I have an itch. Strange—I wrote that just now and felt one. I didn’t have an itch. I only wrote the word. That’s a powerful thing for a word to do, even if the sensation was borrowed.

“Hiss” is onomatopoeic: it imitates a sound. Someone who has never heard a hiss can still know what it means. “Itch” works differently. I only had to write it to feel one. How—or why—does that happen?

“Prickle” and “itch” are close cousins. Both invoke a sensory condition rather than merely name it. I read the word in silence and my skin answers. Writers who use these words reach readers in more than one register. I call it dense writing. 

When I encounter it, I’m challenged by the thought and, somehow, physically tired.

I’m striving to exhaust my readers in exactly that way.