Yup, as of November first. It's been a year since that acute kidney failure threw me into another near-death spin—hospital lights blurring as my GFR cratered to 4 from some respiratory bug ripping through. Same stay, my blood pressure tanked so low the docs said it was touch-and-go pulling me back. Grateful doesn't cut it; I'm just damn glad to be breathing life again.
That's the spark hauling this memoir across the finish line, pedal down. The Nearly Unrealized Worlds of Ethan Wells—it's spilling out faster because who knows how many flickers we've got? Won't lie: No clocking reader reactions till it's out there, but that's the gamble that keeps the ink honest.
And honesty? That's why I'm laying it bare here, under this pseudonym. The raw edges in these pages—stolen innocence, family ghosts, the kind of sensitivities that snag on folks I've crossed paths with—they demand a buffer. Ethan's my bridge: Safe enough to voice the unvoiceable, real enough to matter. This blog's the campfire for it—raw progress drops, chapter teases, the messy middle.
If you're shadowing this unravel, follow along. What's one edge you're chasing in your own story?
