The More Things Change...

I (Donis) haven't been feeling all that well lately. We've had a lot of rain here in the Phoenix area, which is horrible for my head and I haven't really been able to spend time on the computer. I feared at first I had succumbed to the "tripledemic", but it seems not. I did have a Covid booster last week, so that may have contributed to my woes. Anyway, my head is a mess and nothing seems to help right now. but a warm cloth to the forehead. The old remedies work best sometimes.

In 2017, I wrote a novel called Return of the Raven Mocker, which was set during the influenza pandemic of 1918. No one knows for sure how many died in the flu pandemic, but modern estimates put the number at somewhere between thirty and fifty million people worldwide. Unlike our recent pandemic, which seemed to target us oldsters, the Spanish flu mainly killed young people, and was so virulent that a person would be fine in the morning and dead by nightfall. Once the disease began to spread, whole communities tried to quarantine themselves. People would mark their doors with a red “X” to let their neighbors know the family was infected. There were few doctors available because of World War I, so nurses were the absolute heroes, keeping people fed and looked after, and often falling ill themselves.

 One of the primary research materials for my novels is always the newspapers of the time, and it was fascinating to see what people knew in 1918 and when they knew it. From the perspective of 100 years on, we know how things turned out. But, like now, they had no cure and no idea what was going to happen. In the early days of the pandemic, the government actually encouraged the press to downplay the seriousness of the situation, because the war was still going on and nothing was to be allowed to interfere with war production!

Then there was the mask business – people were encouraged to wear masks and half the population of the country went insane, sure it was a big government plot! Eventually, factories all over the United States were no longer able to stay open because most of their workers were ill, and the stories in the papers began to change radically, printing all kinds of weird and generally useless advice about how to avoid becoming sick. People died from being dosed with turpentine, coal oil, mercury, ox bile, chicken blood, and other unmentionable home remedies they were given by their well-meaning caretakers. There are modern scientists who believe that some of the deaths in the epidemic were caused by aspirin poisoning rather than the disease. Aspirin was relatively new on the market, and folks may have figured that if a little aspirin was good for fever and aches, then eating whole handfuls every hour was even better if you were really sick. 

However, when you have no cure, there are old remedies that can actually be useful. Garlic really does have antibiotic properties, and was used a lot as a treatment during the 1918 flu outbreak. I found a recipe for garlic soup in an early twentieth century cookbook that called for 24 cloves of garlic to be simmered for an hour in a quart of water. That sounds like it would kill any germ that dares to try and infect you. 

 My great-grandmother swore that placing a bowl of raw onions in a sick room would absorb the ill-humors.  I found a number of remedies that called for binding something to the feet. An 1879 cookbook recommended taking a large horseradish leaf, placing it on a hot shovel to soften if, then folding it and fastening it in the hollow of the foot with a cloth bandage. I also found foot-poultice recipes that used burdock leaves, cabbage, and mullein. All the above are guaranteed to “alleviate pain and promote perspiration”. 

Chicken soup really, really does help. Your mother says so, and so does science. Prohibition was the law in Oklahoma in 1918. Even so, my grandmother’s favorite remedy for fever, cold, or flu, was a hot toddy.  She swore that this never failed to break a fever and rouse a sweat.  A hot toddy is made thus : 1 teacup hot water juice of half a lemon 1 tablespoon sugar 1 jigger Scotch whiskey My grandmother was so enamored of this curative that she made it often, just as a preventative.

As for me and my headache, the toddy didn't do the trick, but at least I didn't care about it so much. That's about all I can write now, Dear Reader. Time for a hot rag on my forehead.

My Mom's Yellow Bikini

A couple of years back I had a dream where I saw my mother in a motorboat tied to the pier of a mountain lake. She was a young woman at the time and wearing a yellow bikini. She was helping a man--a stranger and not my dad--get the boat ready. Then a phone began ringing in the shack at the land end of the pier. The phone kept ringing and ringing and ringing until my mom asked the man if he was going to answer it. "Could be important," she said. He replied, "If it's important, they'll send a letter."

As far as I know, my mother had never been in a motorboat on such a lake. Who was that man? Plus I'd never seen her in a bikini, and so I had a lot of thoughts about what the dream was telling me. I decided that the big lesson was the man's nonchalant response to the phone call and compared it to the way we react to our situation in the world. There's a general mood of unceasing anxiety, of constant urgency, that the world is in increasing chaos.

