In 1995, sitting on a beach near the village of Nerja in Spain, a story jumped into my head, set up a picket line and refused to let me do anything else until it had been told.

 

I bought a pencil and 80-page spiral bound lined booklet and began to write.  At 2am, exhausted, I stopped, but at 5am it shook me awake, handed me the pencil, and off I went again; at 2am, exhausted, I stopped to sleep, but at 5am it shook me awake again, handed me the pencil… and so it went on-and-on for the next 18 days, and 8 more spiral bounds (which I still have).

My handwriting is normally illegible, but this was crisp and confident – weird.

 

I was astonished, but disappointed too.  The story told was too esoteric for my tastes.  More than that, looking back at the original of twenty years ago, I realize that the story was good – much-much better than I think I could write now, but not smoothly told.  I’ve given it a fix; let’s hope that I’ve learned something during the interim about telling a yarn.

 

Times have changed, my own knowledge of neurology has improved a bit, research on the underpinnings for the story has gone smoothly; and a few breakthroughs in technology developments have thrown a spotlight on societal conundrums and trajectories that I think make this story ripe for your reading.

 

So, my first gratitude goes to ‘whatever’ prompt or faculty it was on that beach in 1995 that set me to working so furiously.