Ask the Author: Bill H.
Answered Questions (5)
Bill H.
That is a fantastic question and gets right to the heart of what makes writing a memoir so challenging. Memory is definitely a tricky thing!
To answer your question directly: I wrote my version of the "truth," but I absolutely relied on the perspectives of others. Early versions of the manuscript were read by dear friends who helped keep me honest and grounded.
My old modus operandi used to be "whopping exaggeration," so I really had to work hard to avoid doing that in this book. I'll admit to a tiny bit of dramatic license—for instance, my wife Missy might not have literally crumbled to the floor in one particular scene, but she definitely needed the safety bar nearby to hold herself up!
For the most part, though, there were just funny moments where my memory totally clashed with reality:
The Details: Missy remembered a completely different Jimmy Buffett song playing at a wedding we watched.
The Timeline: I recalled a situation with a Choir Director as one single event, but I was told it was actually two separate occasions.
The Hard Proof: I remembered an incredible chef's dinner happening on our last cruise. Missy swore it was the cruise before that—and she literally produced the signed cookbook to prove her version was right!
The Blurry Moments: I can only recall portions of our last trip before my sobriety. I usually need people to remind me of stories or show me a photo to trigger the memory.
As for the second part of your question about being my own harshest critic: believe it or not, the biggest disagreement I get from people who read the book is my assessment of my past self. I describe myself back then as a world-class ahole, but a lot of people push back and say, "No, you were just a fun drunk!"
The truth is, most people didn't see me 24/7, and no one but me knew what I was actively editing out of their view. They thought I was just being the life of the party, when in reality, I was incredibly bored because I only cared about myself. That hurts to say, even now, but it is the truth.
Thank you for such a thoughtful question!
To answer your question directly: I wrote my version of the "truth," but I absolutely relied on the perspectives of others. Early versions of the manuscript were read by dear friends who helped keep me honest and grounded.
My old modus operandi used to be "whopping exaggeration," so I really had to work hard to avoid doing that in this book. I'll admit to a tiny bit of dramatic license—for instance, my wife Missy might not have literally crumbled to the floor in one particular scene, but she definitely needed the safety bar nearby to hold herself up!
For the most part, though, there were just funny moments where my memory totally clashed with reality:
The Details: Missy remembered a completely different Jimmy Buffett song playing at a wedding we watched.
The Timeline: I recalled a situation with a Choir Director as one single event, but I was told it was actually two separate occasions.
The Hard Proof: I remembered an incredible chef's dinner happening on our last cruise. Missy swore it was the cruise before that—and she literally produced the signed cookbook to prove her version was right!
The Blurry Moments: I can only recall portions of our last trip before my sobriety. I usually need people to remind me of stories or show me a photo to trigger the memory.
As for the second part of your question about being my own harshest critic: believe it or not, the biggest disagreement I get from people who read the book is my assessment of my past self. I describe myself back then as a world-class ahole, but a lot of people push back and say, "No, you were just a fun drunk!"
The truth is, most people didn't see me 24/7, and no one but me knew what I was actively editing out of their view. They thought I was just being the life of the party, when in reality, I was incredibly bored because I only cared about myself. That hurts to say, even now, but it is the truth.
Thank you for such a thoughtful question!
Bill H.
Hi Lynda, thank you for such a thoughtful two-part question.
To answer your second question first, because it really sets the stage: The reason I didn't stop drinking when I was first diagnosed was pure EGO. I convinced myself that "others are alcoholics, not me." I believed I couldn't possibly have a "common" disease because I was special. I thought I could manage it alone, which is the biggest lie addiction tells you. It doesn't care who you are, where you came from, or what you have.
That ego is actually tied directly to your first question. Originally, this book wasn't meant to help anyone. It started simply because my therapists told me to journal. In fact, my original concept was going to be called "12 Reflections from an Expert in Nothing," where I was just going to tell people what to do and what I thought (which is where chapters like the ones on martinis and music came from).
But as I wrote, I realized I had gone from being a "pontificator" to a guy who had to admit his ego was completely out of control.