Of course, a reality check keeps things in perspective. During the George Floyd riots, when the country seemed ready to fall apart, I stumbled upon a newspaper article from July 1967 that chronicled the Detroit Riots, which were so destructive that Federal troops on the way to Vietnam were diverted to the city and battle tanks rumbled along the streets in a show of force to quell the trouble.  

Such reminders do help but there's much about our modern-day living that stokes the anxiety. Culling through my email makes me feel like the Sorcerer's Apprentice. Dealing with spam texts is like playing Whack-a-Mole at turbo speed. I compare that to what a writer's life was like before computers and the Internet. I imagine Raymond Chandler or Beryl Markham behind the typewriter, tapping the keys, thoughts not disrupted by ring tones or distracted by click-bait. On the credenza sits a basket piled with incoming mail, which can be sifted through at a leisurely pace. During the day, you might take five phone calls. The pace of life was slower, more deliberate, more contemplative. And yet, even with our laptops, we'd be lucky to be as productive or as good as those writers.

Naturally, it's easy to look back upon our predecessors and marvel at the certainty of their times because we know how everything turned out for them. World War Two is regarded with nostalgia. The good old days when total war raged across oceans and continents. On the other hand, modern technology does offer advantages. I was a lousy typist, and still am, and fortunately word-processing software helps me backspace over my mistakes. Give me Word and inkjet printers over Wite-Out and carbon copies. And I sympathize with those poor schmucks who had to reconcile spreadsheets by hand. 

Back to my point of this cloud of anxiety hanging over our society. It's gotten so bad that the demand for mental health counseling includes meeting the needs of the mental health counselors themselves. The pandemic squeezed everybody. Having so much home delivery available is wonderfully convenient but adds to a sense of isolation and that isolation erodes our sense of presence and self-worth. Social media is a cauldron of manic depression. To remain safe and sane we have to relearn what's worked throughout history: stay active, sleep, eat right, avoid self-medicating with drugs and alcohol, socialize, get outside, and cultivate a positive mental attitude.

And don't think about your mom in a yellow bikini.

Are We There Yet?

We're now into year two of the Coof. Last summer my touring schedule was abruptly cut short by a cascade of cancellations. I had already booked my tickets for Seattle's Emerald City Con and for New Orleans to visit the World War Two Museum. Lighthouse Writers did a quick hocus-pocus to turn their annual LitFest into what by now is a common experience, the online conference. A big part of LitFest is the socializing and drinking and that became something you did in the privacy of your own home.

Lighthouse predicted a gloomy forecast from the expected loss of revenue. Amazingly, pretty much every class had a wait list. What came into play was that people had a lot of time on their hands, with the reduced socializing because of the lockdowns people were eager to rub virtual shoulders on the computer screen, many writers are introverts and the remote classes allowed them to remain in their comfort zones, and because the classes were offered on the World Wide Web, people could attend from anywhere. In my classes I had students from the Bahamas, Greece, and Cyprus. 

It's a given that online classes and meetings are here to stay. But for months now I've been ready to step out and have some fun. I have older relatives I need to visit but I have to temper that wish against the risk of spreading the virus. The convention schedule is still tentative with folks being undecided between in-person vs. online. When will life go back to normal? This pandemic has been a very long road.

Covid and Literary Conflict

 By Thomas Kies

 Two weeks ago, today, my wife and I won the lottery…sort of.  We both got our second Pfizer vaccination.  It was like this massive weight was lifted off my shoulders.  After a year of wondering if I’d catch covid-19 and end up on a ventilator in the hospital, my anxiety level dropped precipitously.

If I was of a mind to write something about the pandemic into my work in progress (which I’m not) I wonder what kind of conflict that could be defined as.  

Tonight, in my creative writing class, the participants will be reading the first few pages of their book.  I didn’t define what that might be.  I left that up to them. I’ve assigned this before in other classes and it’s usually pretty interesting.

We’ll also be discussing different types of literary conflict.  

There’s character vs. self.  This might take the form of inner demons—alcoholism, addiction, phobias.  Or it might be a moral dilemma such as: If you can’t afford food to feed your children and there were no other options, would you steal?  Is murder ever moral?  Can I have one more cookie tonight and ignore the scale in the morning?

