Self-Awareness Overload by Gillian Barnes (@geezfresh)

I can’t believe the close of another round of #GBWritesWithOthers is upon us and now it's my turn to share why I've learned. It's hard to pick just one subject as I feel like this period of time has been one of constant pivoting, but I would say (and yes, it is an umbrella term) I have learned the most about self-awareness.

Being alone with yourself is hard. I mean, in my case I live with a partner, so I haven't been fully alone like some people (side note: you are warriors!), but for many more hours than is typical I have been "alone with my brain."

I can't plan everything. Damn.

I write about this a lot, so I apologize for the re-hash, but it is sort of necessary to explain my next point. I'm a strategist. I plan everything. Guess what can't happen during a pandemic? Planning. During this time my first response was to plan, backup plan, and triple backup plan. Planning calms me, but the fact is, most of that planning was for naught.

However, despite my initial disappointment in finding this out (and all-out depression some days), I have learned that I can think about different situations without committing. I can run numbers and dream without execution. This has been valuable to me as I now know how to roll with it (as much as my personality will allow) much better than I have in the past.

Self-care is hard.

The first few months of quarantine left me confused. I lacked a routine. I wanted to sleep in like a slug, and I let myself do that. Now let me tell you, that was the first mistake. Pre-pandemic, as I have never been a morning person, I would wake myself up 1-2 hours early to get ready. No, I'm not a prima donna with my makeup etc., what I mean is that I need time to mentally awaken. It takes me several cups of coffee, a shower, and really, just time to be my best. In the beginning, I let that slip. Don't get me wrong, I still got things done, but I didn't feel good about them.

I also bit my nails to an absurd degree, indulged in extra calories, and really just lived a very sumptuous life. As punishment, I put on some extra weight, lost a significant amount of energy, and withdrew from many things that made me happy. It was a bad scene.

Recently, I started changing that. I started nightly tea drinking to calm my body and mind. I began painting my nails so that I couldn't bite them as easily (truly gross habit...but that's me!). I got into playing story and planning-based games to calm myself (Stardew Valley). And finally, I started this project back up to force myself to reengage with the writing community on Twitter and beyond.

I still have more work to do. For example, at some point I have to get into a consistent workout schedule, but I am now in a much healthier place where I am prioritizing what makes me happy and calm.

I have two selves, and they need to blend better. No more 50/50 split.

We all have different character traits, but during these past few months I've realized I have two distinct personalities. The first is the CEO and that woman runs things. She gets sh*t done. She knows what's best and won't hear anything else. She's kind of awful sometimes and she has not been thriving during quarantine.

The second is a sort of homebody. She enjoys freshly washed laundry. She likes reading books and having multiple hour philosophical conversations. She dreams about traveling and appreciates beauty. Someday, she might buy a house in Maine or Kyoto and never come back. She writes when inspiration strikes and when she is obligated to. She cares about her family and friends above all else. This latter person is who I am becoming, with a dash of the former.

My goals and intensity have netted me promotions and other accolades, but they have also made me unhappy. I have realized that I can still maintain a bit of the CEO while relaxing. It's okay. I like that. I am going to strive to be an 80/20 person from here on out with the calmer Gillian running things and the CEO in check. She's still valuable, but sometimes ambition needs to take a backseat to mental health.

I ask too much of people.

I don't think it's a secret that sometimes I hold people up to the standards I set for myself (which are quite high, and sometimes ridiculous). I've stopped doing that as much. In one particular instance, and for anonymity I will keep this as blanket as possible, I learned about someone's home life and it changed how I look at how they achieve things. People are genuinely trying their best and they all have different levels of achievement etc. I am really trying to see people more fully now (I can't promise I will uphold this 24/7, but I am TRYING).

I want what my parents have.

Oh, dear. This isn't the first time I've written about my stepmother being correct, and trust me, it won't be the last. In the past, she and father mentioned leaving me my childhood home. It made sense as I am an only child, but I remember distinctly firing back with "well, I'm just going to sell it. There's no way I will live in New Hampshire." I believe I even made an ICK noise.

That girl was CRAZY! These days I've found myself dreaming of inheriting or purchasing that home. It's a place of possibilities. I see my husband and I raising children of our own there, eventually finishing the basement and making an art studio in it, or even planting a full-blown garden...I think I only see it now because I've had time to sit with my priorities and realize what they need to be as opposed to what I thought they should be. I'm officially old, nostalgic, and focused on going gray happily at the age of 33. What is happening?

The new Gillian

When we emerge from this time, I think we will all be different, and that certainly isn’t a bad thing. I will still be career-focused, but I will tamper that with a deep respect for others. Here’s to 2021 because 2020 is almost in the rearview mirror.

What I Learned While Being Furloughed Due to COVID-19 by Bethany B. (@dreamgirlBA)

In March, my employer shut down. My husband was also one of several employees to get furloughed. Thanks to that, we both ended up at home for one and two months while our state was on an “essential business only” ban. In that time, we used stimulus funds for a major project we needed done around the house and I bought a Cricut the day I was furloughed (impulse I had been eyeing for a year). At that time, we figured I could take the time to work on my side business while my husband worked. 

He was furloughed a week later, both of us before the extended unemployment benefits started. I tried to keep the attitude of being on a vacation or taking a break from working as a way to keep my anxiety down and it worked. It felt more like a vacation. 

I started working on my Etsy while filling out job applications while my employer continued to pay me, but never heard back. When the Cares Act passed, we were able to relax. 

I got a book finished I was working on and started pushing it. Since it’s print on demand, every time I get some books in, they sell pretty quick on my Etsy. My Etsy also fell dead while the shutdowns were beginning so I had time to regroup and rethink. I used the Cricut and started making graphic tees and totes as well as started on my astrological line I was originally intending on making and it’s starting to sell now. 

In the time I was furloughed, I learned quite a bit. 

