Hyperphantasia and How it Affects My Writing.

Anyone who knows me can tell you that I’ve always been a little quirky. “Special,” as my grandma would put it, or, as my mom would say, “Just a bit strange.” Really, I was just raised in the Midwest, where ADHD was considered unruly, and art took a back seat to football and soccer. But as I got older, I realized just how unique God made me, and that it wasn’t strange at all, but His perfect design intended to make me different.

We say it all the time as Christians: God has called us to stand out.

I grew up in a really tough environment, and the brain usually handles it one of two ways. Either you remember absolutely nothing, like my sister, whose memories don’t begin until age six or seven. Or you remember everything, like me, whose memories began at a year and a half. I remember specific moments in near-perfect detail—what my great-grandma’s house looked like after I met her once when I was two, and the exact design of my grandma’s old house the last time I saw it when I was four.

In addition to a phenomenal memory, I also daydream as vividly as watching an old film. I can conjure up perfect color and even mimic taste as if I just ate it, or touch as though someone’s hand is resting in mine.

I thought everyone experienced life in their heads the way I did, seeing imaginary worlds in such detail and color. But as I got older, my sister began to unearth things about our past, and my memories proved key. That’s when I realized that no one I knew had the same ability to remember things so clearly. And after years of sitting on it, I finally decided to find out why. It turns out my brain works the way it does because of two clinical diagnoses.

The first is Hyperthymesia—a rare autobiographical memory that, in my case, is triggered by extreme emotion. So if I’m under stress, even if the memory itself isn’t stressful, my brain takes snap images as a survival mechanism.

The second, and the reason for this article, is Hyperphantasia, or as some like to refer to it, full-sensory cinema. Only two to five percent of the world has it, but those who do often excel in the arts. We can hear perfect pitch, paint portraits from memory, or even create fantasy stories that feel real—because for us they are. For me, I don’t just see a movie in my mind; I experience it as though it were right in front of me. 

Crazy, right?

And hyperphantasia affects my writing in a way that is magical in and of itself. You see, I didn’t just create the realm of Nadaari on a page or write the words as they came. I’ve actually walked through the Nadaarian forest and run my fingers over the cushioned trunks of trees taller than the eye could see. I’ve seen the light streaming through the canopies and felt the prickle of the mumura’s fur. I’ve broken my heart a thousand times, and fallen in love a thousand times more. I’ve felt the reality of losing a friend, and the warmth of making one. I’ve lived Gabriella’s story. And I know her pain. So for me, it’s not creating the story that’s difficult. It’s finding words magical enough to describe the wonders that I see and the emotions that I feel.

Growing up, they told me I was strange and pressured me to fit in.

Sit quietly.

Focus.

Be normal.

But now, as I write page after page and create world after world, I am grateful for God’s blessing of being unique. I get to experience worlds that most people will never see. I get to live a thousand lives when most only get one. And when this world gets scary, I can create as many happy endings as I can dream up. There are no words to describe it, but it is beyond magical. And I only hope that I can write in such detail that maybe, God willing, I can bring you into the story, and you can fall in love with it along the way.

If you’d like to know more about Hyperphantasia, and how it affects my ability to enjoy cinema or read books, check out my article Hyperphantasia and How it Affects Daily Life.