There’s character vs. character.  This is the classic good against evil—the good guy or girl versus the bad guy or girl. With shades of moral nuance thrown in.  After all, don’t most villains think that what they do is right?  They might see their actions as being outside of the law, but it’s still the right thing to do.  It can be as powerful as a life and death battle in the climax of your book or being handed a written warning by your clueless, overbearing boss.

There’s character vs. nature.  This is where the hero battles forces like weather, wild animals, the wilderness, or a natural disaster.  Think Titanic. Think Old Man and the Sea. Think Texas after a snowstorm. 

There’s character vs. the supernatural.  This is more for authors of fantasy or horror and not so much for mystery writers.  My protagonist, Geneva Chase, doesn’t do battle with demons or zombies or ghosts. But in my first book, Random Road, Geneva rides along on a waterborne ghost hunt. 

FYI, that scene is based on a real ghost hunt I went on years ago.  The only spirits I saw that night were in the bottom of my wine glass.  

There’s character vs. technology.  I think this is more in the realm of science fiction writers, but I do understand the angst, anxiety, frustration, and rage I can feel when my internet goes out and I have to call the freaking cable company to get it back on.  

There’s character vs. society.  This can incorporate a broad spectrum of conflicts.  It could stem from race or religion.  Townies vs. the jocks on campus. It might be a character caught up in the raging fires of war. It could be me staring down an IRS audit. 

Then there’s something called passive conflict.  When the protagonist is being kept in the dark, lied to, or avoided.  Much less violent than physical conflict but can still do mental damage to a character. Much like being in high school and not being invited by the cool kids to any of their parties. 

I’m not bitter. Anymore. 

So, to circle around to the pandemic.  I guess we can slide that into character vs. nature. And I’ll be damned glad when we have all gotten vaccinated. 

Puppies and Pandemic Road Trips

  By Thomas Kies

I was going to do a sequel to my blog “Recipe for a Thriller No One Would Believe” about the insurrection at the Capitol in Washington DC, but I just couldn’t.  It’s just all too sad and I’m embarrassed for our country over it. 

So, I’ll write about something much more fun.  Lilly, our Shih-tzu and my writing buddy, passed away in September.  No, that’s not the fun part.  That was heartbreaking. 

Starting in December, my wife Cindy began searching for a Shih-tzu rescue to come live with us.

The pandemic has created a remarkable demand for pet company and the results are that there is a shortage of rescue dogs available to adopt.  My wife worked hard at trying to find a rescue. 

Finally, Cindy found an adoption agency that was looking to place a two-year old Shih-tzu named Annie Willow that had been rescued after being abandoned at a kill shelter.  They vetted us and on Thursday they told us we could come meet the girl on Saturday morning in Charlotte, North Carolina.  That’s a five-hour drive from where we live.

We packed our bags and took off on Friday to stay overnight and then meet Annie Willow the next morning.  

Now, this was the first overnight trip we’ve taken since March, when the pandemic began its horrible march throughout the world.  Things have markedly changed.

Starting with choosing the hotel.  It used to be comfort, location, and price that was how we decided on where we’d stay.  Now it was how they disinfected their rooms.

Then it was the drive.  Before, I looked forward to stopping off while on our journey where we’ve never been for a leisurely lunch.  Now we packed our lunch before we left so we could eat in the car. 

We did stop once to get gasoline and use the restroom.  In the convenience store where we were, they weren’t selling coffee.  Another result of the pandemic. 

Once at the hotel, what few people who were guests, as well as employees, wore masks (thank heavens) and discourse was kept at a minimum.  Distance was observed.

Here’s where I want to say something about writing, since Type M is a blog about the process.  In particular, about writing dialogue.  I have always enjoyed listening in on conversations so I could catch both discourse and dialect.  Now, however, there’s little of that to eavesdrop on. And what I do hear sounds like little more than mumbling.  

Back to our trip.

It was no surprise that we discovered that the bar was closed at the hotel and the bistro where you could get breakfast was also shut down.  There would be no hotel waffles for us in the morning.

When it came to getting something for dinner, we called a nice Italian pizza place in the neighborhood and had dinner delivered at the hotel.  

The next morning, we met the representative from the adoption agency and the woman who had been Annie Willow’s foster mom.  Everyone wore masks.  I never saw their faces.  That seemed so sad.  I’m sure we were all smiling from ear to ear.

