Writing (& Not Writing) In The Time Of Corona

At first, writers and authors sent out a collective, knowing sigh: “Oh, yes, we know what quarantine is all about.”

I had just come out of writer’s quarantine myself, having made a final, concentrated push to finish my latest batch of revisions by mid-March. So, no tennis, no swimming, no shopping, no beach club, no leisurely lunches with hubby.

“Next week, I’m all yours. Promise.” I told him as he set off for the beach, alone, again, and looking glum. “Next week, I’ll be done. My novel will be resting before I send it back to (my agent,) Paula. I’ll have all the time in the world to relax.”

Chaos Descends

So much for that. The following week, chaos descended, and I discovered that Corona quarantine is nothing like author’s quarantine. It’s a shock when you discover it.

At first, you try to keep your life moving as if everything is going to be all right even though life in your beloved New York is falling apart, and your children are sewing their own masks to stay safe in the epicenter.

Then, Florida wakes up to the dangers: the Ocean Club shutters its doors and its tennis courts, golf courses, swimming pools and restaurants. No problem: Your condo building has a pool, and you scrounge the odd tennis game where courts are still open — even if it means driving to the next county, 30 miles North.

WTF? No Milk Or Eggs? Or Tylenol?

Then, you walk to the supermarket (walking is allowed for exercise!) only to find there is not a single carton of eggs or even one pint of milk on the shelves. And, that particular day, not a single roll of toilet paper.

Your New York City bestie, Judy, calls you and says she has a fever. Her doctor has said her symptoms are not bad enough for a test. He has no test to administer. You feel helpless and stupid, but you ask, “Is there anything at all I can do?”

“Yes,” she says. “There’s no Tylenol on the shelves here.” No problem, you say, and go scrounging in the nearest drugstore and supermarket so you can UPS  fever reducers to her the next morning.

Another friend, Sandy, is stuck in Southeast Asia when the State Department’s Level 4 advisory goes out on March 19th for all Americans to return from abroad. You know that nothing this federal government does is competently planned with any foresight at all so you know there will be chaos (and travellers herded in close quarters for hours) at the airports again — as there was when Trump announced that all flights from Europe would be banned.

No Screening at Airports?

Sandy emails when she finally arrives home to say : “on my flight back to Newark there was an announcement that there would be serious health screening for all arriving passengers which would consist of filling out long forms asking questions re where one had traveled, health status, contact info, etc. which would be collected upon arrival. 

Then temperature and physical appearance health wise would both be checked along with additional questioning.  So I dutifully fill out the form and upon arrival at EWR absolutely NOTHING. 

“No one checking anything and everyone refusing to even accept the forms we had filled out!  [and] there is NO ONE to stamp passport indicating reentry into USA.  So they’re afraid to handle passports to examine them/stamp them but they are very content to let anyone/everyone – healthy or sick as a dog just waltz into NYC area airport!  Beyond outrageous! “

Walls Really Closing In

A few days later, Palm Beach County orders all condo pools closed. Residents are confined to their balconies and patios. The only individuals going near the water are the pool boys.

Husband, Joe, develops a nasty looking cyst under his right eye. “It’ll be okay,” he says. “No, it won’t, ” you reply, but discover his dermatologist’s office is closed. However, she’s seeing patients on Skype. Telemedicine is the best!

New York Governor Cuomo’s daily TV press briefings are the highlights of the day. You just CANNOT get into Netflix’s super hit, Tiger King. You just cannot look at all those missing teeth!

More Edits

You scribble a note to yourself about an edit you have to make in the last chapter of your novel. Your thriller is set mainly in New York City and the North Fork of Long Island in 2019. So far so good. But your last chapter is a flash-forward, titled “A Year Later.” That sets it firmly in the spring and summer of the Coronavirus.  The chapter opens at a gathering of  a group of writers at a B&B on the North Fork. Well, that’s not going to happen, now, is it?

But, you can’t really focus on writing — or even reading. Not even your own manuscript which you formatted into an e-book and downloaded to your Kindle. You can’t stay away from the TV news in case you miss the smallest sliver of good news. You know it’s coming.

But probably not this week.