I think that realization is exactly why the book can help people change their own behaviors—whether it's drinking, eating, or shopping—before they hit a life-threatening wall. I've been told by dozens of readers that the raw honesty, the focus on faith, and leading by example rather than being preachy has helped them recognize their own denial.
At the end of the day, recognizing a destructive behavior before it kills you requires exactly what the title says: the Grit to face your reality, the Gratitude that help is there when you ask for it, and the Giggles to not take your ego so seriously along the way.
Hi Lynda, thank you for such a thoughtful two-part question.
To answer your second question first, because it really sets the stage: The reason I didn't stop drinking when I was first diagnosed was pure EGO. I convinced myself that "others are alcoholics, not me." I believed I couldn't possibly have a "common" disease because I was special. I thought I could manage it alone, which is the biggest lie addiction tells you. It doesn't care who you are, where you came from, or what you have.
That ego is actually tied directly to your first question. Originally, this book wasn't meant to help anyone. It started simply because my therapists told me to journal. In fact, my original concept was going to be called "12 Reflections from an Expert in Nothing," where I was just going to tell people what to do and what I thought (which is where chapters like the ones on martinis and music came from).
But as I wrote, I realized I had gone from being a "pontificator" to a guy who had to admit his ego was completely out of control.
I think that realization is exactly why the book can help people change their own behaviors—whether it's drinking, eating, or shopping—before they hit a life-threatening wall. I've been told by dozens of readers that the raw honesty, the focus on faith, and leading by example rather than being preachy has helped them recognize their own denial.
At the end of the day, recognizing a destructive behavior before it kills you requires exactly what the title says: the Grit to face your reality, the Gratitude that help is there when you ask for it, and the Giggles to not take your ego so seriously along the way.
Bill H.
Debbie, this is an incredibly thoughtful question. The journey of writing this book was a rollercoaster, and it definitely hit all three of those emotions for me.
What touched me: The moments that touched me the most—and surprisingly flowed the easiest—were writing about my dad. Because I had lived with those memories and lessons in my head for so long, translating them onto the page for others to read just poured out of me naturally.
What challenged me: The biggest challenge was figuring out how to actually put it all together. Originally, the book started out as just a collection of my "pontifications"—stand-alone thoughts like the chapters on martinis and music. But as it evolved, it became a story of how I got here and where I want to go next. The real challenge was ensuring I didn't become the guy just preaching and telling everyone "how it is" for 240 pages. I had to weave it into a vulnerable, real narrative.
What surprised me: The biggest shock to me was realizing how little my mom is actually in this book! When I read the final draft, I was genuinely surprised. I love her dearly and am incredibly grateful for her, but I realized there is a reason for her absence here: it turns out she is going to be the star of a forthcoming book. So, stay tuned for that!
What it revealed: Finally, the whole experience revealed a deep truth about human nature: we are all constantly evolving. It showed me that I, and the people around me, can truly change and get better when we put in the hard work. But it also revealed the sad reality that sometimes people get complacent and fall backward. It was a powerful reminder that growth is never "done"—it's a daily, intentional choice.
What touched me: The moments that touched me the most—and surprisingly flowed the easiest—were writing about my dad. Because I had lived with those memories and lessons in my head for so long, translating them onto the page for others to read just poured out of me naturally.
What challenged me: The biggest challenge was figuring out how to actually put it all together. Originally, the book started out as just a collection of my "pontifications"—stand-alone thoughts like the chapters on martinis and music. But as it evolved, it became a story of how I got here and where I want to go next. The real challenge was ensuring I didn't become the guy just preaching and telling everyone "how it is" for 240 pages. I had to weave it into a vulnerable, real narrative.
What surprised me: The biggest shock to me was realizing how little my mom is actually in this book! When I read the final draft, I was genuinely surprised. I love her dearly and am incredibly grateful for her, but I realized there is a reason for her absence here: it turns out she is going to be the star of a forthcoming book. So, stay tuned for that!