I did learn that finding time to work on my Etsy, Etsy creations and books helped me increase sales. Now that I’m back working, I’m trying to find extra writing time as well as trying to spend extra time working on candles and sewing projects. Even though we were both unemployed, we were able to make all our bills monthly and when he went back to work, we were completely caught up. 

I also saw how much of a dependence we all have on employers. Just missing work for a few months is crashing so many people—one income stream is not nearly good enough. Debt-free is also the way to go. How many people would end up homeless going a few months without a paycheck? How many would lose their car or end up with collections calling? There are some debts we absolutely need—but we don’t have to spend our lives in debt. It’s not going to be fun and at times may be a bit painful but we have worked out a plan to consolidate debts, froze our credit cards and are working on paying one loan payment off without racking up credit card debt. We will still have car/truck and mortgage but with an extra couple hundred a month, it will help and if this happens again, we will have less leaving every month to take the strain off. 

I also saw that running e-commerce is going to be the way to go—instead of working for someone who will lay you off or furlough you without pay or good benefits, e-com was doing better. 

With people staying home, they were shopping online and the big chain retailers with strong online apps and websites made it out better than the ones that still aren’t progressing. Online is the way of the future and brick and mortar chains need to get up to date so they won’t be run out of business. 

I learned where I waste time and what to do about it. After careful consideration, I decided I spent too much time on my Facebook and it did nothing but stress me out so I deleted it. By next week, my account should be no more. I started slowly deactivating and worked my way up to seeing that I would go on the site and compulsively scroll—and get annoyed. It no longer gave me anything productive and it killed the time I have had to be productive. I still have my business page linked to my husband’s account and otherwise, I’m spending all my time on Etsy that I would be spending on Facebook. Between Etsy and my blog, it’s generating more income than Facebook ever could. 

The last thing I have learned is that hanging out all the time with my kids, without us running all over—going to work, school and everywhere else was pretty fun. I’m looking forward to going back to somewhat normal when the school year begins and they want to be around other kids, but if I need to teach them at home, I now know I can. 

Now the worst is over, but I’m sure a second wave is going to come along with the schools opening. Those are a few of the things I learned that stood out while our state was on lockdown. I’m sure there are more ways I have changed. 

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow Bethany B. on Twitter @dreamgirlBA.

What I Learned from Quarantine Life: The Icelandic Version by Villimey Sigurbjörns (@VillimeyS)

So, I’m pretty sure that everyone can agree that 2020 has not been a stellar year. Especially with this pandemic. It’s been hectic. It’s also been stressful for a lot of people that have had to stay at home in quarantine.

For me, it was a little bit different since I live in Iceland.

The pandemic really hit Iceland at the end of February—beginning of March. It was mainly due to the fact that so many were coming home from infected areas, such as the Italian Alps and the skiing countries nearby. But everything was handled professionally. Iceland’s task force which we lovingly dubbed “the holy trinity” held daily briefings, telling us what was happening and what countermeasures they were doing. It was to test everyone who had come from those places and if the virus was detected, they‘d be put in isolation while everyone who was in contact with that individual, would have to go through a two week quarantine. When the numbers spiked in March, the gathering bans began as well. It started with 100 people gathering at a time, then it was reduced to 50 and then finally only 20 people were allowed to gather together.

I got scared for the first time when my older brother was infected. I had a small mental breakdown, fearing for the lives of my family. But I called him almost every day to check up on him as well as my family. My brothers and I even played board games together online while he was sick. That kept me grounded and I’m thankful for that. He is thankfully virus-free now, but still feels the fatigue that comes along with it.

I work full-time at an office and art/crafts store. I was in the front lines (still am!) You’d think that working there would have been relaxing and quiet, but around that time, it got SUPER busy! Since the task force gently told people to stay at home most of the time, hundreds of families came into the store to buy something arts and crafts or puzzles or board games. It was crazy. We almost ran out of puzzles! 

Working the front lines or in any retail job definitely is stressful and during that time, my fuse was short with the customers, especially when I had to stand at the entrance, counting the customers and barring them from coming in if the number went to 20.

Even though it was stressful, I used it to my advantage. For some inexplicable reason, my creative juices were flowing. I used every little chance I got to sit down and write. I wrote during the mornings, when things got quiet at the store and when I got home from work. I put every bit of energy into writing. I started the first draft of my third book in February and I actually managed to finish it at the end of May. That’s how driven I was. I’m pretty damn proud of myself, if I can say so *pats on the shoulder*.

I have anxiety and watching the world unfold horribly as it’s been doing these past months hasn’t been great. But I’m glad that I managed to turn that anxiety into a goal that I could achieve during these hard times. I’ve definitely been way more productive than usual and I’m embracing every second of it. It keeps my anxious mind off things happening in the world.

The pandemic is still here in Iceland. But we’re continuing with our countermeasures, especially our personal hygiene one (washing our hands, using disinfectants and staying home if you’re feeling unwell)—since we kind of slept on our guard this summer, but I’m positive we’ll pull through. We’ll flatten the curve again. We can do it because we’re all in this together. So, we must work together.

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow Villimey Sigurbjörns on Twitter @VillimeyS

Pandemic Parenting by Michelle Peterson

Towels need to be washed.

Of course, the wet towel is on the floor again.

Do I bother to go get him to pick it up this time? I don’t feel like it, I’ll just hang it. Ugh, the bathroom.

I should wash the dishes first.

Coffee.

“MOM I CAN’T FIND THE ANSWER TO NUMBER NINE!”

Coffee.

Zoom meeting at 3:15.

I should set an alarm. So we aren’t late.

“Jamie, get down please.”

I still need to scan yesterday’s assignments. And email them.

Maybe naptime.

“Jamie, get down.”

He’s so bored.

Email advisor by Monday.

I need to finish going through the edits first. Maybe Saturday.

Where is the other sock that was just in my hand?

“Mom?”

Coffee.

