|
|
Our anniversary year has ended, but we've grown attached to our 2½ Q's series and are reserving
the right to bring it back sometimes if we want.
Today, Hannah Kauffman engages Ellen Ellis in (brief!) conversation:
1.
HK: Your flash story, "Noise," is about a girl who has
gone temporarily deaf, but her senses seem to blend and work together in
lending sound to the world. My personal favorite example: "Hugs felt good
and sounded like a heartbeat." Can you describe your process of writing
about senses and sound in this piece?
EE: I'm so happy to hear that the senses and sounds in "Noise" work effectively—it's
one of the things I love most about this piece. I've had a few quiet
times in my life—periods where, for one reason or another, I went days
without holding a conversation. Even in limited doses, this changes how one
thinks about the sounds and senses that do occur. Because there are so few
of them, any sensory inputs are magnified and free-associated with their
metaphorical next of kin. Writing this story was like cleaning out that
closet: I threw everything on the floor in a big messy pile, and sorted and
cleaned until I had the most interesting and evocative remaining ensemble.
"Noise" also had a solidly bizarre research component. I spent a
not-insignificant amount of time walking back and forth on gravel, shaking
rocks in a mason jar, holding hugs and listening intently. And I wanted to
make sure that the words supported the senses they were
describing, so I repeated words like "hug" endlessly to myself, listening to
the way the syllables themselves round and squish.
2.
HK: What would you set on fire?—OR—What makes you
nostalgic?
EE: As a kid, I had a fascination with catastrophes: I wanted to chase
tornadoes, and secretly thought it would be pretty exciting if the house
burned down. I made a variety of contingency plans—down the drain pipe,
running leap to the tree, pillows on the bottoms of my feet.
I maintain this fascination was un-perverse; I had no sense of the reality
of catastrophe at the time, and pictured disaster as an adventure story with
a satisfying conclusion. Now, my desire for fire has become perverse after
all: I don't want to clean the kitchen, I want to burn the apartment
building down.
(Is this about fire or nostalgia? Who knows.)
2½.
HK: Things have their way of...
EE: Staying put against all odds. Why are you ensconced? Why did you rebuild in
the same spot after the earthquake knocked your house down? What makes this
dim place feel warm and safe? What's holding you here?
- - -
Read EE's fiction.
W i g l e a f
03-09-19
[home]
|
|
|