Spring, summer, fall and winter are more than just seasons on a calendar. We can also think of them as the seasons of a life well lived. 

In Write for the Fight: A Collection of Seasonal Essays, 13 writers reflect on where they've been and where they hope life life will take them before they leave this mortal coil. In this anthology, each writer offers a unique perspective on the seasons of life: 

Spring: Reflecting on what life was like at age 5
Summer: Offering advice to their 20-year-old selves
Fall: Considering what remains on their bucket list 
Winter: Imagining what folks might say about them on their 80th birthday

As editor of this anthology, I had the opportunity to read each essay and interact with the authors who wrote them. Some of them made me laugh. Others made me cry. Still others left me pensive and reflective about my own life. These stories forced me to think about where I've been and where I hope to go in life. It's an incredible journey that I invite you to take with these writers and then apply the seasonal questions to your own life.

Write For the Fight is currently available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble, but I'm giving away a copy to one lucky reader of my blog. All you have to do is leave a comment on this post and your name will be entered in a drawing to receive a soft-cover copy of the book. (To make it interesting, feel free to include a personal observation that addresses one of the four questions from the book.) If you share this blog post (via Twitter, Facebook, etc.), you will earn an additional chance to win. Don't forget to first leave a comment here on the blog. The winner will be selected by a random drawing. (For Facebook shares, please see this public post on my Facebook page and share it. For tweets, please use the hashtag #freeWFTF.) The deadline to comment or share is Tuesday, June 12, at 5 p.m. The winner will be announced by the end of the day on Wednesday, June 13.

While it's not a condition of accepting the book, those of us involved in this labor of love would appreciate a book review on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or your own personal blog. I also want to mention that proceeds from the sale of this book benefit breast cancer, so if you don't win the free copy, please consider purchasing the book. It's for a good cause.

Please leave a Comment below for a chance to win your copy of Write for the Fight. You can learn more about the book through one of my earlier posts: Write for the Fight: A kaleidoscope look at life — past, present and future. 

_Rain was gently falling as I parked the car in front of my childhood home. It was the day before Mother's Day and just a few days until the 9th anniversary of my mother's death. Stopping to survey the old homestead was tugging at my heartstrings, and the gloomy weather seemed an appropriate backdrop to my melancholy mood.

I looked around, noting the familiar and seeing how the hands of time and other people had changed the only home I knew until the day I got married. The house was sold a few years after my mother's death; it had fallen into the hands of interlopers, intruders. A catering business had invaded the space where my mother once baked cornbread and cooked Thanksgiving dinners.

I noted the "For Sale" near the mailbox, an indication the catering business had gone bust or moved on. Since the property is now commercial, much of the front yard is covered with asphalt. (Paved paradise, put up a parking lot.) The backyard is bereft of the trees I once climbed in. But some landmarks of my youth remain. The big tree in the front yard still stands tall, no longer flocked by the irises my mother planted there but still shading the house where no one lives.  

I grabbed my umbrella and stepped from the car to look around. I walked to the side of the house and looked up at my old bedroom window. That window was my view to the world as I listened to American Top 40 countdowns. That room was my refuge as I scribed in my diary and cried crocodile tears over a long list of boys. It all looked the same ... but somehow different.

As I edged the car from the parking lot and back onto the two-lane road, I took a last glance in the rearview mirror. I could feel the weight of my all childhood hopes and dreams, but they weren't pulling me back — they were urging me forward ... back to the present. So I pointed my car toward home and headed back to Nashville ... to make new memories and dream new dreams. 

Do you have strong ties to your childhood home? How does visiting that place make you feel? Please share your thoughts in the Comments below.