During the 2020 Coronavirus pandemic, I was unemployed at home with two children, while my partner was an essential worker and continued working full time. The last four months have been incredibly difficult. I thought I was so prepared in the beginning, equipped for the schools’ closings with my whiteboard and daily schedule. I envisioned my second grader working diligently at his corner desk, ready with posters and supplies, while I flipped through board books with my toddler, sprawled across the carpet.

I should mention that I was also in school. In my final semester of graduate school, working on a thesis about invisible labor and motherhood. My thesis certainly got laid on the back-burner as the labor in my household multiplied intensely. Oh, the irony.

It is not as if I hadn’t been home with my kids before, obviously. I already spent weekdays with my toddler while my eldest was at school. Although it wasn’t much, at least then I could rely on nap time for a small window of productivity. Again, I had a dissertation to write. We had a routine that got completely swallowed by the second-grade curriculum as soon as schools closed, and my older son joined us for full days. It was no longer a simple day with the kids, as it was before. There were immense amounts of schoolwork to be done (mine and my son’s), deadlines to follow, and normalcy to attempt to uphold. My role was almost as an interpreter, exchanging, and relaying messages between my son and his teacher. He is not old enough to manage the technology required on his own. I became the hand at the mouse, the curator of the day’s assignments, the coveter of correct answers. I used to call this ‘homeschooling’—as many people do. I try not to call it that anymore. It is not homeschooling. It is social distance learning and it is a ship that nobody is really sure how to navigate. I do not dictate the curriculum or the due dates, the way a true homeschooling parent would. And I’m not ashamed to admit that sometimes, I was just as confused as my son was. I often wondered about people that had, could you imagine it, four kids. Five even.

Meanwhile, my tiny tornado of toddler was so stir-crazy, he was quite literally bouncing off the walls. He managed a few injuries during our time shut-in, the worst of which warranted a trip to the emergency room after a bad face-first fall slammed his bottom teeth right through his lip.

The novelty of doing schoolwork at home wore off quickly with my second grader, understandably. He is eight and this is not what he is used to either. I am not his teacher, I’m Mom. No matter how much I try to mimic his classroom with a child-sized desk, bright posters, colorful maps, and bins of school supplies—there is no doubt that his mind has separated the two. This is home and there is a hollering toddler in the background and distractions in every room.

It felt as if the chaos inside my household paralleled the chaos existing outside of it. Through the first few months of the pandemic it felt irresponsible to not watch the news daily (which I would later adjust for the sake of my sanity). The NH.gov/covid webpage became the most visited site on my browser as I checked the death toll daily. In retrospect, I don’t know why I put myself through such torture. Stories from trembling masked healthcare workers and news reports of people dying over FaceTime calls with family would haunt me for days on end. Sometimes I would hide tears from my children behind the closed bathroom door.

At one point I noticed pains in my chest. I worried I had contracted the virus and found myself frantically Googling (of course) symptoms. I checked my temperature constantly through the day and it consistently turned up normal. Still, the pains in my chest were driving me mad. The awareness of this foreign feeling in my chest hijacked my train of thought. It was always on my mind. This went on for about three weeks. My mother came to drop off a care package for us one day and I said to her in distress, “This feeling in my chest is driving me crazy. It almost feels like I just went on a run, but I didn’t just go on a run.” I didn’t know how else to describe it. “It sounds like anxiety.” She informed me. The anxiety had gotten so bad that its physical manifestation caused me to have more anxiety about my anxiety.

Snack cup.

Where is the snack cup?

This is why we have ants.

I should include a section of my thesis about how much time mothers spend looking for things. Kidding.

Maybe not.

“Mom I don’t know what this word means.”

Ignore him.

Make him walk down the hallway to you this time.

“MOM?!”

Ok.

“Let’s go check on your brother.”

“Mum?”

“MUUUMMMAAAAA!”

Fine, I’ll carry you.

Coffee.

Is five cups too many?

8:30 pm Zoom meeting.

I’ll never make it.

I felt not only caged in but as if my identity had evaporated. I longed to return to a job I wasn’t fond of for the sake of adult interaction. The perpetual task load, the nonstop emotional labor, the battle with fragility in the face of an existential crisis, and constant fear of the unknown took an emotional toll. I would see memes on social media mocking parents with “How hard is it to hang out with your own kids?” I’d want to scream, “The person who wrote this can’t possibly have children!” Which isn’t necessarily true. I just want to hear that this person pandemic parented through 86 days in isolation while navigating social distance learning before making such a comment.

With the heat of summer came the re-openings. We could finally spend a lot more time outside, now that the rainy days of spring have passed. School for my son had come to an end, and after too many sleepless nights and mental breakdowns, I completed my thesis and finished school as well. It felt as if we came through to some other side. As the weeks of summer passed, I realized how much mental load had been lifted. Each morning I woke up I felt more refreshed than the day before. I learned to limit my media intake. I learned that next time, it’s ok to let the dishes sit dirty in the sink during a school day, and an hour-long TV break to chill your nerves isn’t going to turn your kid’s brains to complete mush. I have learned not to try to mimic his school day and play the teacher role. Just be Mom. I wish I hadn’t put so much pressure on myself. There is still anxiety that exists, but with each day the ‘new normal’ becomes, well, more normal.

As hard as the last five months have been, there has been tremendous growth. That is the silver lining. It almost feels as if I’ve been on some hero’s quest, and I’ve returned with new perceptions. I’ve learned so much about myself during this period of strictly staying at home. As humans we are constantly growing and changing. The last five months felt like an accelerated, intensive transformation program. What has changed? Too much to list in a blog post. But I feel confident saying that for the first time ever, I literally feel like a new person.

Candid 35 mm photograph of my toddler and I taken by my eight-year-old with a disposable camera during the 2020 Coronavirus pandemic.

If you enjoyed this piece, please check out Michelle Peterson on Instagram @miche_nicole or at mpetersonart.com.