Although, when I asked how the foster mom was doing, she told me, “I’ll be crying in my car in a few minutes.  I’ll be missing Annie.”  It must be difficult to foster a puppy, loving it, knowing that if you’re successful, you’ll be handing it over to someone you don’t know.  It must be like losing a piece of your heart. 

It was also when we met Annie Willow, who’s a cutie with the energy of an overcaffeinated ferret. She is definitely going to keep Cindy and me on our toes. 

It was a bright spot in an otherwise abysmal week.  Two friends of ours tested positive for Covid-19.  One is in the hospital but recovering nicely and the other has had mild symptoms.  

Unfortunately, thousands of others are dying every single day.  Hospitals are stretched to the limit but vaccinations, while slow and chaotic, are coming.

And then, of course, there was the insurrection at the Capitol on Wednesday at the urging of a sitting President of the United States.  I never thought I’d ever write or say those words.  Never.

The nation is divided, the possibility of a second impeachment is imminent, and I fear for what could happen before the inauguration of a new President on January 20.

It’s no wonder so many of us have looked to the unconditional love of a puppy. 

Two Things I've Learned during the Pandemic

First, I need a plan. Not only a "big picture" plan but a plan for each day. On the days when I have only a vague intention to "get some work done," I don't accomplish a lot. One day this week, I took a break to order some groceries -- and discovered that in spite of all those images of paper towels on store websites, no local store seemed to have paper towels in stock. I finally ordered from Amazon and resigned myself to waiting until next week for delivery.

Now, I know that with the state of the world and people's lives in turmoil, my paper towels dilemma is unimportant. Who cares? But that's my point. When I have no plan, I obsess about small things. I waste large chunks of my day trying to do ordinary things that now require weighing pros and cons.   But when I am specific about what I want to do each day and prepare a road map for the day, I move through the day with much less stress. I don't become obsess because I do the important stuff first.

On Wednesday evening, I did three things I had been putting off forever because each involved tedious paperwork. That was when I discovered the second secret -- I work better with music playing in the background. But, it has to be a particular kind of music. I was on YouTube looking for an interview I wanted to link to in a syllabus I'm working on. I saw an official video for one of my favorite songs and clicked to listen. I went back to my syllabus, and YouTube began to run through a playlist. Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, Gladys Knight and Pips -- songs that I knew the words to and didn't have to think about. For the next couple of hours, I sang along while I worked. And, contrary to what I usually find, I was not at all distracted by the music.

So what I've learned and intend to apply going forward is to have a plan and have the right music. And, I'm adding, set a timer to get in 5-minute exercise breaks.

I'm finding this article useful:

 https://doist.com/blog/how-to-plan-your-day/

Of course, being a plotter, planning has the same appeal. Off to bed. I need to get an early start.

Food--My Guilty Pleasure

Shadow Hill, my latest Geneva Chase Mystery, is in the hands of my copy editor at Poisoned Pen Press.

No sooner had I hit the Send button, that same copy editor sent me a version of my very first Geneva Chase novel, Random Road.  Before Shadow Hill is launched in 2021, Random Road is due to be rereleased and I need to read through it to see if I want to make any changes.

At the same time, I’m preparing for my next Creative Writing course that starts on June 22 at our community college. And oh yes, I have a day job, mostly working from home these days.

Along with all of that, I’m bombarded by news of the pandemic, the protests about racial disparities, the broken economy, and politics making it very difficult to concentrate.

So, as a distraction, I turn to food. The supply chain at our grocery stores here on the coast has fits and starts.  Like the rest of the universe, for a long time, you had to hunt for elusive paper products. Then when meatpacking plants were hit hard with the virus, I had to be creative when it came to preparing dinners.

There were times when the only protein in the meat section of the store was ground chicken.  Lo and behold, I discovered this recipe.

I’ve made chicken coq au vin before and it can be a real production.  But the recipe below it a whole lot easier and it’s really tasty.

I hope you enjoy as much as I do.

Coq au vin chicken meatballs.

•         1 1/4 pounds ground turkey or chicken
•         1 egg
•         1/3 cup bread crumbs
•         1/3 cup grated parmesan cheese
•         kosher salt and black pepper
•         2-3 slices thick-cut bacon, chopped
•         1 yellow onion, chopped
•         4 cloves garlic, minced or grated
•         4 carrots, chopped
•         2 cups cremini mushrooms, sliced
•         2 tablespoons tomato paste
•         1 1/2 cups dry red wine, such as Cabernet Sauvignon
•         1 cup low-sodium chicken broth
•         2 bay leaves
•         4 thyme sprigs
•         1/2 cup fresh parsley, chopped
•         mashed potatoes

INSTRUCTIONS
1. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with parchment.

