I know you've seen the memes, the ones explaining why THIS TIME is the BEST TIME for you to unlock your creative potential and produce a masterwork of some sort. Shakespeare did it. Tolstoy did it. You can do it too, unless you're some kind of inert sloth-person with no drive for success whatsoever.
Oh, please.
The amount of extra laundry alone is a productivity killer. Add to that the extra disinfecting, extra dish-washing, and extra time it takes just to get food into the house, and whoops, there goes your day. Not to mention the extra mental burden we're all facing, even those of us lucky enough to be able to shelter at home (like me). My brain feels dialed down to "just woke up" speed, and it was never particularly speedy in the first place.
I am especially challenged by the kind of global thinking that novel writing requires, the ability to hold an entire separate universe in my head, a universe filled with intricate timelines and shifty narratives and people who lie a lot. I keep opening up my novel-in-progress, but it's like opening a window onto a vast, hurricane-lashed beach. I can't even see a place to stand, much less build something, so I close the window and make a nice cup of tea.
I need to keep my creative juices flowing, though. That seems to be a vital part of my self-care, that I devote some time to writing a story. I have theories about why this is so. I think narrative-making is good for the brain—like push-ups keep your core strong, writing keeps your cognitive processes sharp. It is also psychologically soothing, like cleaning out the junk drawer.
So I decided that instead of the marathon that is making a novel, I'd work on the 5K that is a short story. It would keep my writerly processes engaged, but not in an exhausting and overwhelming way. I could tinker and fiddle, chasing research rabbits down fascinating new holes (like this disturbingly effective new facial recognition technology or the vast web of public-access video cameras operating all around you, including some that secretly transmit the most private of moments; there's also Tai's favorite new bourbon to track down). Plus I could spend time with my series characters, whom I know very well (not that they don't surprise me still) and whom I enjoy spending time with (I don't think they feel the same about me, however, since I am constantly throwing murder and mayhem in their paths).
The result is "Lockdown Blues" a short story about how we show up for each other in times of crisis. I am interested in the ways that crime impacts our collective experience, how transgressions large or small tear at the social fabric, revealing how connected we are even during times of isolation.
One of the great tensions in Tai and Trey's relationship is their opposite attitudes on surveillance. Trey believes that only people with something to hide need to worry about being watched, that having the eyes of the world upon public behavior makes people behave better. He trusts systems and protocols and rules, and is willing to sacrifice a little privacy if it keeps bad guys off the streets. Tai, however, prickles at the thought of a surveillance state, even if she's not doing anything wrong. She believes that such power is a slippery, dangerous slope, and that giving up even a minor freedom for an illusion of safety is a bad bargain,
I see validity in both their perspectives. I also see dangers. And that is the push-pull I ended up exploring in "Lockdown Blues" (and in Assault and Reverie and Other Stories, if you're interested). If you'd like to get your own copy of the “Lockdown Blues” go HERE.
And with that, I’m back to the blank pages that will one day be Tai & Trey #7, tentatively titled Crooked Ways.
Thank you for being a reader. Stay safe!