There was before. There was after.
And there was one night that fell in between.
My memoir, Like It Never Happened, lifts that night into day. And it was heavy lifting because even the best parts got weighed down by the bitter end. So it sank into oblivion. For decades it disappeared. Until time was ready to bring it to light.
Its first flash was like a firestorm discharging from my youth. Scintillating with passion, its sparks kept flying and flagging me to come back. Foolishly, I followed until I was so far gone, I wasn’t myself anymore. I was stuck in the past. Surrounded by darkness. Running down a back-country road on the night of June 29, 1971.
End of story. I thought I was done. But there was purpose in the madness that drew me in. It was meant to make me dig out my fear and fire it with insight for others with PTSD to follow. Disguised as darkness, this guiding force helped me recover what I didn’t know I lost.
It took me five years to write two books bound to inspire. One shows my coming of age crossing the line. The other a ride out of the grip of fear and into the grasp of feeling fully alive.