2. Add the turkey, egg, bread crumbs, parmesan, and a pinch each of salt and pepper to a bowl. Coat your hands with a bit of olive oil and roll the meat into tablespoon-size balls (will make 15-20 meatballs), placing them on the prepared baking sheet. Transfer to the oven and bake for 15 minutes or until the meatballs are crisp and cooked through.

3. Meanwhile, cook the bacon in a large skillet over medium heat until crisp, about 5 minutes. In the skillet, add the onion and cook for 5 minutes, until softened and fragrant. Stir in the garlic, carrots, and mushrooms. Cook another 5 minutes, until the vegetables are caramelizing on the edges. Add the tomato paste. Cook 1 minute.

4. Add in the red wine, chicken broth, bay leaves, and thyme. Season with salt and pepper. Stir to combine, bring the sauce to a boil, cook 10 minutes or until the sauce thickens slightly. Stir in the meatballs, cover and cook 5 minutes, until the meatballs are coated in the sauce. Remove the bay leaves and thyme and discard. Stir in the parsley and reserved bacon.

4. Serve the meatballs and sauce over mashed potatoes.

What We Write About

Should we keep the real world out of our books and short stories? Some writers and readers would argue that we should be able to "escape" into a book. In crime writing, those books are sometimes dismissed as "cozies." Many readers want books that provide an opportunity to spend time with characters who are likable in settings that are safe. It requires as much of those writers to craft a satisfying book as it does of writers in other subgenre, and they deserve respect.

But then we have the other question. If we are authors who write grittier books, how much should we deal with social issues? Should we respond to the current reality? This morning I woke up as a message was being left in my voice mail. The host of the morning roundtable discussion on our local public radio station was calling to ask me to join this morning panel.

During the show, he mentioned that I'm a mystery writer, but I was there as a criminal justice professor. If you've been watching the news, you can guess that the conversation was about -- the death of Mr. Floyd and the fires burning in Minneapolis and the tweets coming from the White House and the social media responses to the video. . .

As a crime fiction writer, I've spent of my fiction writing life focusing on a series set in the recent past with a couple of short stories set in the 1940s. Now, I'm working on a thriller set in 1939. I also have two novels published by St. Martin's set in the near future. Or, at least they were, now it is 2020. And my second book in the series was set in January 2020. I was writing alternate history, but that history shares much in common with the present moment. In the third book -- the one that I had contemplated writing even though I don't have a publisher -- that book involves a threat to my protagonist Hannah McCabe. She is the target of a group of rogue police officers who are aligned with the candidacy of a third-party right-wing presidential candidate who is doing "arena" rallies doing which he urges his supporters to make American Great Again. He is running against a Hispanic woman who is the Republican candidate and the African American (biracial) male vice president who is running because the first female president has been so badly damaged that she is not a viable Democrat candidate. As the election approaches, Howard Miller, the third party candidate is coming  to visit the Albany area.

Let me say, the first book in this series, The Red Queen Dies, came out in 2013. The second, What the Fly Saw, was published in 2015. I wanted to write a series that would allow me to comment on the future that nonfiction writers were foreseeing -- the environment, the food supply, pandemics, domestic terrorists, poverty, solar flares. I had a long list of concerns.

I deal with social issues in my book. I try my best not to stand on a soap box yelling. I write books and short stories in which I try to present various perspectives. But my protagonist, Hannah McCabe, is a police officer -- a detective in my fictional version of the Albany police department. She is a good cop. She works with other good cops who care about their job. But in my world, there is also rot at the core in the form of the police officers who are Howard Miller supporters. Hannah's father is a white retired newspaper editor. Her mother was a black radical poet. She is caught in the middle -- an "outsider within".

This is a moment -- with a pandemic and fires burning and fear, anger, and chaos -- that I want to spend some time with Hannah. I want to hear how she sees the world and find out what she will do when she finds out what is happening around her.

I have the murder -- my plot involving an animal-rights activist who supports bringing the wolves back to the Adirondacks and is found dead in an abandoned school -- I also have the context in which that murder occurs. My challenge if I decide to take it is to write a book that is both a good mystery/police procedural and a comment on the times we live in.