What I Learned From Quarantine Life Changed Me Forever by Mariana Serio (@mstranslations)

I’ll always remember the look of terror in everyone else’s eyes when they heard they’d be under strict lockdown. Working from home while dealing with the kids? Was that a sick joke or something?

My family and friends were all freaking out. But I’m an introverted translator. “The joke’s on you, Coronavirus. I can handle this,” I told myself. And I honestly thought nothing would change.

When I saw this meme in March, I felt it was almost too relatable.

Self-isolation

Truth be told, I’ve always enjoyed being alone. Growing up, my mom thought there was something wrong with me. But I simply liked playing with my toys all by myself and minding my own business.

She thought I needed to socialize more, so I took Theatre, Art, and Music lessons with other kids. None of that helped. After that, I became a Boy Scout (there were both boys and girls). I hated it. Everything and everyone bored me to death until I discovered my passion: the English language. 

I became obsessed. I only listened to music in English, read texts in English, and watched every show/movie I could find in English. I only had an old TV, so I had to cover the subtitles with black tights to improve my listening skills. Never take Netflix for granted, kids!

Quarantine life

Fast forward to this date, and I’ve worked from home as a translator/copywriter for the last seven years, after my first (and last) in-house translator job. I share an office with my husband, but I rarely go there. The reason? I love peace and quiet, and I still enjoy being alone.

But after losing my uncle to cancer without being able to say goodbye, all I wanted was to spend as much time with my family as possible. And I couldn’t even do that! I had A LOT of work coming my way as a subcontractor. But I can’t even name the huge companies from the IT sector I work for due to NDAs. It sucks.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the agency work, and I know other translators would kill to have these clients. But the long hours, the three hundred glossaries that contradict each other, the last-minute changes, the race to the bottom when it comes to rates PLUS being a mom of 3…it was getting overwhelming.

Time for a change

I suddenly realized that, because I was a shy introvert, I’d missed many opportunities to have more and better clients. I know every marketing strategy in the book, but I was using them for the benefit of everyone else but me.

So I decided to face my fear of networking to connect with my dream clients. They’re tech executives who need help writing or translating web content, blog posts, newsletters, and social media content (or localizing other multimedia products).

But there was one small limitation: my trip to the US and the conferences I was planning to attend were canceled. How was I going to meet new people?

The lowest cost (yet highest ROI) trick I've learned during this quarantine life

“In times of crisis, some people cry while others sell tissues.” So instead of focusing on the limitations imposed by the lockdown, I leveraged the other tools available for networking: virtual meetings and social media.

I started sharing useful tips on LinkedIn, sending personalized invitations, engaging with people’s posts, and sending them messages, which soon became video calls.

By providing value and genuinely connecting with people, I gained three new direct clients in only one month. I didn’t think I’d have the time for this, but it turns out I only had to invest a couple of hours a day. Thanks to my direct-client work, I can work less while making the same amount of money (or even more).

Y colorín colorado, este cuento se ha acabado (Snip, snap, snout, this tale's told out)

Quarantine life hasn’t been as easy as I thought it would be. But, at least, I learned how to make the most out of a difficult situation—a superpower I didn’t even know I had.

I used to believe I had to work all day to be successful as a middle-class woman from Argentina. That’s why, for nine years, I’ve written and translated content for huge brands, but only as a subcontractor. I was too scared to put myself out there because it made me uncomfortable as the shy and introverted person I am.

But quarantine life has taught me that time is too precious to be wasting it. Now, every minute I spend with my family or working for my dream clients is a minute worth living.

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow Mariana Serio on Twitter @mstranslations.

How to Play the Mandolin. Sort Of. by T.M. Montgomery (@TMMontgomery3)

What did I learn from my time in quarantine? How to play the mandolin. Sort of. I need a lot more practice.

To be fair, I already knew “Winder Wie Ist” fairly well. But learning “Mach auf, mein” and “Ay, Deus, se sab’ora meu amigo” were highlights of those three weeks.  And the process of learning those songs and others, picking up an instrument I hardly knew and strumming until I figured it out, taught me more than a few minutes of music.

Like Gill, I’m an aspiring author. I try to write often, though being in the excruciating editing phase of creating a novel has caused me to spend much less time on it. What do I do with free time when not writing? 

Watch a movie or play a video game. Fun things, but not particularly rewarding. 

I spend time with my lovely wife. While I treasure that time, I’m not sure that we’re enriching each other’s lives on a daily basis. Perhaps once we’ve had children. 

Making children, now that’s a fun endeavor, but the result has a long waiting period. And ends in diapers. I can’t wait for it and probably can’t wait for the first few years to be over.

What does it get you, trying to spend your time more fruitfully? I experienced a prescient example about six months before COVID-19 hit. Before playing the mandolin I had tried the violin, a much more difficult instrument. I went to dinner at a friend’s place, and the man’s teenage daughter was talking about quitting orchestra in school, where she played violin. The father seemed unconcerned, whether she quit or had ever played, and I felt compelled to stop the entire conversation to lecture him on the challenges she’d overcome up to that point. After 18 months of regular practice and thousands of dollars in private lessons, I couldn’t produce a short song entirely in-tune. The girl commiserated with me, saying that it had taken her several years to reach that point, and that she was only going to stop formal practice, but would continue to play on her own.

I’m not much sure that I moved the father, or that it was my words that convinced the daughter not to give up entirely, but I did think that I may have nudged the father’s girlfriend’s opinion of her future step-child in a helpful way. I could not have made this meaningful connection without the shared experience of playing the same instrument. And the girl’s words of encouragement likely influenced me to try again, which might have been with my violin were it not an ocean away in climate-controlled storage. 

People spend time in many ways and kill it in many more. But trapped in our house, casting about for some meaning to the days, I relearned the old lesson that time spent improving yourself is the most fulfilling. Learning something, or teaching something, usually tends to include a lesson about one’s self. Our lives are better, and the world is better, when we search our souls and find some understanding with which to fill our hearts, and perhaps spill over into the hearts of others.

