Writing in Captivity

I live in the Seattle area, a hot spot for the corona-virus.

I'm writing a novel about a couple quarantined. (It's being written by my alter ego, a much younger, more attractive redhead who pens steamy romance. I'm not revealing any more.) Ironically, I'm on a self-imposed quarantine as the Seattle area is a hot spot for the corona-virus, aka COVID-19.

Part of the problem with COVID-19 is not its deadly stats. We still have a better chance of dying from flu or pneumonia that corona-virus. The issues are that we don't know how its spreads, there is no definitive treatment, and there's no vaccine.

Unlike my characters, I am free to come and go as I please. I just choose to stay at home to minimize exposure unless I need to go out. My kitchen is well stocked with food, cat food, tea, and wine. The cat and I are ready for the zombie or virus Apocalypse.

The word 'Quarantine' makes me envision cages and dining on food slid to me through a narrow window. But for an introvert and a writer, (often one and the same) it's not a bad deal. If I turn off the TV and its endless political, disease filled rhetoric, I may actually get a lot of work done. Several events for which I was supposed to attend next week are canceled. I'm caught up on laundry. If I don't leave the house, all I need to wear are pajamas. (I don't write naked. Yikes. I live in an earthquake zone.)

If schools close, the ones who will suffer most are parents and extroverts. Around here, where tech is a big employer, parents are already working from home. But their kids are still at school, so they can get work done. If the kids are home and locked inside, it will be like an extended snow day,  If parents are wise, they will stock up on games, puzzles, books, and batteries along with food. Libraries and bookstores are still open, and some bookstores like Third Place Books, will ship to you with FREE shipping.

IF you go out to eat, please give your server a big tip. Chances are they aren't serving as many customers as usual, and they can't work from home.

Once I buy cat litter later today, I'll be good for the next couple of weeks.

Happy Writing and reading.

Little Do We Know

Yesterday I attended a memorial celebration for someone I knew when he and I were kids. We weren't exactly friends. Floyd was a year ahead of me in my brother Paul's class, but we all attended a small American school, so even if we traveled in different circles, everyone knew each other's names. Floyd was quiet and bookish and not prone to mischief like the rest of us in 7th and 8th grade. I don't recall him being bullied; he just flew under the radar.

Fast forward more than forty years. His younger sister Susanne and I have been Facebook friends for awhile and even though our families moved to various spots on the globe, we all ended up in the Pacific Northwest. It turns out Floyd has been living in Seattle for the past 30 years but he and I never got together, but now that I have met his friends and heard stories about him, I wish we had.

His two sisters hosted the memorial in Floyd's apartment, which is tastefully decorated with Asian art he collected over the years. Rather than it being a somber occasion where everyone wore black, the party was a festive dedication to Floyd's life. On a corner table Susanne had set up a continuous slide show with photos from Floyd's baby years up to his recent demise. Each guest saw moments from his life where they recalled him best.

At one point in the party Susanne and their other Kate invited friends to tell tales about Floyd. Most of these were funny, such as the man who said he met Floyd thirty years ago at a local watering hole. "This guy bumped into to me, wearing a pink shirt, and announced himself as "Pink Floyd." We've been friends ever since."

The quiet kid I barely noticed in school had developed into a well read person with a litany of interests. His walls contained framed art, carefully placed on the walls, that he bought from his many journeys. His furniture was worn, but complemented the space. The friends I met recounted having many great conversations in Floyd's living room, and it was a place, with its balcony view of woods and several glowing the lamps, that welcomed visitors.

As the party was ending Susanne asked guests to feel free to take a small remembrance of Floyd. She had set some items on the credenza to choose from.  Later, in the kitchen, she and I talked about my writing, and my being active with local writing groups. She asked if I knew children's book author and illustrator Kevan Atteberry. I said I did. She reached above the sink and pulled a small painting off the wall. "I want you to have his, then." It was an Atteberry she had bought for Floyd as a gift.

Even though I didn't know Floyd well, it's nice to see he had an interesting life, and now something he enjoyed looking at is now hanging above my own kitchen sink.

Happy Writing.