 

Real World Tension

In my creative writing class that I was teaching for our local college, cut short by the pandemic, I stressed the value of ratcheting up tension as your book progresses.

Well, welcome to the real world, where the tension is rising nearly every day.

On Friday, the governor of Michigan shut down the Capitol in Lansing in fear of armed protesters. For the past week, lawmakers have been debating how to safely enable lawmakers to work and vote in session while the state’s laws allow people to bring firearms into the capitol building. The debate grew in intensity as some lawmakers read about threats to the governor’s life on social media, which were published in the Detroit Metro Times.

There’s a tense video on YouTube filmed by a female customer in a Trader Joe’s, arguing with a young worker who was trying to enforce company policy by asked the woman to wear a face mask. The discussion grew heated, the young man called the police, who never showed up, and the woman finally left. When she did, the other customers in the store applauded.

A Target employee in California ended up with a broken arm as she helped escort two customers who also refused to wear masks.

In Pennsylvania, a female convenience store clerk refused to sell a man who refused to wear a mask a pack of cigars. He punched three times in the face.

In Texas, a man was told he couldn’t ride a public bus if he didn’t put on a face mask. He shot another passenger who ended up in the hospital and the gunman was arrested.

Then in Flint, Michigan, a security guard outside a dollar story insisted that a customer wear a face mask. The guard was shot and killed.

On a much lesser note, but still ugly, I was in line at our Food Lion, wearing a mask. As the lady behind the counter checked me out and I place my groceries in my cart, I turned to put my credit card in the machine to pay. I saw a man and woman standing right next to me, neither of whom were wearing masks. I politely asked the man to please step back. In a loud belligerent voice, he said, “Where do you want me to go? The back of the store?”

Wanting to defuse the situation, I didn’t tell him where I really wanted him to go.

The poor clerk smiled sadly and told me, “Have a nice day, honey.

I’m working from home and in my spare time, I’m working on edits for my fourth mystery, Shadow Hill. But it’s difficult not to fall down an internet rabbit hole when an alert pops up on my phone letting me know when some new kernel of news has arrived. Usually it’s bad news.

It’s not productive. At some point I just switch it all off and lose myself in my work. It’s a little like a movie or a book where the tension has nearly peaked.

So my advice is that when the world serves you more tension than you think you can handle, turn it off, go for a walk or open your work in progress and lose yourself in that.

Stay safe and stay healthy.

Pandemic voices

For weeks now, our Type M blog posts have circled around the central player in our lives - the pandemic. We have talked about the inability to write, the question of whether to include the pandemic in our stories, the lament over lost opportunities to celebrate and promote our books, and the ups and downs of our moods. As I tried to figure out what to say today, I thought "Can anyone stand one more blog about the damn pandemic?" Are we sick of it? Do we want our lives back? Can't we at least pretend things will go back to normal?

Then I realized this is our job. As artists we document the emotional reality of our times. Economists will talk about job losses, stock market rollercoasters, and accumulating debt. Scientists will talk about advances in virology and herd immunity, epidemiologists about infection curves and deaths per million, etc. Social scientists will analyze lockdown fatigue, crowd contagion, and the delicate balance of maintaining public cooperation. Ecologists will describe the return of the animals and the blue of the sky.

All important for the historical record. We are living through possibly the most significant global event in a century, in terms of its scope and impact on every single person (and indeed on nature and the planet). Other crises have had a more drastic effect on specific parts of the world, such as the world wars, the Holocaust, and the Khmer Rouge. And even then, much of normal life went on in the streets and towns. But this crisis is against a single enemy worldwide, and has changed almost every aspect of our daily lives, from hugging our families to trying to buy yeast.

People's experiences and reactions are all over the map, and as several posts have already pointed out, they change from day to day and evolve over time. Artists have always been a mirror to our inner life. Psychologists and other mental health researchers are going to dissect our adjustment and struggles minutely. They are going to subject us to surveys and statistical analyses and possibly even experimental re-enactments. All this is going to be very valuable for future planning, but trust me, as someone who worked in that field for years, it's going to be dry as dust. It will not bring to life the essence of being alone on Mother's Day, staring at your one-year old grandson trying to eat the phone his parents are using for Zoom. It will not capture the sound of your silent wail. Nor the hummingbird restlessness you feel some days after listening to too much news. Shall I bake cupcakes? Watch Netflix? Or even, horrors, wash the floors?

