Posted in On writing, Writers at 10:26 am by Marion

I’ve written a few times about what it feels like to write fiction, the sensation of falling into darkness, of dissociation, of becoming “unhinged,” or untethered from the concrete world of sensations.

As we await the polar vortex being pressed into the U.S. from the Arctic, as heavy air pushes it down, there we feel time slow down. We feel something coming, and we must wait for it to arrive, with undetermined consequences.

Much like writing, which descends on us, subsumes us, and causes us to wait for the unknown effects. Once it lands on us, if we invite it in, we disappear into its vortex, just as Chicago and the midwest, really into the South, become encased in Arctic temperatures.

The freezing can feel a lot like death, but we know there is life even in the desert of ice. Mostly it holds on for signs of life, and with writing, that is you, Dear Reader.

1 Comment

  1. Gene-o said,

    February 1, 2019 at 10:57 am

    Oh, great post! You capture the dread we all felt while the polar vortex approached in slow, meteorological motion. I, for one, am honored to be a “sign of life” in the frozen wastes of the writing life!