Senses of Scale

Getting unintentionally acquainted with Disaster Water (and yes, some prompts!)

Last fall when I said I wanted to start Kerrtopia to talk about the intersection of water and words, I didn’t anticipate it would get quite so literal quite so quickly. Which is to say, I didn’t expect to start my new year writing about Disaster Water, which is an altogether different kind of water than Adventure Water [with its friendlier sub-categories like Open Water, Cold (or even Ice) Water, Alpine Lake Water, Snow Water, or This Ocean Did Not Come to Play].

[The lattermost sub-category being how I remember the afternoon I was stung by a Portuguese man o' war in Hana, which was likely the ocean expressing its annoyance at yet another (largely clueless, yes, and definitely) sunburned white girl frolicking in the waves without a care in the world.]

What, pray tell, is Disaster Water, you might be wondering? [Maybe it’s fairly obvious. In case it’s not, being a largely visual learner myself, I brought visual aids.]

This, dear readers, is Disaster Water:

Also doing business as: Displaced Water; Surprise! Water; Wrong Place, Wrong Time Water; and Shiiiit, Our House Is Filling Up With Ice-Cold Water [While It’s Snowing Outside, Because: Mid-January].

Having unfortunately been privy to flooded spaces in the not-so-distant past <The Great Storage Unit Flood of 2020 has entered the chat>, I’m not altogether unfamiliar with the impressive amount of damage water can do in enclosed indoor spaces.

What was new to me, however, was watching (ice cold) water flood a space in real time, with no warning, and no-holds-barred, while I stood there with my mouth agape and the rest of me in resigned disbelief, splashing around in bare feet with my camera in-hand taking as many photos and videos as I could while simultaneously trying to call out of my last meeting of the day and salvage electronics and anything I could grab from the floor faster than the water could claim it.

I was also trying not to scream or sob, a task made mildly easier because I didn’t have time to stop moving, the water was coming so fast, and I knew if Matt and I didn’t react quickly we’d lose a lot more than whatever happened to be touching the ground.

Within a handful of agonizing minutes we had multiple inches of water in every room of our house. Granted, that’s only four rooms total, but still: the damage was absolute, and irrevocable. As it turns out, when water decides to do something, there’s very little humans can do to stop it (without shutting it off entirely, that is).

This wasn’t a trickle, a leak, a minor inconvenience; what happened on an otherwise entirely ordinary Wednesday afternoon was an all-out gush of a flood.

Before the fire department could get there to turn off our main water line [which they had to dig a trench in multiple feet of snow to do], the force of the water in the video I shared above is what was pouring down our walls, coming up underneath our floors, filling our one and only home with (did I mention it was ice cold?) water.

Toya thankfully had the presence of mind to find high ground pretty much immediately, and watched us running around in amusement at first, shifting ever so audibly to concern when it was clear we were not in control of said water. I thankfully had the presence of mind to grab my beefiest neoprene booties, typically reserved for joyfully tromping down to the lake in wintry/frozen-adjacent months, and don them before my feet went entirely numb.

We’re currently occupying a dark and water-logged timeline to be certain, but still, a healthy, unavoidable dose of perspective is lurking behind every surreal flashback.

What I can’t stop thinking about: How much worse it could have been. How lucky we are. That it was midday on a Wednesday (instead of say midnight on a Saturday or Sunday). That we were home. That the people we called for help picked up and (quite literally) came running. That someone smarter than me had the presence of mind to shut the power off before anyone was electrocuted trying to save stuff that’s just stuff (even though it’s our stuff and hi, I kind of liked it).

What life has felt like since Wednesday: Nonstop motion. Asking for help. Gratitude. Devotion to each other in a profound(ly pristine and soothing) way. Days filled with brutal(ly beautiful) juxtaposition.

The undercurrent of every disaster: We need each other to get through this.

Matt, Toya, and I need each other, yes, undoubtedly—and we need our people and the larger community, too. We’re still here. Thanks for being here, too.

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JANUARY WRITING PROMPTS

• What’s something you never thought you could endure, but did?

• Write a scene centered on water [any kind of water, even Disaster Water]. Try to be as tactile as possible. 

• Make a list of five things you can do in the month(s) ahead for the humans, animal kin, or beloved ecosystems in your community.

• Recall a time when someone (or multiple someones) showed up for you in a meaningful way.

As we do in our monthly DIVE sessions, I would recommend sitting with each of these prompts for at least ten minutes at a time. Set a timer and try to keep writing for ten minutes without stopping or self-editing or even trying to steer yourself a certain direction. I’m a firm and longtime believer that when it comes to prompts like these, wherever you end up on the page is precisely where you’re meant to be.

I’d always love to hear where these prompts take you, too, if you ever want to share.

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A little bit of backstory about Kerrtopia & the woman behind the words:

A lifelong writer, enthusiastic English Lit major (see also: I read a lot), and fan of learning something new every day, I wanted a dedicated space to share more writing-specific thoughts and prompts more regularly. By day I work for an Indie nonfiction publisher, and by night (among other things) I lead a quarterly writing workshop called DIVE via Creative Fuel Collective—you can learn all about it and sign up to be kept in the loop for future offerings right here.

DIVE’s upcoming cohort [Jan-March 2024] is sold out, but you can sign up to be notified when registration for April-June’s cohort goes live. Have questions about the sessions? Odds are good I have answers. Please reach out! Bonus points if you open your email with a seafaring pun.

Do you know someone who would benefit from receiving regular writing prompts to their inbox, who might delight in reading some intentional rambles about words and water and the power in finding our respective and collective (voices +) senses of place?

I’d love it if you’d share this post and Kerrtopia with them.

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Kerrtopia is a free offering, though I've turned on paid subscriptions for this newsletter if you have the means to support it now or anytime in the future. It's not necessary to pay to read, but it is of course very much appreciated. I’ll likely be adding some special content for paid subscribers down the line. Thanks for reading, and for your ongoing support. I’m grateful you’ve found me here, grateful we’re here together. You can also find me on Instagram.