Writer Dorothy Parker once said, “I hate writing. I love having written.”

Writing is a love-it and hate-it process. I love the creativity of it, of bringing characters and their worlds to life. That’s the magic that keeps any fiction writer going. On the other hand, it is terribly difficult. Being “creative on demand” is an oxymoron. But it’s what we must do. I hate it. I love it.

My current project attempts to fictionalize a nonfiction monograph I recently completed, a phenomenology of nothingness. Is it possible to write about nothing, or even think about it?  It seems impossible. Just like writing fiction. Just like creativity itself.

Good fiction somehow gestures beyond itself, points out from the words and sentences to a fictional world. How does that work? I don’t know. Even though I’ve done it many times, I don’t know.

I believe Nothing is at the center of consciousness. I’ve seen it there. I’ve fallen into it. So have you. Every night during dreamless sleep, each person ceases to exist as a subjective individual with a point of view. When you are asleep and not dreaming, you are neither young nor old, male nor female, happy nor sad. You have no point of view. You are not present to yourself. That is the definition of oblivion.

Fortunately, we magically wake up in the morning and continue with our lives as if nothing extraordinary happened. But that should not obscure the remarkable thing that did happen. Each person goes non-existent for several hours every night. How can that be overlooked?  What does it mean?

There must be a story in there. The story of Nothing. Can I write it? I don’t know. So far, I do not see a path from here to “having written.”