Prompt 179. A Ride on the Gravitron

& a prompt on writing as exorcism by Puloma Ghosh

The Swan No. 24, Hilma af Klint

Hi friend,

On Thursday, I had nine appointments. I met with my oncologist and my transplant doctor, then saw a social worker to talk about health insurance and housing. To test my organs’ ability to tolerate the pre-transplant, high intensity chemo, I had lab tests, two CT scans, an EKG, an echocardiogram, and a pulmonary function test, where I sat in a glass box with my mouth around a tube and performed a series of challenging breathing exercises. (The tech told me my technique was excellent. I said proudly, “I’ve been doing breathwork”—thank you, Taylor Somerville.) After running the gauntlet, I’d had more vials of blood drawn than I could count.

Days like this can catapult me into obsessive rumination. I wake in the middle of the night thinking about the transplant and what it means on every level: for my body, my family, my work, my relationship, all my plans. I’m having to balance the risk of organ damage with the risk of relapse. The risk of having a small wedding with the risk of getting covid. The risk of drinking half-and-half with my coffee with the risk of ruining it with almond milk. (I’m on an anti-inflammatory diet, which means no dairy. But almond milk is bullshit—an essay I’ll save for another day.) Whichever way I look, whatever way I turn, it’s as if there’s a centrifugal force drawing me toward the worries. I feel like I’m on that carnival ride, the Gravitron; unless I’m actively fighting that force, my resting place is the obsessive worrying place.

The tug of obsession is familiar to me, be it negative or positive. When I was writing my book, that’s all I did—seven days a week, all day long. For almost three years straight, I was in a kind of fugue state that was both a joy and a torment. For people who are creative, it can be thrilling and useful when inspiration shifts to obsession. It’s arguably even necessary. But the key is to find a way to harness it productively.

So what do we do with obsession, regardless of what form it takes? Today’s prompt from the writer and my dear pal Puloma Ghosh offers a tool for channeling and even exorcizing obsession. For me, it could not have come at a better time.

Riding the Gravitron, looking to get off,
Suleika

P.S. If you missed last Sunday’s meeting of the Hatch—our virtual writing hour for paid subscribers—here’s a post with the poem Carmen shared and a writing exercise inspired by it!

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The Isolation Journals is my newsletter for people seeking to transform life's interruptions into creative grist. Both free and paid subscriptions are available. The best way to support my work is with a paid subscription, where you get added benefits like an archive of interviews with amazing artists, behind-the-scenes tidbits from me, a book club, and other opportunities for creative community.

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179. Writing as Exorcism by Puloma Ghosh

So much of my impulse to create art has always been about giving form to the thoughts that haunt me and releasing my obsessions. It can be as simple as making a character eat a meal I’ve been craving, or as complex as turning a recurring nightmare into a short story. 

It’s been this way for as long as I can remember. When I was a child, I wrote stories that imitated the books I loved reading over and over. As a teenager, I drew pictures of people who resembled my crushes. As a young adult, this took a darker turn, manifesting in strange artwork that mirrored my own tumultuous thoughts. We often chide ourselves for becoming too fixated on any one thing, especially if it invokes a strong emotion. But art—the creation of words, images, music, etc.—is a safe and private place to let out your ghosts, beautiful and ugly.

There are nights when I can’t sleep unless I’ve exorcized whatever is inhabiting my thoughts on paper. But once it’s out, I can see my obsession for what it really is and have a conversation with it, which helps me connect to the why behind my preoccupations. Only then can I gain a better understanding of myself—the hopes and fears and passions that drive me—and recognize the context for my creative work.

Your prompt for the week:

Write to exorcize what’s haunting you. Write about whatever it is you can’t get out of your head—a person, a place, a fear, a fictional scene, a memory from your past, a fantasy for your future. Allow yourself to think obsessively and shamelessly about only that one thing for as long as it takes to get it down on paper.

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If you’d like, you can post your response in the comments below, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals.

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Today’s Contributor

Puloma Ghosh is a fiction writer living in Chicago, IL, whose work has appeared in One Story, CRAFT Literary, and other publications. She’s currently working on a collection of dark, speculative short stories and a novel with ghosts.

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A new addition to my newsletter ecosystem is an advice column called Dear Susu, where I answer your questions about writing and life and everything in between. I’ve published two installments so far—first answering a question from Jeanne, who feels the urge to write but isn’t sure how to share her words with the world, then from K., who wonders how to move on after heartbreak.

Have a question for me?

Send an email to suleika@theisolationjournals.com with the subject line “Dear Susu.” Include any necessary context about yourself and your situation, and your query too. If you wish to remain anonymous, that’s more than fine—just let me know or offer up a pseudonym. As often as my health allows, I’ll be penning more installments, answering as fully, as thoughtfully, and as full of juicy tidbits as I can.