dream is easy, but to have the opportunity to reach for a dream is a blessing.

I never want to have kids because I can only handle pondering and answering these sorts of questions once a year. If I had some ankle-biter following me around, he would be asking me about the nature of the universe and the meaning of life every damn day. And he would probably beat me at Battlefield: Bad Company. No, thank you.

As a journalist, I have met a variety of people. Each person I have met has a unique story, a story much more interesting than mine will ever be. That’s why I love being a journalist; I get to hear and share these stories. Many of my favorite stories are in The Cauliflower Chronicles, but the publishing of that book has led to more.

Which is why I want to tell you about Jon and Katie.

After reading my book, Jon added me on Facebook to tell me that he enjoyed it. I clicked to his profile to make a reply post on his wall and noticed that he listed a blog just below his picture. I loaded the blog out of curiosity. What I read felt like a punch in the stomach. The title of the blog: “For My Katie.”

I am a man made of words, and suddenly I had none, which feels a bit like stepping into the cage with your arms taped behind your back. You’re defenseless. You take every shot on the chin. So I kept reading, each sentence another blow.

Katie passed away on March 27 from a cerebral aneurysm. She was 24. Jon considered her to be his soul mate, and he maintains the blog as a tribute to her brief but beautiful life. The blog is filled with essays—memories scrawled as though in the fog of a dream—and photographs—of Katie and of her letters and of her artwork. Jon is like us. He is a fighter. I suspect that his writing is therapeutic—his way of fighting through—but more than anything, I think that he writes so that he can remember. As I read, I realize that Jon is more of a fighter than I will be. He has been in that cage with his arms behind his back since March 27.

In one of his messages to me, Jon wrote, “No one and I really mean no one has been able to really reach out to me and help put what I’ve been through this year into perspective the way your book did.”

That was the greatest compliment for my work I could ever receive. I’m not sure how it did, but I am happy that reading my book softened at least one of those blows. I urge you to read Jon’s blog. Maybe you sharing Katie’s memory will make some of the future blows easier, at least a little bit.

Jon’s blog: http://formykatie.blogspot.com/