Writing (or not) in the time of COVID19
I should not be writing this.
What I should be doing instead is channeling my energy into my latest work-in-progress. Which is a literary euphemism for “a book I’ve started and will one day finish but not for the foreseeable future.”
See, when the coronavirus pandemic began—to be specific, when my employer determined we would be telecommuting from home beginning March 18—I like most writers believed it would open a big old window of opportunity to sit down and bang out a novel.
In a perfect world, I'd get cracking and maybe, just maybe, finish the thing by the end of this awful year.
However, in a perfect world we would not have a pandemic on our hands. Hundreds of thousands of people wouldn’t have died and many hundreds of thousands more wouldn’t have been isolated in hospitals where doctors and nurses and their support staff wouldn’t have had to bear an unbearable burden for months on end. In a perfect world, millions of people would still have their jobs and fear for their daily survival their employers would still be open for business. In a perfect world, we would not have to worry about leaving our homes to seek out toilet paper and disinfectants.
In a perfect world, I should have finished my novel by now, or at least a sizeable chunk of it. But I am stuck at 17,600+ words and struggle to set a timeline that would put me at 20,000, much less my targeted 75,000.
I have a million excuses custom-tailored to explain away my lackluster output. For one, I am prone to overthinking plots and character development; for another, I hit a mental roadblock when determining what my protagonist was going to do next. Then an idea for another, completely different story cropped into my otherwise empty head.
And there’s the biggest rub of all: Considering the big picture of what’s going on in the world, knowing as I write this a father, mother, uncle, aunt, grandparent, son, daughter, niece, or nephew somewhere in this world is dying, does my writing mean anything? Is it even worth the effort? What could my writing possibly offer the world in its current state?
Deep down I know it is worthwhile, if only for myself. And in time I am sure the words will come to me again and I’ll sit down one fine weekend and bang our a few chapters, which in turn will snowball into a few more, until I’ve finished my draft.
Maybe what I need is a mental break. Turn off the TV, keep social media at arm’s length, and stop worrying about all those things over which I exert zero control. In other words, do the things I would do in a perfect world.
Fellow writers, how are you handling your work during this pandemic? Do you find it easier with the time you have available to commit yourself to your craft? Or, has the endless parade of horrible news dampened your enthusiasm? How are you adjusting to our ever-imperfect world?