PRIMITIVES

I think my Author's Note in the back of the book describe it best:

They say to write what you know, and unfortunately, I know all too much about crippling fatigue and chronic illness. For years, I struggled through my own personal apocalypse. After nearly two decades traveling the globe—living with an Indian tribe in the Amazon, fighting professionally in Thailand, and hang gliding up and down the Central American isthmus—I had a run-in with a tick. This parasite, the size of a grain of rice, was gracious enough to pass on Lyme disease, as well as its horrible cousin, bartonella. Thus began an entirely new type of journey. Instead of backpacking through cloud forests, I spent my days scouring medical papers and immunology textbooks, desperately searching for a way to combat my illness. Because one thing became strikingly apparent early on—the medical establishment had no clue how to cure this horrendous disease.

I admit, it almost had me beat. I recall sitting down in a chair one day following an NAD+ infusion and, after the crippling stomach pain had passed, spending the next twelve hours staring out the window, dreaming of returning to all the faraway places that had shaped my youth. The fight had left me, vaporized along with my health. After longingly gazing out at a world that had seemingly passed me by, I decided that quitting wasn't an option. Too weak to sling a backpack over my shoulder, I dragged my chair to the computer and began to write again. I'd spent years teaching survival school in the deserts of Utah, and I'd had a handful of near-death experiences while living solo in the jungles of Costa Rica. Those memories were the sharpest in my mind, so the locations for this story were set.

The year it took me to finish this manuscript was filled with highs and lows. Every day was a struggle just to get out of bed, but I sat down at the computer and managed to find that flow state, rekindling my passion one sentence at a time. With my brain not firing on all cylinders, I recruited the help of a lifelong friend and fellow author, Bret Aita. We picked apart every line together, and I found myself doubled over in laughter for the first time in many years. My frustration faded, and I found contentment. My life might never be physical again, but at least it could be cerebral. And then, just as the book was getting ready to head off to print, it was suggested that I check out the work being done on long-haul COVID. A group of brilliant researchers discovered that it wasn't the virus keeping people sick, but rather their own immune system overreacting to dead viral particles. Since I had done extensive research into immunology over the years, I wondered if this theory could also apply to Lyme. So I went on their protocol, which consists of two relatively benign medications, and five days later I was once again training in the gym.

Just like that, I had my old life back.

There's another saying—you won't find something until you stop looking. Not sure if I believed that before, but I sure do now. Having recovered my health, I've dedicated my time and resources to helping others who suffer from chronic illness. And you, dear reader, have pitched in as well, as all my personal proceeds from this book will be donated to research projects devoted to unraveling the immunological overstimulation caused by Lyme. I'm currently working with a group of doctors, researchers, and geneticists who are rethinking the way we treat disease.

In many ways, the process of writing this book saved my life, and I can't thank you enough for coming along for the ride. Until the next time we meet, out on that lonely butte in the Utah desert, I hope you enjoy every moment of your life.

While Farewell to the King was the most impactful, I've read Stephen King's The Gunslinger easily twenty times over the years. So, The Gunslinger for the win.

Pull from real-life experiences. Primitives follows two characters in a post-apocalyptic future, one of whom is living in the jungles of Costa Rica, and the other barely surviving in the Utah desert. I spent many summers in my youth teaching survival school in the Utah desert, and I know what it's like to struggle there — the horseflies that take huge chunks out of your skin, the hours of laying figure-four traps to catch one measly rabbit for dinner, the bugs that crawl in your ears as you fight off the cold in a primitive shelter packed with leaves. When I was eighteen, I volunteered at Cabo Blanco National Park in Costa Rica. The ranger didn't much like foreigners, so he put me on a boat and dropped me off at a scientific research center, which was just a shack without electricity, miles from civilization. I spent two weeks in complete isolation and went a little mad. I even stopped wearing clothes, as there were only the howler monkeys high in the trees. Well, one night I awoke and both my legs were wet. Lighting a candle, I saw the lower half of my body was covered in blood. There were deadly snakes out there, as well as scorpions six inches long. I was sure something large had come through the open door and fed on me in my sleep. Well, eventually I found a small hole in the top of my big toe, spouting blood. I became certain it had been a snake, even though no snakes were around. So, at first light, I put on my shoes and attempted to hike back to the ranger station along the cobblestone beach. Cliffs quickly rose to my left, and then the tide came in. A wave would knock me down, tumbling my body across the cobblestones, and when it went out, I would run fifty feet or so before the next wave hit me. With blood still leaking from my toe, I became certain the venom would kick in, I'd get washed out to sea, and the sharks would finish me. Luckily, before too long, I found a place where I could climb up the cliff. When I finally reached the ranger station, I was told I hadn't been bitten by a snake, but rather a bat. A relief for certain, but the experience stuck in my mind. This is why I opened Sarah's storyline along that same beach, her character filled with an equal amount of dread. If not for my time spent in these two locations — if not for the suffering I experienced there — I never would have had the confidence to write about them. In my opinion, a broad range of experiences is key to writing compelling science fiction.