The blogs, poems, paintings, and short isolation videos that artists are producing all over the world will serve as a record of our times, a mirror of our feelings and thoughts at the moment we go through them. And any books that come out of it, whether about the pandemic or not, will be a testament to these times. So feel free to create and to put it out there, to be shared online across the world. Someone will be listening, and equally important, history will be listening.

Pandemic...writing it into your work? Or not?

I’m facing two problems with my newest writing project.

One: Should I incorporate the pandemic into my plot?  Should I make reference to it?

Two: What will life be like in a year from now?

I have a hunch that wearing masks will become ubiquitous, much like it always has been in Asia.

I also believe that shaking hands will become a thing of the past.

And once this is over, I’m guessing there will be a glut of office space that will become available.  Companies will have proof that their employees can function quite nicely from home.

Teleconferencing has already become the new normal.

Will people be carrying around cards proving that they’ve either tested normal or tested that they have had the virus and have built up immunity?  Will those people be the only ones who will be able to go to work, socialize in a bar, or dine in a restaurant?

I recently sent my latest book, Shadow Hill, to my publisher.  Of course I’m always on pins and needles until I hear back from her.  You’re hoping that your work is good, but in the back of your mind, you’re worried sick that they’ll think it’s trash.  When I started writing Shadow Hill, it was easily a year ago.  No one had even heard of Covid-19.

So, there is absolutely no mention of it in the manuscript. Not one word.

In the book, people shake hands, they have face to face meetings, they have drinks together, and they have sex.

In writing the new book, I hate to think that my protagonist might be forced to conduct her investigation and do an interview from her kitchen using Zoom.  I’m not sure I can write an action scene where everyone is wearing a mask. And writing a sex scene between two people who haven’t been isolating for fourteen days?  “No, darling, I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until they invent a vaccine.”

In the New York Times this morning, there’s a lengthy piece about what the next year or two may look like.  It ranges from the mildly frightening to the downright horrifying.

So the big question is: what will be the effects on our writing?

Navigating Social Distance

Frankie, here. I'm an introvert. I mention that because of the tweets from introverts pointing out that a personality trait that is often viewed as a deficit is actually an advantage right now. Unlike extroverts, introverts have no problem being at home alone. We are experts at "social distancing." Even those of us who have learned to be outgoing when we need to be, find large groups exhausting. By the third day of a conference we have either found sanctuary with two or three friends or are retreating to our hotel room to read or write. 

But this is different. Even introverts are not prepared for pandemics. It is stress-inducing to share space with extroverts who are prowling around the house because they want to go out. And a cough, sneeze, or pain is a reminder that this is one time when being at work and having weekend invitations wouldn't be at all bad.

 I've been setting my clock each night because psychologists are telling us that if we are working at home, we should try to maintain normal working hours. But my normal working house vary. Since I've been wanting to get more sleep, I decided to set my alarm for 10 a.m., and then work until 8:00 in the evening. That allows time for getting ready for my now online classes, writing, and taking a break to watch ''The Young and the Restless" and "The Bold and the Beautiful. By 8 p.m. I'm either ready to stop, or I have made enough progress to want to go on a bit longer. And I'm getting more sleep. Except when I wake up and can't get back to sleep. 

In newspaper articles, blogs, and Twitter photos and cartoon, "pet parents" are reporting that their dogs and cats have to adjust to having them at home. Dogs are finding that they are being walked more often because their humans want an excuse to get out of the house. Cats -- who may enjoy having the house to themselves doing the day -- are now finding their humans underfoot all day long. Some of them like it; others find a place to hide out. 

My cat, Harry, is accustomed to my odd hours and realizes by now that when summer comes I will be around much more. What he must find puzzling is that I rarely go out these days. Yesterday I thought we both would need to venture out. A couple of weeks ago, I hear him land hard as he jumped from a chair or off the radiator. Later, he was limping. Not much, but a little. I planned to call his vet the next day, but by then he was running after treats again. Then this morning, I saw him jump and then limp as if he had sprained a back leg. Whatever he had done the first time, it was worse this time. 

I spent an hour or so watching him. Then I Googled to see what I should check for before calling his vet. No swelling, no jerking away when I stroked his leg. Catnip seemed to help. But I decided I'd better call.