I don’t think wisdom leads to happiness, but I do feel that it’s much harder to be unhappy when you invest your time and energy into something that becomes part of you. Music, for instance. Culture, art or literature of course. Self-reflection, which leads eventually to kindness and empathy.

The world needs a lot more of those right now, but they do not spring from words on the internet, however arranged or by whatever medium disseminated. They flow freely only from a calm, steady heart, so enriched that it has love to share.

I’ve heard a surprising number of stories about families and couples struggling to cope with the close quarters of quarantine. My wife and I came out perhaps even stronger together. After all, she did learn the patience to listen to me strum the same dozen songs over and over. 

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow T.M. Montgomery on Twitter @TMMontgomery3.

The Little Things by Sarah McGuinness

What have I learned?

Sounds like a simple question

One that does not have an easy answer

As the days become weeks

And the weeks blur into months

Time has no meaning anymore

A ship out to sea with no bearings

No anchor to tether me in place.

All the pleasures I always took for granted

A dinner out at an intimate fancy restaurant

A craft beer at a crowded bar

Music flowing through you at a show

A rejuvenating yoga class to feel alive again

The little things.

I have learned where my limits are

To being confined within the same four walls

Day in and day out 

So white and harsh

Suffocating my spirit as I work away.

Self discipline 

Drive and productivity

Knowing others are far worse off 

Keeping the train on the tracks

Full speed ahead.

Adapting to the new normal 

Always evolving

Donning a mask

Hiding what used to be my vibrant smile

Now often a sneer

At all the fools

Noses wagging atop their masks

Barreling the wrong way down the grocery store aisle

Not caring at all for for their own safety 

Let alone that of others. 

Our selfish Americanness

Kindness fallen by the wayside

Rugged individualism

Our rights being infringed upon 

Karmic justice, I’m hopeful, will eventually reign.

Life as we know it may never be the same

The constant threat of illness

That could be the onset to untimely death 

With one misstep 

One wrong breath. 

But the virus is not the only danger

Our leadership is running amok 

People of color trampled on

As if the last 60 years of progress

Never even happened

The joke is on us

On our perfect democracy. 

I feel fear in a away I haven’t in a long time 

Stress

Anger

Trepidation

Hoping for my loved ones to be safe 

For me to be safe.

Longing for those little things

Dangling in front of your nose

Just out of reach. 

The longer this goes on

The farther I unravel

A puddle, rippling in the breeze

Evaporating in the heat of the moment.

I haven’t had the free time or bandwidth to learn

As some others have

Baking sourdough

Knitting

Teaching ourselves new useless skills and hobbies 

To lose ourselves, to hide

To forget the monsters lurking 

Under the bed 

On the other side of the door

The outside world with its cruelty and chaos

Knocking

Waiting with baited breath 

For you to yearn for normalcy so badly

That you throw caution to the wind.

We are all just grasping 

Trying to hold our lives together

Water spilling from our hands

As we try to cup it, protect it.

I have learned a thing or two about resiliency 

Gravity pulling us down

Scratching and crawling 

Fighting 

Never letting go

Making the decision to forge on

To not give up

Not to let adversity win. 

I see it every day 

In the parents working full time

And still helping to educate their children

From their living rooms

Their kitchen tables

In our essential workers risking exposure

Everyday

To ensure others make it home

Those in the service industry

Giving people something to look forward to

Outside the comfort or prison of their homes 

Small businesses closing their doors

People out of work left and right

But we bail out the rich once more

Why the hell not?

The polar bears starving

Sea level rising

While communities can no longer afford to recycle, let alone innovate 

Trying to pluck positives out of thin air

Bright flowers

Bees buzzing

Searching for grounding, for sanity

As the world spins out around me

Quiet

Serenity

As we retreat back to our four walls

Nature is trying to take back

All we stole from it

Moose grazing in urban centers

Sharks swimming up and down the coasts

Murder hornets

Swarming

A tale so tall if we were not living it

We would never believe it

Fake news.

Like life right now for many

My words flit and float across the page

I could go on 

and on 

and on

But I won’t. 

I’ll spare you 

The rhetoric

The lecture

To be completely honest,  

Not sure how much I am learning

Certainly I am not thriving

But at least I am surviving.

Take a depth breath

Appreciate the freedom of the air entering

Exiting our lungs 

Not even enjoying the exhale 

As we gasp for oxygen once more. 

Maybe if we close our eyes 

Wish upon a star

This nightmare will dissipate

All we can do is hope

One foot in front of the other 

Begging for a better tomorrow

When you have hit rock bottom

The only place to go is up. 

With the encouragement of a good friend

The warm embrace of your partner

A snuggle and kiss from your canine 

Companionship.

The little things

That show you there is light at the end of the tunnel

That when you finally break the surface

You will not be alone. 

Skydiving by Cat Verlicco (@growlette5)

I have been tandem skydiving twice as I write this, but once this post has been published I will have hopefully gone up for a third jump. Weather of course is the biggest factor on any given day. I am by no means an expert, I don’t really even like rollercoasters, but here’s my story about the first time.

I was first offered a free tandem skydive as payment for my band playing a gig up at Skydive New England in October 2018. I couldn’t say no to an opportunity like that! And I’m lucky the band has since been asked to play up there a couple more times over 2019. 

We got invited because Colin, the singer of my band OTP, is a regular skydiver. He’ll sometimes jump out of the plane five times in one day. And our drummer at the time, Gabe, had been a few times himself. I was the only newbie in the band. 

Once we got to the dropzone, the band checked in, did paperwork, got weighed, and waited around until we were called to watch a short video and meet our skydive instructors—the people Gabe and I would be strapped to for dear life (Colin jumps on his own and sometimes has foam sword fights in the air). 

