After my diagnosis of
early-onset Alzheimer’s, I knew I had to write about my condition. But how? I
soon learned that Greg O’Brien, who lives on the Cape, had written a stellar
book about early-onset Alzheimer’s. I’ve met Greg only one time, and the
encounter was brief. But his book is essential to me. Greg proved that someone
with Alzheimer’s can write at a high level.
Why
am I ending my blog? Alzheimer’s is a “progressive” disease. There is no going
back to an earlier stage. More important, doing my blog has come to be an arduous
task. Or worse.
Yes,
I can depend on Paula’s skills. But Paula has other work to do. And I am chary
to dump another task on her. And some of you may recall the near loss of my electronic
manuscript, after I tipped a glass of water on my laptop, putting me in a funk.
Paula was magnificent that day. That’s one reason I married her: supreme calm
under stress.
And
now that I won’t be publishing my blogposts, how will I fill my time? This
should be fairly easy. For decades, I carped about not having time to work on my
fiction. Now I will have a chance. Certainly, I will have the time. But fiction
is a more demanding genre. My last book was a collection of essays, focused on
commercial fishing in Puget Sound and Southeastern Alaska.
There
was a time that my fiction writing was the center of my universe. Here is an
example. In 1989, I was preparing for my “comps”—short for comprehensive
master’s exam—at Northeastern University. While other students had diligent
plans to ensure they pass, I flippantly roared through the test. Why the rush? Elementary,
dear Watson. I hoped to get back to Somerville, so I could write a page or two
of my novel when I got home.
This
time around, things are different. I recall a Northeastern classmate suggesting
that I was faintly obsessed with my book, and he was probably right. O,
creative youth, make your imprint before life hardens into obsidian.