Memoir · Book Three · Being written
A company, a book, a body, and a marriage nobody could take back.
The decade after the green card, when everything I had built was tested at once. Its title is the last line of the book before it — a question I asked in 2016 and spent ten years answering.
In progress · no publication date · no title decided for certain
The four subjects
CloviTek, from the optimism of a first trade show to the arithmetic refusing to cooperate.
The years of writing the memoir you have just read, at a desk, at midnight.
A back that stops bending. Training at an age my birth date argued against.
Nineteen years in, and what holds when everything else gives.
How it ends
The ending is written, even though the middle is not. It is a real voyage — eleven nights out of Seattle, verified against 730 of my own photographs.
Kimball knelt in front of me on the stateroom floor, his hands moving with the same quiet competence he used for balancing budgets and booking flights.
He did not sigh or roll his eyes or announce to the room that he was once again saving me from myself. One loop, then another, a gentle tug, a double knot.
It was the kind of intimate act that would have made me flinch with embarrassment in my twenties. On this ship, in this season of our life, I let him do it.
No date promised. It is finished when it is finished. Leave an email and I will tell you when that is.