We got on a truck which brings everyone out to a tiny plane with no seats, just two long benches that run parallel to one another the length of the cabin. Skydivers are a wild bunch as you can imagine, and if you’re a newbie they’ll definitely joke about dying a few times to scare you. Once we began the ascent, my tandem skydive instructor, BunBun, was strapping the two of us together and telling me what to expect and how to move my body. 

The ascent and the exit are, for me, the scariest part of the experience. Tandem skydivers sit in the back of the plane and watch everyone jump out before them. Even just opening the airplane door is a surreal moment. Because I was (and still am) so new to it all, it’s hard to clearly recall the first few seconds after exiting the plane into thin air. I knew my body immediately tensed up and I relied on my previous instruction to combat that fear, relax, and move the way I was supposed to.

Free-fall is crazy. You fall at about 120mph from between 10,000 to 13,000 feet above the ground (weather/wind pending). I saw the curvature of the horizon, and I really did feel like I was among the clouds which is super fun. After that, BunBun pulled the parachute and we were what they call “under canopy.” 

Under canopy was absolutely the best part of all for me. I could see beautiful fall foliage from the sky and landmarks like Lake Winnipesaukee. This was the point at which I had my first major jolt of pure adrenaline bliss. In free-fall, my senses were just a bit too overloaded to have that moment of reflection.

On a side note, once we pulled the canopy, BunBun asked how I was feeling. I thought I would be funny—fart jokes are funny—and I told him I had to fart (I didn’t). He awkwardly replied “please don’t.” The embarrassment didn’t stop me from enjoying the view though.

Once we landed, Gabe ran up to me and we had a big hug. The camaraderie of taking that giant leap together was like nothing else. After landing I felt more of that bliss from my adrenaline, and it honestly lasted for days. I will say this though, you get fatigued after your blood pressure returns to normal. We played our gig after jumping, and though we played well, we all felt exhausted.

At SNE, when there are enough people they usually start a nice big bonfire and it’s a party atmosphere. Nudity is often encouraged. I would recommend going up there for an overnight trip, camping out, and getting a couple jumps in if you can.

There really isn’t anything like the rush of skydiving. As a musician, with tours canceled and bars closed, the chaos of jumping out of a plane is the exact prescription my brain needs right now. So in quarantine I have been dreaming of all this. Thank you, reader, for allowing me to relive some of those wild moments and thank you to Gillian for giving me an opportunity to create in a way outside of my musical wheelhouse!

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow Cat Verlicco on Twitter @growlette5. 

What I Learned From Publishing My First Two Novels in 2020 by J.R.H. Lawless (@SpaceLawyerSF)

Nobody said starting out as a debut author was going to be easy. Especially with a small, dynamic, but still relatively new press. I was prepared to put in a hell of a lot of work, between the launch of my debut SF Humor novel, ALWAYS GREENER (also here on audiobook), back in February 2020 (that was at least three or four years ago, right?) and the sequel, THE RUDE EYE OF REBELLION, launching in eBook and special edition hardcover on September 22nd, with the paperback and audiobook coming in early 2021.

But that all changed when 2020 attacked. 

Since then, it’s been a bit of a scramble to make the best out of the situation and limit the damage. Here are some of the tidbits I’ve learned so far. 

Patience Isn’t a Virtue, It’s a Survival Skill

Publishing has always been, and will always be, all about patience. Even self-publishing doesn’t seem to entirely escape from this rule, and it has certainly been my own experience through agent querying, publisher submissions, the editorial process, the publication process, and the fall-out, both in terms of marketing, reviews (which I never realized are so damn difficult to get!) and distribution issues in the age of COVID.

And even the long-awaited successes, like the fantastic paperback order for ALWAYS GREENER my publisher secured from Barnes and Noble, are never set in stone, as the hundreds of copies still stuck in limbo in an Ingram warehouse somewhere in Tennessee go to show. COVID has set everything upside-down, and more than ever, surviving and succeeding as a writer can only be done patiently, step by step, writing the current thing, finishing the thing, and then moving on to the next thing. Even when running against galeforce winds, publishing is still a marathon.

Your People Are Out There

With so much going on, so many demands on our mental and emotional bandwidth, and so much strain on our basic hope for the future, it is little wonder that so many authors are struggling to remain creative and productive—which immediately just makes things worse, since keen-fanged impostor syndrome is always lurking in the margins of the page immediately to make us feel guilty about not living up to our normal expectations, and give us that much more to worry about and clog up the creative outlets. 

The only word of advice that carries any weight in my experience is that, when it comes to writing as much as in any other area in a time of crisis and strain like the present, we cannot and should not keep any sort of normal expectations. These are not normal times. Anything we manage to do in the present environment is a win.

Beyond that, I have found some ways that work for me to help maintain creative flow, which has been one of the best responses I’ve found, on the personal level, to the general despair of 2020. Obviously, everyone’s situation is different, and what works for me may not work at all for everyone else, but one unexpected part of 2020 that has been a major help for me has been the online support community of writers. For me in particular, the weekly SFWA co-writing sessions organized as part of the on-going Nebula Conference content has been a godsend, adding that extra dose of group structure and accountability to keep me creative and consistent over the past months. If you’re interested, I highly recommend you consider signing up here!

Virtual Conventions Are Your New Best Friend 

2020 hasn’t just made traditional book launches, signings, and convention appearances impossible. They’ve also opened up a whole slew of new opportunities in the thriving virtual convention scene.

Having been on programming for quite a few of these events now, from virtual-specific events like WriteHive, SaSCon, and Flights of Foundry, up to the virtual 2020 edition of major annual conventions like the Nebula Conference, the Aurora Awards held at Calgary-based When Words Collide this year, and the ConZealand WorldCon, I can bear witness to how positive the experience has been and how important these virtual events are—and, in my mind, will continue to be in upcoming years—for authors. 