The recorded message I heard said my vet's office was not doing routine visits. Humans were required to maintain social distance when they arrived for appointments. They were to call from the car and then bring the cat carrier to the door. They were then to wait in their car. That resolved the debate I was having with myself about the safety issues involved in going to any doctor's office. After all, I had rescheduled my routine appointments. But maybe a limping cat was almost an emergency. 

So I followed the instructions and sent an email explaining why I had called. By then Harry was walking better. He had lunch and climbed up on his cat tree for a nap. I decided to give us both a break and went out for a walk. 

I drove to my university's uptown campus and parked. There were cars in the parking lots and a few people walking themselves and/or their dogs. One or two getting in a run. But a silence hung over a campus where thousands of people gathered on a typical Thursday during spring semester. Away from the roads and sidewalks around the perimeter of the campus, it was quiet enough to hear birds singing. I paused to watch a ground hog who had waded out of his hole. By the small lake near the athletic center, a pair of geese came out of the water and stood on the bank looking around. We looked at each other. 

I stepped back into the grass to keep my social distance from a woman passing on her bike. She smiled and called, "You know you've been inside too long when you start talking to the geese." True. But I had only been sharing the quiet with them. 

 Next time, I'd like to go for a a stroll in Washington Park. I love looking at the water. Since I am not likely to be on a cruise ship again any time soon, that now means ponds, lakes, and rivers. Washington Park is lovely, based on a
design by Calvet Vaux and his junior partner,  Frederick Law Olmsted (Central Park). A good place to spend an hour or so. If it isn't too crowded.

Stay well, everyone. 

Living in the Kill Zone

I'm 64 years old, which puts me inside the foyer of the Coronavirus kill zone. Fortunately I'm in good health. At least, I hope I am. If you hear that I've keeled over before my next post, then I spoke too soon.

It's a strange time. As I noted in Facebook, this feels like a slow-motion Apocalypse. One with wifi. All my book signings and convention appearances have been cancelled. My writing seminars at this summer's Litfest will be conducted on Zoom, the new medium of business and social communication.

When I take my dog for his walk, I notice quite a few people out and about. Most are with their dogs and the rest either couples enjoying a stroll or kids on bikes with a parent supervising. The playground at the local park has been marked with yellow tape and placed off-limits. Schools, libraries, and churches are closed; liquor stores and pot shops have been deemed "essential" and remain open. When Denver first issued the stay-at-home mandate, places that sold booze or weed were to lock up. Lines immediately formed. Emotions heated from anxious to testy. Wisely, to cool things down, the mayor granted an exemption, as did the governor. And the law prohibiting restaurants from selling liquor for off-premises consumption was also lifted. So on the plus side to this catastrophe, you can even get cocktails delivered or served with take-out. Causes you to wonder just how pointless such laws actually are. Although it's cheaper to buy booze at the liquor store, the act of getting adult beverages delivered makes imbibing them seem a little more tasty.

One of my favorite phenomenons is the law of unintended consequences and this pandemic has brought plenty of examples. In this case, that nature abhors a vacuum. With people's travel restricted and their subsequent absence from the greater outdoors, mountain lions have ventured from the foothills and into the city of Boulder. Groups of these pumas have been photographed wandering the streets, no doubt cataloging where the neighborhood pets can be found for later dining. There hasn't yet been any clashes between mountain lion and human, but when the quarantine is relaxed and people rush back outside, the big cats might not so easily yield and return to seclusion.

A lot of people are hanging out on their front porches, enjoying their to-go margaritas. Outwardly, the mood is like a prolonged recess. All whom I've met have been friendly, cordial, and keeping the approved social distance. At the bus stop, when passengers disembark, everybody, including those waiting by the bench, immediately shuffle in a comical dance to maintain a six-foot boundary.

But I can't deny the inner foreboding, the grim tension behind the calm facade. Part of that angst is of course because of the virus, and to what extent it will ravage the population. Who and how many are going to die? The other part of that worry is about the economy and the loss of jobs and income. If you've ever been unemployed, I have--twice--you know the malaise that corrodes your spirit. Not working is no vacation. It feels like you're being smothered.

As a species, we humans have a remarkable capacity for survival. The purveyors of doom and gloom regard our situation as a fixed circumstance and dismiss our ability to learn and adapt. Seeing as we are Type M for Murder, I'm waiting for when this crisis eases and the criminal shenanigans to appear. You know, like those bodies that wash up after a flood with bullet holes in them.