How to wring something positive out of one huge negative—that was the challenge I set for myself this spring. America, and the world, had shut down, locked down, were sheltering in place like victims of a mass shooting. But this enemy was invisible. The coronavirus, COVID-19, had arrived.
Here we are in the 12th week of the COVID-19 pandemic and the accompanying shutdown, with a return to normal—whatever that was—still far away. We’ve worked from home, done our best to keep our kids mentally stimulated without going flat-out mental ourselves, practiced social distancing on those rare occasions when we braved going out in public, and embraced facial coverings as a fashion accessory.
Let me start with this. Many things have been closed that have never been closed before:
Doctor's offices.
Stores and restaurants. Beauty Salons and barbers.
I had never heard of it before March, 2020. First, the talk was all about coronavirus. I looked it up on Google and found that most influenzas were coronaviruses. Well, I don’t get any flu easily so I didn’t worry. Then, they found that this is a new virus, one that no one has any immunity for.
Lately I’ve been craving a little time in the backyard garden. The only problem: I have neither. Not a backyard. And definitely nothing that qualifies as a “garden.” Unless you count the cluster of bamboo plants in my sunny living room. And, between you and me, they looked a lot healthier before I brought them home from the store.
Thanks so much to Lorie Lewis Ham for inviting me here today. Over the years, I’ve written about many detectives in my short stories. All of them, both male and female, were in some way classic damaged gumshoes. Al DeSantis and his father, Big Al, in my debut novel, When It’s Time for Leaving, are no exceptions. Al and his father have history and not all of it is good.
When I wrote my thriller Dark Tomorrow, I thought I had imagined a true worst-case scenario, one in which the entire East Coast was crippled by a massive cyber attack launched by an unknown enemy. In my book, the electrical grid is shut down, supply chains grind to a halt, our national defense system is hacked, and industrial plants are turned into terrorist weapons.
Thank goodness my husband and I have learned to get along together in time to be cooped up together in our New York City apartment during the pandemic. It could have been disastrous, even dangerous, because we both agree that we're completely incompatible. I thought a new tank top billed by the retailer as dove gray had a purple tint to it.
I’m sheltering in place…sort-of. I went back to work for three days at the beginning of April, but I decided to take four weeks of leave (I have plenty of hours). I thought I could be productive during my time off, but…I have cooked. Let me tell you about the latest dishes to come out of Casa de Mc Arthur….
I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling stressed. The uncertainty of the quarantine, worrying about doing a good job homeschooling my daughter who is in first grade, and wondering how I should dress to buy food has put me in such a tizzy that it’s become nearly impossible for me to write. And writing is not only my full-time job, it’s my vocation.
