Writing during a Pandemic

I can imagine the feverish writing taking place this year while locked down. A writer's dream is to be banished to her desk, but this just ain't the way to do it. My imagination is still active and ignited, but I can't seem to write without stopping and thinking about life ending abruptly all around me while in my cozy, normal state of bliss. About the division between us that is keeping folks awake at night. About the jobs lost, the children lost, the hunger, the sorrow, lost faith. Yet this country has survived much worse, as history reminds us. Heavy duty articles in The Atlantic, the New Yorker, the Guardian and even our slim local newspaper try desperately to bring some sense to it all. Then it occurs to me why I write short fiction - exactly for times like these when people just want to get as far away from reality as possible. I want to believe that I'm contributing in some simple, satisfying way. So, I'll write, yes I will, and write some more because one thing I know for certain, we are a strong bunch of people and we will overcome - we are Americans!

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