What it revealed: Finally, the whole experience revealed a deep truth about human nature: we are all constantly evolving. It showed me that I, and the people around me, can truly change and get better when we put in the hard work. But it also revealed the sad reality that sometimes people get complacent and fall backward. It was a powerful reminder that growth is never "done"—it's a daily, intentional choice.
Bill H.
The physical act of stopping was dictated by the doctors—I had to stop or I was going to die. But the mental and emotional act of staying stopped? That was incredibly hard work.
What made the biggest difference for me was my foundation. I actually came into this process with a very strong spirituality, but it had been washed away over the years. I had made the mistake of blaming The Church for the sins of man, when in reality, the Church itself was a victim of Evil.
When I finally got sober, the fellowship of AA made it easy for me to drop back into my faith. AA is not a religion, and atheists absolutely abound in those rooms and find great success, but for me, it helped facilitate a profound spiritual experience. It gave me the space to reconnect with my Catholicism.
The other key was jumping in 110%. I didn't just quietly stop drinking. I went to groups, I went to meetings, and I wore my disease on my sleeve. And of course, I hired a coach so I could finally get the other aspects of my life in order. I know that sounds like a cliché—typical AA!—but it is true. It was not easy by any stretch of the imagination, but doing the hard work, getting the right support, and leaning into that spiritual foundation is what made it stick.
What made the biggest difference for me was my foundation. I actually came into this process with a very strong spirituality, but it had been washed away over the years. I had made the mistake of blaming The Church for the sins of man, when in reality, the Church itself was a victim of Evil.
When I finally got sober, the fellowship of AA made it easy for me to drop back into my faith. AA is not a religion, and atheists absolutely abound in those rooms and find great success, but for me, it helped facilitate a profound spiritual experience. It gave me the space to reconnect with my Catholicism.
The other key was jumping in 110%. I didn't just quietly stop drinking. I went to groups, I went to meetings, and I wore my disease on my sleeve. And of course, I hired a coach so I could finally get the other aspects of my life in order. I know that sounds like a cliché—typical AA!—but it is true. It was not easy by any stretch of the imagination, but doing the hard work, getting the right support, and leaning into that spiritual foundation is what made it stick.
Bill H.
Rich, this is a fantastic two-part question. Thank you for asking it!
To answer your first question: Writing this book really helped me crystallize what eventually became my C.A.L.M. coaching approach. When I was getting sober, I had a hard realization that fits perfectly into the "A" of that framework: the world and everyday things do not actually revolve around me. Letting go of that ego naturally leads to the "L"—the Legacy Lens. It means looking at situations and people without making immediate judgments. That is now the absolute core of my coaching practice. When someone is going through a difficult season, my job is never to judge them; my job is to help them find their balance and figure out how to achieve their goals.
As for your second question: If I were adding a chapter today, it would actually be an expansion of a blog post I just wrote titled, "The Two Gifts: Survival & Sobriety." The chapter would explore the profound realization that while the new liver was the incredible medical gift that kept me breathing, my true "second act" in life didn't begin on the operating table—it began with my sobriety. The surgery saved my body, but sobriety gave me a life actually worth living.
To answer your first question: Writing this book really helped me crystallize what eventually became my C.A.L.M. coaching approach. When I was getting sober, I had a hard realization that fits perfectly into the "A" of that framework: the world and everyday things do not actually revolve around me. Letting go of that ego naturally leads to the "L"—the Legacy Lens. It means looking at situations and people without making immediate judgments. That is now the absolute core of my coaching practice. When someone is going through a difficult season, my job is never to judge them; my job is to help them find their balance and figure out how to achieve their goals.
As for your second question: If I were adding a chapter today, it would actually be an expansion of a blog post I just wrote titled, "The Two Gifts: Survival & Sobriety." The chapter would explore the profound realization that while the new liver was the incredible medical gift that kept me breathing, my true "second act" in life didn't begin on the operating table—it began with my sobriety. The surgery saved my body, but sobriety gave me a life actually worth living.
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