Chicxulub

Such is the title of a 2004 New Yorker short fiction by T Choraghessan Boyle (T.C. Boyle).

T.C. Boyle writes of his fictional vision in the current New Yorker and mentions Chicxulub in passing.

He says:

There is a daunting power in storytelling and a daunting responsibility too. We each receive the world according to our lights and what the sparking loop of our senses affords us and all I can do is hope to capture it in an individual way, to represent the phenomena that crowd in on us through every conscious moment as they appear and vanish again. I want to be playful and serious, investigative and imaginative, curious and more curious still, and I don’t want distractions. I don’t make music anymore, I don’t write articles or film scripts or histories, I don’t play sports or do crossword puzzles or tinker with engines—it’s all too much. The art—the doing of it—that’s what absorbs me to the exclusion of all else. Each day I have the privilege of reviewing the world as it comes to me and transforming it into another form altogether, the very form I would have wrought in the first place if only it was I who’d been the demiurge and the original creator—the one, the being, the force, whether spirit or random principle, that set all this delirious life in motion.