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. |
| Today I realized something both funny and a little unsettling. The story I am working on has drifted so far from the outline that I may have revised myself right out of it. The plot wandered. The characters made different choices. The ending I planned quietly packed its bags and left. Now I am standing here asking if this is good or bad. On one hand, it feels strange to lose the path I set. I spent time building that outline. I thought I knew where everything was going. Now the story has a mind of its own. It twists and turns in new ways, and I am left trying to catch up. Part of me wonders if I should pull it back. But here is the truth I am learning. Sometimes the story knows better than I do. When it grows past the outline, it can mean the characters are coming alive. It can mean the world is filling in. It can mean the draft is becoming something real instead of something forced. That is not a bad thing. It is a sign of movement. Of course, it also means I need more coffee and a new set of notes. Every time the story changes direction, I have to rethink the map. My brain complains, but the work gets better. I can see it happening. So is revising myself out of a story good or bad? Maybe it is both. It is confusing, but it is also exciting. It means the story is growing beyond the plan. It means I am not just following the outline. I am discovering something new. And honestly, discovery is one of the best parts of writing. I just need to hang on and see where this new version of the story wants to go. |