I am moved by the revelation that comes but does not announce itself, as a powerful ending or climax might, but waits to be returned to and recognized.
To me [metaphor] feels connected to the heart of fiction: I’m making a whole fantastical thing in order to capture the essence of a real state or feeling, in order to give myself a language for it.
. . . ruminations on the creative process and what it means when your sense of self is upended through a series of small violences capture the mundanity in trudging through a long-term illness.