CONTRIBUTOR SPOTLIGHT:
Interview with Tricia Steele

Rappahannock Review Nonfiction Editors: The ocean imagery intertwined in “Joy Plunging” is a detail that we loved! What about cold-water plunging inspired you to focus on the ocean in your writing process?

Tricia Steele: The ocean is the furthest we can go with our own bodies alone. Something about that collision of earth and water—the idea of being at the edge or threshold—has always drawn me in times of uncertainty or transition since I first got a driver’s license and snuck off to the beach in the middle of the night. So, in many ways, my love for the ocean gets infused into much of my personal essays. When I wanted to try cold-water plunging, the idea of an ice bath just wasn’t as motivating. Working on this piece, I tried to alternate any words that could have a dual meaning related to the ocean movement and sound and to try and create that hushed feeling that the ocean waves produce, the continuous rise and fall instead of just one climax.

RR: Did you take inspiration from any books or media that led to the incorporation of oceans into this piece?

TS: Julia Baird tells a story of cold exposure in the ocean in Phosphorescence about her quest for joy amidst heartache and cancer battle. If I’m recalling correctly, she introduced me to the impact of the cold water reflex on brain chemicals. Her writing also triggered me to revisit Rachel Carson (“the edge of the sea is a strange and beautiful place,” how’s that for an opening line?) In fact, the entire first chapter of The Edge of the Sea is a science writing masterclass, weaving prose poetry with scientific observation from her own shoreline studies. And my deepest inspiration is Annie Dillard, especially chapter eight of Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, “Intricacy.” Zooming into a coastal shoreline using description alone, she braids nature, solitude, writing, faith, and scientific observation in a way that swells my heart and mind every time I reread it (which is at least annually). Of course, it seems like around that same time a few years ago, cold plunging was just suddenly everywhere on podcasts and social media feeds.

RR: With the word count being exactly 999 words, our team is curious if there is a reason behind that or if the number is something you considered specifically.

TS: I’m glad you noticed that! This piece originated inside of a graduate class at Johns Hopkins called Subatomic Writing based on the book by Jamie Zvirzdin (the funniest grammar book you’ll ever read!). The final paper requirement was exactly seven hundred words, not one more and not one less. We were to use our lessons on packing sentences with the most energy with the least weight by literally analyzing every single word for contribution to the sentence, including sounds which may influence mood and meaning. Reaching a precise word count requires finesse, creativity, and rounds and rounds of microscopic edits. When I saw the limit for this submission was one thousand words, I challenged myself to reach right up to the edge, like high tide in words.

RR: Where did you get the idea to do cold-water plunging? Is it something that you still do today?

TS: I like to take on a challenge for birthday milestones that feel extra important. Some years I’ve climbed or rappelled. For my fortieth, I chose the ocean cold plunge after reading those excellent books. My husband wanted to take the RV somewhere, and we both dislike crowds, so thankfully the winter beach campground was only a half day’s drive. That experience—specifically the warmth and exhilaration that comes after the exposure—led me to cold baths, sitting in my creek in the winter, and turning off the pool heater.

RR: Do you have any advice for readers who may be going through a similar situation as you did?

TS: Most importantly, my mom answer: if you are ever doubting if you deserve or desire another day–or if uninvited intrusive thoughts keep trying to convince you–then your only job is to go find help. You are worth every effort. 

If you are a writer, then life is always giving you subject matter to work with. Maybe you aren’t a personal essayist, but the stuff of your life—no matter how mundane or how traumatic or desperate or chronic—can become fodder for study, interview, and storytelling. Writing about cold water exposure is a cover for how writing lets us dive into hard or uncertain times and find our way through. Even the words you throw away and abandon have value. And the ones you keep are the way to make meaning of the events of your life.

Sometimes describing the physical world or some felt physical or sensory experience can be the best way out of the darkest moments, out of rumination. Noting some shape or movement or color and trying to find the right words for it can spark curiosity about whatever that object or person or place is, which can lead you to a sense of assignment, something to explore, which can then turn into a passion (or maybe just a decent diary entry). Either way, the writing can be a bridge from inside of self back to the world. When I’m in a flare or funk, I make myself sit outside and stare at something for a set time every day for a week, writing what I see, maybe even just lists at first. I’m always amused by the way descriptive writing improves my observation, curiosity, and my outlook after several days. Words can open the door to new thinking.