The stranded

Author's name: Scheherazade

When I began writing this novel, I discovered what is called “writing migration.” While writing, I imagined that I had left for an unknown place. I visited many places, some of which were like the remains of ancient cities, while others were vast expanses that seemed like endless space.
These cities had no clear names, nor did they have maps preserved in memory. So I don't know where I went while writing, nor where I returned from.
But I am certain that I was detached from the gravity that is said to bind us to the Earth to the point that I felt as if I had been absent from my body for hours. And that I was bloated with words and events to a harmful degree... The noise was relentless, as if a group of characters were telling me their stories at the same time and chattering in front of me without stopping. I became easy prey for anxiety, and my tension increased whenever a phrase fell from them without me writing it down. It was as if words were flying above my head like a swarm of bees. Some words come accompanied by a very harmful noise