Obviously, these virtual conventions are always going to compared to their traditional, on-site counterparts, especially for big events like the Nebulas or WorldCon. And while I naturally understand that the physical on-site experience is an important and deep-rooted part of many people’s lives, the virtual conventions have many advantages that should not be overlooked in the spirit of “getting everything back to normal after 2020”—if that even makes any sense, and is possible.

Beyond the obvious pandemic-related benefits of the virtual conventions (convention flu has always been a thing, and convention COVID will be even more so, even in the best of cases for 2021 and onwards), there are other, very real benefits:

• Accessibility, in particular for people facing reduced mobility challenges or medical and restrictions on travel;

• Inclusion of authors, readers, and industry professionals from all over the world, without restrictions linked to geographical isolation or financial challenges;

• Personal safety and at least some level of protection against the sexual harassment which has been an endemic part of the convention scene and culture for decades, particularly during barcons;

• Virtual convention events are usually all replayable and more easily accessible over a longer time to a wider variety of folks, even those who could not attend live.

Plus, you get to goof around with Zoom virtual backgrounds and green-screening objects into space! I’m particularly fond of my swirly book launch birthday space-top hat.

My stance in the discussions around maintaining the virtual side of things moving into 2021 and onward has been that thinking of on-site events and virtual events as rivals are probably the wrong way to go about it. They are two very different beasts, with their own strengths and flaws, and we should probably think of virtual writing conventions as their own growing, specific type of event that needs to keep growing to its full potential regardless of what happens with COVID and on-site conventions in the years to come. 

In any case, as authors, we have never had such a wide variety of opportunities available to us to get us and our work in front of readers. Not every appearance will lead to new sales, and not every event will fill up like you’d hoped it would, but it would be a mistake not to take part in the good things that have come out of 2020 in the writing community. After all, we don’t get to choose whether or not to take part in the bad side of things.

And last but not least, don’t forget self-care and laughter! Remember, we’re writers. We get to binge-watch whatever we want and write it down as narrative research! So keep calm, and write on.

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow J.R.H. Lawless on Twitter @SpaceLawyerSF.

The Unexpected Benefits of Giving Yourself Allowances by Rosemary Poppe (@RosemaryPoppe)

What have I learned from quarantine? One thing this experience has made me realize is, just how tired I was. I have always been someone who rises with the sun and packs as much into a day as is possible. However, with fewer constraints on my time, I am starting to understand why people sleep in. I never understood it before, but I get it now. Naps—I still don’t get those—but there’s time. 

I suffer from serious FOMO (fear of missing out)—and even on the days when I could’ve let an event go without being present—I succumb to an overwhelming sense of social responsibility. However, over these past few months, with few places to go and little to do, I have relished my time—enjoying the opportunity to breathe, slow down, and re-focus.

So here, I will focus on allowances. Allowing yourself some leeway. Allowing yourself to pursue the things you’ve otherwise not had time for, or have always told yourself that you haven’t really needed. For me, those allowances have been to let go of rigorous schedules and workout routines, and to invest in more of the things that make me happy. 

What I’ve really begun to notice—with so much time spent at home—is my urge to nest and really develop my living spaces—has bloomed. I also use allowances as a fiscal term, because while I’m saving money in some areas of my life (like going out to eat, drinking at bars, and paying for exercise memberships), I have invested in others. I have basically purchased every little piece of something or other, that I think will be the finishing touch to a certain space. A throw for the couch, a chair for that nook, new ties to pull back the curtains. Each little thing brings me joy. 

I have pulled apart closets, given away countless items, and reorganized shelves upon shelves. All of which makes me feel lighter and more comfortable in my home. What truly brings life into each of these spaces, however, are my plants. My darling plants have taken over the house, from window sills to end tables—there are so many plants—you will likely breathe a little easier. 

I have been ‘bringing the outdoors in’ for a few years now and my plants have taught me a lot about responsibility and patience—watering them is a simple form of meditative gratitude. With more precious time available, my love for plants has overflowed to the outdoors (only seems natural...right?), and I’ve allowed myself to invest time, money, and energy into developing three garden beds. 

The impact of gardening outdoors has been delightfully unexpected.

Clearing the beds and planting was hard, manual work—I was sore and covered in dirt—but talk about (nearly) instant gratification. I was able to be creative, work with my hands, and look back on a hard day’s work and say, ‘I did that’. What used to be home to some very large bushes is now covered in colorful flowers—from hibiscus to daylilies, to hydrangeas—and is populated by bustling bees and butterflies.  

Perhaps the least expected outcome, but an absolutely lovely one is connecting with neighbors who I had either never spoken to, or seen before. What I’ve learned is that they were also invested in my progress. My house sits on a busy corner, and there is a crosswalk by my front door that crosses to a walking path. The bushes that I mentioned earlier made standing at the crosswalk (and trusting that the cars could actually see you) a less than desirable experience. 

The three men of our three-unit house had begun painting the exterior of the house early on in quarantine, so neighbors and passers-by would often comment and take in the progress. The men later pulled out the bushes, and exclamations of approval and gratitude began to pour from folks. Once I began to work in the gardens, the same people would stop and appreciate the effort, the color, and the change. One neighbor, after one conversation with him, lent me a book on gardening—it was like I had been returned to the 1990s when kids played in the street and dogs roamed freely…Man, the 90s were awesome, but I digress.  

I have met more people after a few weeks of being outside digging in the dirt than I have in eight years of living on this busy corner. What I’ve found is that during a time when the idea of community seemed lost, I have begun to create one, or really, get to know the one that’s always been here. I am certain that this wouldn't have come to pass without being sent home to work, and restricted from doing the things that typically took up my time.  

I have slowed down—I have re-focused—and I have become more patient with myself and others. I spend more time enjoying the simpler things in life and making allowances for myself and the things that make me happy, and it has had many unexpected benefits. 

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow Rosemary Poppe on Twitter @RosemaryPoppe. 

