A Picture & 100 Words: He wrote a book ... with his eyelid


He Wrote an Entire Book... With His Eyelid

Jean-Dominique Bauby was 43 years old when he suffered a massive stroke. When he woke up, he was trapped inside his own body—completely paralyzed.

Trapped in—and by—his mind.

He could, however, move one thing: his left eyelid.

Doctors called it “locked-in syndrome.”

His mind was intact, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Most people would have given up.

Bauby didn’t.

Instead, he wrote a book, one letter at a time.

A transcriber would read the alphabet aloud, and when she arrived at the right letter, Bauby would blink.

Once for yes. Stillness for no.

Word by word. Sentence by sentence.

It took over 200,000 blinks to complete The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. A book that captured his mind’s ability to roam free even as his body remained locked in place as if encased and submerged in a diving bell.

Bauby’s book became a bestseller. It was later adapted into an award-winning film. But the saddest part?

He didn’t live to see its success.

Bauby passed away just two days after the book was published. And yet, his story lives on.

When life strips away everything but your skin, what will you do with what’s left?

Bauby’s story isn’t just about writing a book—it’s about choosing to create and live against all odds.

He had lost all motor function. What he didn’t lose was his will. His will to create. To love. To live his remaining days with heart. Through thought alone, Bauby travels, unchained, fluttering through memories and transcending the present.

Most of us will never experience the feeling of being locked in our bodies.

We all know what it’s like to feel stuck.

Physically. Emotionally. Financially.

Maybe you feel trapped in a thankless job. Maybe your dreams have drifted too far from shore. Maybe life threw a haymaker you didn’t see coming.

Whatever it is—you still have something left.

A thought. A word. A blink.

And that’s enough to start.

If Bauby could pen a book with his eyelid, what excuse do we have?

Keep going. Keep creating. Keep breathing. Even if you have to do it one blink, heartbeat, or keystroke at a time.


Unsubscribe · Preferences · Buy Me a Coffee

A Picture & 100 Words

Through words and images, my newsletter captures my dance with the universe as a creative professional. The goal is to enrich your life in some small way, whether by transporting you to a faraway place or embedding you in this moment. Sign up to gain early or exclusive access to photos, ebooks, prints, articles, and other creative leaps into the dark.

Read more from A Picture & 100 Words

Jung On Judgement A dancer in Valencia, Spain I got a little digital dusting of hate last week. Just a sprinkle of disgust. Nothing major. The comment started like a tip of the cap, then turned into a verbal flip of the finger. Years ago, that would’ve derailed my day, or my entire week. Like a bad pop song, I couldn't get it out of my head. As a freshman in college, I majored in Art. I’ll never forget the “walk to the wall.” I’d hang my work and shuffle back to my seat, scanning faces for...

Writing Lessons from Soldiers of War A photo of the National Veterans Memorial and Park in Columbus It was about 25 degrees Fahrenheit, and as always, I wasn’t dressed for the occasion. I walked around the Ohio Statehouse and came across a memorial — a stone wall replication of handwritten letters, drafted from the tired hands of soldiers and sent to loved ones, mostly from WWII. Each one read like a final goodbye. In many cases, it was. How does one write when everything hangs in the...

The Shoebox Miracle The odds of ever having lived this dance called life are staggeringly low. My great-grandfather was born so small and fragile that the hospital sent him home in a shoebox. He was 4.5 months premature. That box was intended to be his final resting place. He was expected to die. He weighed about one pound. One pound of stubborn life. The doctor said there was no chance he would survive. “We’re sorry. There’s nothing we can do. You may take him home.” A nurse lowered the tiny...