Last summer I was asked, ‘What made you, you? How did you get this way?’
It was 2 in the morning. I hadn’t seen my childhood friend since his wedding six years ago. He hadn’t changed and the years were good to him. It was 2 am and we’d outlasted his family. His brother was getting married and they came to the coast for the bachelor celebration.
My memory works with imagery. Often I try to not remember. I’m told I have a memory that’s abnormal. I don’t think of words or places, I see. Then, I’m there. A thousand images. I wanted to answer and I did. I said, ‘I ought to write a book about it.’
I had been struggling with my second book. The story is complete yet the editing proved most difficult. It wasn’t clear to me until recently when Megan said, ‘You are good when you write what you know.’
My imagery flashed and I was back with my childhood friend and I saw his face as he again asked, ‘What made you, you?’
I’m on chapter 22.