How long does it take a blind, brain-injured man to write a book? Well, this one - Jim Taylor - tried for a couple years and, even with a coach to mentor him, he just could not get from A to Z. With so much autobiographical material in his head, he would start typing or tape recording at A, advance with his story a bit to maybe C, then soon find himself back at A, the beginning. I would suggest that the remedy for his circular thinking was for him to design an outline of the overall story first, and then type or record; this suggestion seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Jim knew he had a story to tell and he had a strong desire, even a need, to tell it. His attempts led to great frustration. So it was fortunate that, after he had experienced so many failures with his initial starts, I retired from my full-time job and with my available time, considerable interest and organizational skills, we became a functioning and productive team.
Prior to my involvement, Jim had used index cards to record the topic of each small story that he wanted to include in his big story, his life story. So first, using some of the recommendations of our coach, I designed an outline which conveyed the whole story. Chapter topics flowed from the outline and then I sorted his index cards into the chapter topics. Then I organized the stories on the cards into a plan for that chapter. After doing this for the about-20 chapters, I felt we were ready to work together.
Jim usually decided which chapter to tackle next. Our routine was to go together to our home-office where I would sit at the computer and he would sit in a nearby chair. I would say, “OK, Jim, let's start with” , (for example) “the story of Sally telling you that you were adopted.” That's all it took to spur Jim into talking, and me to typing, that story. He was always very concerned that each word conveyed his intended meaning. Over the years I had heard many times Jim tell the numerous stories comprising his life-story, so I knew his vocabulary and his voice. Thus at times I would compose sections without his immediate input. And I was the primary author of the linkages and transitions. But Jim always passed judgement and corrected the vocabulary of these pieces.
I don't believe Jim could ever hold within his consciousness the entire arc of his own biography. He experienced with great intensity the feelings connected to each small segment and he often seemed to get lost in these feelings. His brain injury also probably limited his ability to see the big picture. Plus, the dementia process was likely in its initial stages of destruction as we wrote, setting up small barriers to his comprehension.
Jim embarked on the writing of this memoir in 1998 and worked for two solid years with little real progress. In 2000 I imposed order and we worked almost every day, writing several pages, until we had a complete manuscript in late 2002. That was the year when I noticed a qualitatively new and different memory problem in Jim, which was confirmed soon after by the experts as Alzheimers-like dementia. Meanwhile, whereas Jim had definite vision loss when we met and when he acquired Copper, a guide dog, in 1995, over the years he seemed to need Copper's special skills less and less. I believe it was in the fall of 2004 when Jim, Copper and I were driving through the autumnal wonders of southern Minnesota, and Jim blurted out incredulously, “Katherine, I can see! I mean I can REALLY see! I think I am seeing EVERYTHING!”
Copper died a few months later, and Jim has never really recovered from his grief in losing his guide dog, pet, walking partner and best friend. By the time Willow in a Storm was published, in September 2007, Jim's dementia had developed significantly, but he was still able to read at book events and thrill to the interest people showed in his life and its lessons.
