Nearly ten years before I was born, my parents first son, Artie, passed away–the victim of a respiratory illness that would be very treatable today. For most of my life, I have felt a “special connection” to this brother I never knew.

Artie was not quite three years old when he was lost to my parents and my sister. My brother was born a year later.

I don’t know much about Artie–his likes and dislikes–his personality. He was still a toddler when he died, so much of his personality was likely undeveloped. I do know that my parents went through a difficult time–grieving their firstborn and my father’s namesake. I know they found some solace with renewed involvement in the Methodist Church.

That was all I knew. Of course, perceptive and imaginative child that I was, I speculated. Maybe I was the “replacement son.” Maybe their healing was only complete when I was born. When I looked at old baby photos of my brother and compared them to mine, I saw similarities. I was a bit haunted by the possibility. Early on, I too was hospitalized with a respiratory infection–and continue to be more susceptible to similar ailments even in adulthood. Again, a bit haunted by the possibility.

These thoughts resurfaced upon the passing of my father in 2021. While sorting through his belongings, I came across a trove of family photos–including images of Artie that I hadn’t seen in decades. The old possibilities surfaced and swirled–stirred even more by fiction-writing mind.

The product was a flurry of notes to get ideas down on paper–then nothing. I had other writing projects (The Peculiar Affliction of Thomas Wade Duncan and two short stories) that were much further along and warranted my attention. But once they were published, I turned back to my notes on Artie.

The first draft was a directionless mess of memories and images–real, fictionalized, imagined, unsure. I spent nearly two years rewriting and editing. During that time, I’d delved a bit more into reading and watching and learning about folk horror–and added the central role of the seashell into the narrative. That was a turning point. Still, I wasn’t satisfied with the end product–and I moved on to work unenthusiastically on other writing projects culled from my notebook.

In the interim, Hurrican Helene happened. Our home in Dunedin, Florida, was filled with nearly four feet of storm surge and our lives were upended for months. Countless family photos were lost or damaged. What was saved, were nearly two dozen photos of my brother, Artie. Prompting more thoughts about the unfinished story but no action. My wife and I were understandably preoccupied with wrapping up our time in Dunedin and finding a new home.

In January of 2025, we settled into our home in Melbourne, Florida, and I began tapping at the keyboard again–though it was the “other writing projects” that had my immediate, though still somewhat sporadic attention.

But with little real progress on those stories after a few months, I decided to make my way back to Artie. I pulled out the saved photos, brainstormed some new ideas, and rewrote the story again. Satisfied with all but the ending, the draft was sent to my editor. While it was in his hands, I managed to write the ending I wanted.

The product, RESONANCE, is a long work of short fiction–a novelette. I struggle to define its genre–as it crosses many boundaries in my writer’s mind. So, I’ll leave that categorization to others. All I know is that for me, it is probably the most personal fictional work I’ve written to date.

RESONANCE will be released on Monday, October 13–what would have been my parents’ 74th wedding anniversary.