I can’t recall exactly where the idea for Adrift in Amnesia came to me, only that I was in a very dark place and began picturing an epic journey. At the time, I was living in a pokey little room on the outskirts of Exeter, working for a mental health charity by day and running my own art studio at night. I was also suffering with crippling anxiety (probably sparked by trauma experienced in my teens) to the point I could not ride a bus or train and developed terrible agoraphobia when in wide open spaces. I walked everywhere, head down, sunglasses on. I was severely depressed, my diet was shocking, and general health and well-being was rock bottom (mum told me I looked ‘pale and flabby,’ thanks mum!). I was only in my thirties but felt twice my age – everyday was a godawful slog. I was skint, tired, alone and quite frankly did not want to be in this world anymore (it took years, with many slips and falls, to overcome).

Anger and despair had been with me for some time, but I had previously located it in the outside world: Blair’s wars, the financial crash, student debt looming over dead-end jobs, the realisation of our class-poisoned society amid the general melancholy and pointlessness of everyday life. I had not really considered that the cause might also be something closer to home. Regardless, creativity was a way of channelling despair, and its transformative quality continues to fascinate me.

I had been reading various texts of Eastern Philosophy and would later form a connection to Western philosophers associated with Existentialism (notably Nietzsche and Heidegger), which is not as distant as it may seem: I read somewhere that Heidegger’s Being and Time was influenced by Lao Tzu’s Tao de Ching (which isn’t very surprising if you are familiar with the ideas expressed in both books). My novel draws from notions of authenticity, and how a life lived authentically is a richer life, as much as it does from the ‘spiritual battle’ expressed in works like the Bhagavad Gita. The spiritual battle is one that we must enter to ‘cross over’, and this basically weaves the story together, as Molly and Jacob go from the drab existence of Chelmswood to their harmonious life in St. Mary’s, by way of Jacob’s journey to the magical land of Cabras after his mother is sectioned.

I was travelling through North Spain’s glorious Picos de Europa when I really began to daydream the story. I sketched out the narrative while camping by a river in Las Arenas de Cabrales, and walking various trails, the landscape of which would prove instrumental in helping me visualise the magical world of Cabras. I was intending to travel longer, but the idea had taken root, and I wanted to get it down on paper (or rather type on laptop!). I headed home and, over the ensuing months, in-between various jobs, I drafted chapter one of what was then titled Jacob and the Wizard. I read and re-read chapter one, thought it was a load of old crap, shelved the whole ridiculous idea and carried on with life. A few months later, I read it again, thought it was not so bad and plucked up the courage to email it to friends (and friends of friends) for some constructive feedback.

I made a few alterations based on the feedback, not least in changing the title, for I realised that Molly and Jacob were the main protagonists and hence Jacob and the Wizard became chapter six in the wider story of their combined journey. By now, I had deleted all social media (something I heartily recommend to all creatives, particularly if you value, as I do, the essential art of daydreaming) and was focused entirely on writing my book. I was working for the NHS Home Treatment Team in Exeter, and basically reduced hours to the minimum I could live on to get by to maximise the time I had to concentrate on writing. I was completely absorbed, writing the book was a beautiful and cathartic experience! When I finished it, I travelled for two months starting in Marrakech then working my way up through Morocco into Spain and Portugal finishing in Porto.

Adrift in Amnesia is heavily autobiographical – many of the places, characters and events are based on real life. Imagination is a wonderful thing, but I find it is at its most profound when utilised as a mechanism to transform everyday experience. Percival Alexander is not my real name. It is a combination of names from my family: Percival was my grandfather’s name on my dad’s side; Alexander is a surname from my mother’s side. Both names also reference mythical figures: Percival being one of the original knights of Arthur’s Round Table, and of course Alexander is a nod to the former king of ancient Macedonia. The pseudonym therefore refers to my interest in myths, legends and the ancient world as much as my own roots.

Percival Alexander is part of a creative project I call dub spectrum (see about section for more details) and, while the personal views, feelings and experiences expressed herein are authentic, I suppose I am creating a kind of myth. Regardless, I will openly state my aim to succeed as an indie Percival, and to remain anonymous beyond dub spectrum!

If you have read this far, then a sincere thank you from the bottom of my heart, and please do stay tuned for upcoming posts on Substack and Medium sharing excerpts of chapters from Adrift in Amnesia (starting with a short synopsis). I am not really looking to change it, as I would like to focus on new projects, although constructive feedback or suggestions will be taken on board.

May 2025

Percival Alexander

truth is vibe.