Age: 49
Current residence: Greece, New York
Hometown: Greece, New York
Occupation: Artist and writer
The epigraph to David Corbin’s heartbreaking and funny new memoir, “Ninety-Eight Nights,” comes from Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami: “In a world of time, nothing can go back to the way it was.”
It’s a fitting preamble to Corbin’s story. On March 9, 1996, while traveling on the New York State Thruway, the car that carried Corbin and three friends skidded on ice and stopped dead. A bus hit them at 60 miles per hour, leaving Corbin, then 20 years old, paralyzed.
But as Corbin writes, that was merely the beginning. The book follows his three-month stay in the hospital after the accident and all the fear and anguish that accompanied it. Pacemaker surgery. Constant blood-pressure issues. Brushes with death that still reverberate.
That’s why he wanted a second epigraph (that he ultimately couldn’t secure permission to use): “Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt,” from Kurt Vonnegut’s “Slaughterhouse-Five.”
It was meant to be ironic.
“I felt like, not that people were lying, but am I the only person that thinks this sucked?” Corbin said. “It didn’t seem like anybody was being real honest.”
It took 10 years before he even began thinking about writing down his experiences, albeit in a much different form. The initial idea, he admitted, would have a “bitter” book; he also considered making a short film.
Corbin was a pen-and-ink commercial art student at Cazenovia College at the time of the accident. Years after he returned home, he picked up a camera and learned about film photography at the Flower City Arts Center. That unlocked a new avenue of creative expression via a darkroom in his basement that his father helped install.
His photo work has been shown locally at cafes. But for a self-described people pleaser — “I felt like I was a bad patient for saying no,” he writes about his first experience in a wheelchair — having a showcase was nervewracking. It also helped Corbin feel confident in his abilities.
“It was scary, because I viewed the stuff as a representation of me,” he said. “I was very nervous if someone was gonna like it or not, and so I put too much weight on it.”
Painting helped. Corbin initially resisted holding a brush during occupational therapy, but when he returned home from the hospital, he eventually found peace in creating watercolor images of pets.
“It’s one of the only times when [I was] so externally focused that I wasn’t worried about anything,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking, is my blood pressure going to go down?”
“Ninety-Eight Nights,” in its final form, is the result of nearly 30 years of processing trauma, and though it’s a heavy read, Corbin’s natural humor cuts through the prose. (A urologist who “electrocuted my butt” is thanked in the acknowledgements.)
SUNY Brockport lecturer and published author Sarah Cedeño edited the memoir. She praised Corbin’s ability to convey his own natural humor and charm.
“He just has this spirit that keeps him creating,” she said. “He’s got such a bright and smart sense of humor, and it’s not something that you can teach a writer.”
The book originated in a series of haunting Polaroid images Corbin took called “PTSD Self Portraits.” Every time he had a troubling flashback, he’d set up the camera and capture his face — and then his wife, Devon, would help him get to the hospital.
“You’re re-feeling what it’s like, for me at least, to die, and so it’s not something you want to go through,” Corbin said. “But at the same time, I was like, when’s the next one gonna happen? Because this is going to [look] so great.”
Once he shared those photos in an exhibition, he realized the power that came with vulnerability. The same could be said for penning his memoir.
Though he lives in Greece, Corbin has found an artistic home in Brockport. His paintings have been presented at Hart Gallery 27, and this fall, Corbin will pursue a master’s degree in creative writing from the college. (He earned his bachelor’s there in 2009.)
Corbin has the liberty of a creative life, even in his daily practices. He mentioned a new motorized power wheelchair that allows him to sit under trees with his feet elevated, regulating his blood pressure while also communing with nature.
“He exudes joy and loves life,” writes his friend Christina Ness in the memoir’s foreword. “I love that he still goes to a punk rock show! He’s a hero in my book.” david-corbin.com
Patrick Hosken is an arts reporter for WXXI/CITY.
This article appears in Dec 1-31, 2024.
