My Kryptonite (and How I Got Here)

People ask me sometimes — if you have trouble talking, how do you write?

Fair question. My brain misfires on names. Mid-sentence, a word I've used a thousand times just... disappears. Put me on the spot verbally and I'll find my way around eventually, but it costs me. And it shows.

Here's what took me too long to understand: there's a difference between retrieving a word and recognizing one. Show me the name and I'll tell you immediately — yes, that's him, that's the one. But ask me to pull it out of thin air? The drawer sticks.

History is full of names and dates and places. That's exactly why so many people tune out — it feels like a test they never studied for. I understood that feeling personally. Even the stories I research and write myself, I'll struggle to rattle off the names if someone puts me on the spot. I live that problem every day.

But here's what I figured out: nobody remembers every name. What they remember is the story. Get someone genuinely interested in what happened — make them feel it — and the names find places to stick. Even if they can't remember the name or the date, they'll remember how the story made them feel. That became my goal: not to make history easier to memorize, but impossible to forget.

Writers live in recognition. We build worlds word by word, at our own pace, reaching back until we find the right one. The struggle that trips me up in conversation becomes almost invisible on the page.

I didn't overcome the difficulty. I found the lane where it doesn't hold me back.