One of the unexpected benefits of writing a book about a passed relative is family discovered both living and dead. I never dreamed of these riches.

It is said that authors write to live, but writers live to write. I think that those of us who wrestle with words to get them in their proper order in hopes of making a living have some of each in us, and often, we must be satisfied with getting the process right. Sometimes, there are unexpected rewards.

Such is the case with my novel, "Where the Mockingbird Sang." I know I should not use this space to promote my writing efforts, but I know no other way to share with you a most improbable journey.

I chose my great-great-grandfather’s diaries to write the story, and in doing so, learned a great deal about my roots and family. This I expected. I did not expect the unifying affect it had on the entire family.

Not only did I experience a personal growth of knowledge, but many of the family did as well, becoming aware of their predecessors and past. We all have questions about why things happen in a family for which there seems no explanation. The book answered much of that for many. That is very satisfying, but nothing compared to what happened while we were on tour.

We determined to visit the southern sites mentioned in the book. This took us through Mississippi, Arkansas and Missouri. There was much pre-publicity done with press releases, posters, book reviews prior to our arrival. This publicity had an unexpected result.

The day before we left, I got a call from the daughter of the last living grandchild of my great-great-grandfather. I suspect that there are few grandchildren of Civil War veterans living, and that alone is of value to me. But, the news did not stop there.

He and family agreed to meet us in Springdale, Ark. where our progenitor was from, and attend the presentation. This opened an entire new line of our family that no one knew existed. We now have many, many new cousins to get to know. Our genealogy has exploded. Yet, the discoveries did not stop there.

We visited many cemeteries in the area as we had done before, but this time, the headstones represented real people who lived, loved, had passions, fought, divorced, suffered the loss of little ones, and all the things that we do. They became real. One of my most treasured moments was when my daughters stood between the head stones of their great-great-great-great grandparents representing the seventh generation.

As we continued to explore, each gravestone represented a story. One headstone had two names on it. They were brothers who had died within weeks of each other. Disease was the probable cause, but who knows, it could have been a terrible accident. It is lost to time, but would not have been if their parents, as my great-great grandfather did, chose to write it down.

No matter how insignificant you may think your life is, you have a story to tell. Someday you will have great-great-great … grandchildren. Will they ever know who you are?

David Wilson Atwood is a local freelance writer whose human-interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be e-mailed at david@starchasers.us.