For the past three weeks or so I’ve been using the excuse of waiting on a critique to not work on my Invictus writing. It’s a terrible excuse, but I kept lying to myself anyway. I’ve finally come to the sobering realization that I have come to the personal part of my story, the...

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In 1992, just before my second birthday, my grandfather suffered a severe heart attack that left him with a damaged memory. He had equal difficulty remembering old memories and forming new ones. My mother would always tell me I was the only consistent thing that he remembered, because he never thought he’d live long...

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