After my brother’s death, I wrote, “I need to live double.” That day I became a writer.

My brother died between the 3rd and 4th of October, sometime after the night had ended but before the next day had begun. It was in 1993 that an overdose killed him. He was 26 years old. I learned of his death the next morning. That day I wrote my two first lines as a writer: “I need to live double,” followed by, “Now, it’s up to me.”

Read the rest of the essay here, South 85 Journal.

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