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Printed from https://web1.writing.com/main/profile/blog/dalericky/day/12-2-2025
Rated: 13+ · Book · Personal · #2276168

Each day feels new, and my memory of the one before is faint. I’m learning to adapt.

In September 2019, a seizure revealed a lime-sized meningioma pressed against my hippocampus—the part of the brain that governs memory and language. The doctors said it was benign, but benign didn’t mean harmless.

Surgery removed the tumor, and three days later I opened my eyes to a new reality. I could walk, I could talk, but when I looked at my wife, her name was gone. I called her Precious—the only word I could find. A failure of memory, yet perhaps the truest name of all.

Recovery has been less cure than re-calibration. Memory gaps are frequent. Conversations vanish. I had to relearn how to write, letter by halting letter. My days are scaffold by alarms, notes, and calendars.

When people ask how I am, I don’t list symptoms or struggles. I simply say, “Seven Degrees Left of Center.” It’s not an answer—it’s who I’ve become.

December 2, 2025 at 8:58am
December 2, 2025 at 8:58am
#1102804
Writers talk about a novel having legs, and I finally understand what that means. It is the moment when the story stops dragging itself across the floor and starts walking on its own. Characters move without being pushed. Scenes unfold without being forced. The world feels alive enough to nudge me forward.

When a novel has legs, I stop pulling it. It starts pulling me. I sit down to write, take a sip of coffee, and suddenly two hours pass. The ideas connect. The chapters grow. I even catch myself smiling at something a character said that I never planned.

Of course, this stage does not appear out of nowhere. It takes a lot of early mornings and many cups of coffee. I think half my progress comes from caffeine and the other half from stubbornness. Some days the coffee keeps me awake long enough for the story to find its stride. Other days it simply keeps me from falling face-first into the keyboard.

But when the novel finally stands up and walks, it feels worth every cup. It is a small victory. It tells me the story wants to be told.

And once it has legs, all I have to do is keep up.


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Printed from https://web1.writing.com/main/profile/blog/dalericky/day/12-2-2025