In September, 2013, when my husband David got a deadly diagnosis with a prognosis of 12 to 15 months, maybe 18, we decided to make something good come of it. We both thought since the cancer itself was so rare, and the early diagnosis so totally atypical, that our experience would be worth a book. During the next unexpected 26 months, I continued to take notes, captured over five hundred images, and collected a massive correspondence as well as medical documentation. Most importantly, starting in October, I recorded our conversations on my iPhone, towards the end, the recordings were not conversations, but mainly the words of a dying man.
This archive insisted that I write a book. David had to die, and I had to write the book. The book never left my unconscious for a minute, but it took 2 ½ years to assimilate. I was not ready to write, I had other work to do.
Finally, last December, I decided I was ready to pull all this data together. For a month, I did nothing but go through the archive, reading, listening, reliving. I needed a trauma specialist to get through the month. Within another month, I had a book proposal with fifteen chapters to send my agent. She found it fascinating and wants more.
Yet, writing this sort of book is difficult: emotionally, intellectually, and stylistically. Moreover, I usually take 7 to 8 years to complete a book. So, if I run out of time, while I write, I am putting the material I consider most important and useful in these blogs.