It was 2008, and we were in the midst of campaign season, one we'd never quite seen the likes of before. A woman was opposing a Black candidate for the democratic nomination for the office of the President of the United States for the first time in history.
This is the panic: dread tunneling through your pores until it reaches your stomach and floats there like oil atop the Gulf of Mexico, a flush of your sweat glands followed by an obsessive thought process—that slow-moving Ferris wheel that tumbles into self-reassurances, then denial.
The phrase “a picture can tell a thousand words” can be used too liberally. The most emotive storytelling is often through words – be that spoken or written, read or heard.
Worldbuilding is big business. Though thought of as pertaining to genre fiction, I reckon it has some manner of iteration in every single story we read – and I’m not alone. One aspect at work in worldbuilding is that of the cartography of imagined places.
Once when I was a little boy—maybe I was eight years old, I might have been slightly younger—I made the mistake of telling my barber that I wanted to be a writer. I wonder what possessed me? Youthful inexperience I suppose.