What I've Learned From My Quarantine Life by M. Dalto (@MDalto421)

The most ironic part of writing a blog post about writing during quarantine is that these words will be the most I’ve written in succession since our State of Emergency went into effect March 16, 2020.

But when Gillian asked me to contribute, who was I to say no to the opportunity to attempt to put my thoughts and feelings about how this pandemic has affected me not only emotionally but professionally. It was a blog post I had considered writing for myself when this was all said and done anyway, but since we don’t see an end in sight anytime soon and this opportunity arose, I suppose now is as good a time as any to lay it all out.

So here’s my real talk: I can’t write anymore.

OK, so that sounds a little dramatic. Let’s just say that since March, I have not been able to find the motivation to write anything new for myself. At all.

It’s not that I don’t have anything new to work on. Far from it. Between fantasy thieves, elemental werefoxes, and a choose-your-own-adventure murder mystery, I have plenty of options to choose from should the need arise.

But it hasn’t. It isn’t. And for the first time, I’m uncertain what I can do about it.

So while other authors are using this opportunity to reflect on what they’ve been able to do while under quarantine, I’m going to use this as an exercise into why I have not been able to do anything. And perhaps, by the end of this, together we can explore any and all available options to get ourselves back into the writing mindset.

Why We Can’t Write

Even when there’s not a pandemic happening around us, writer’s block is real. It just feels exponentially worse when there are so many other situations where we find ourselves doing anything but focusing that energy on the creative. These are just a few.

• Physical factors - The virus is no joke, and it’s changed how many of us live. We can’t go where we want without restrictions and planning, or perhaps not at all. Some of us may be high risk, some of us may not want to risk anything at all. The coffee shop you used to use as your getaway may have closed. The routine you used before you settled down may have been upended. I haven’t been able to get away to my local Panera, my standard escape whenever I needed a refresh. Anything right now can reverse what we considered normal, and it has an effect in so many ways. 

• Professional obligations - Some of us have been forced to work remotely, while others have been deemed essential. Unfortunately, some of us have stopped working altogether. All of these factors can drastically impact one’s ability to focus on something enjoyable. As for myself I’ve been deemed ‘essential’ since the beginning and have continued to go into my office every day, full time. In the beginning, we were encouraged to try to work from home as much as we could, but unfortunately, real estate in Massachusetts doesn’t exactly allow for that, especially when rates are dropping and people still want to buy houses in the midst of a pandemic.

• Personal influences - I’m a mom, and like most parents, we’ve had to reorganize our lives to accommodate remote learning virtual school from home. The end of the school year was a mess with a capital M, especially as a parent to a child with ADHD and extremely used to her schooling schedule. Trying to accommodate what we needed to do in her best interest on top of everything else was just one more stressor we didn’t expect when this all began.

• Emotional factors - Before the pandemic, I was diagnosed with general anxiety disorder. I have panic and anxiety attacks, especially in high-stress situations. During these times it’s nearly impossible for me to focus on anything else, let alone anything I enjoy. The pandemic has been the epitome of anxiety for all the factors I’ve mentioned above, and it’s just the tip of the iceberg. It’s become consuming: thinking about it, fearing it, worrying not only about myself, but more so for my loved ones and what the unknown future is going to bring.

• Circumstantial reasons - The frosting on the cake for me during this pandemic was the opportunities that I had when it started that slipped through my fingers as the time went on. So many events and talks and contracts have been canceled, postponed, and reverted since the beginning of my quarantine and with everyone piling on top of the other, something’s bound to break underneath it all. Those opportunities were my main focus on writing for myself. 

How We Can Start Writing

Pandemic or otherwise, there was always the possibility of writer’s block. We’ve all been there, and we know it’s more or less a temporary setback that often resolves itself. But what if you’re like me, where external factors are exponentially worse and that block just won’t seem to break?

• A new project - Nothing makes the mind work better than something new. A fresh start, a clean slate. Whether you outline or are a pantser like me, a new story may be one of the most exciting endeavors when trying to find your footing to begin writing again. Have an idea for a new story you’ve been dying to begin or looking to find an excuse to write something in a genre you’ve never touched before? These little things could be all you need to get the gears turning. I thought this was going to be my saving grace, beginning something new that I was looking forward to working on for some time. Unfortunately, it was also the first time I realized that something was wrong where being able to write was concerned. I had an idea, I had a deadline and for a while, I had the drive to make it happen…but the closer that deadline drew, the slower the words appeared, and before I realized it I found myself in a panic to get the story written. For the first time in a long while, I folded on a deadline.  

• A new setup - My best writing always happened when I had two computers next to one another on my desk—my desktop computer which I generally used for gaming and the internet, while my laptop was set up next to me, current project loaded up should the motivation hit while I'm mid-game in Hearthstone or waiting to queue for a dungeon in World of Warcraft. A couple of years ago, they both were replaced by a pretty impressive gaming laptop and things were fine for a while. Then the laptop stopped working like it should (I mean, who can write with a broken Enter button?) and the glamour started to fade when I had to hook up an ancillary keyboard just to be able to write. Enter the pandemic and a desperate need to return to the creative life I once knew, so I tried to revert my space back to what I knew worked. Or, at least I tried. My husband made the valiant effort to watch as many YouTube videos and read as many Reddit threads as he could about fixing the laptop, and it worked for about 24 hours. In that time I had found another monitor and set up my desk the way it used to be and I was excited. And then the Enter key stopped working again...

• A new routine - Maybe with everything else going on, trying to focus on a novel isn’t the best thing for you. Novels can be daunting, even when there’s not a pandemic happening. Instead of looking at the big picture, it might help best to break it down a bit. Perhaps focus on a short story with less commitment than a full-length book. Or if you insist on needing to focus on a novel, perhaps a certain word count goal per day and to help you focus and move forward. Self-imposed deadlines help you work under a different kind of pressure. Or maybe refocus on something else like blogging (*cough cough*) to attempt to get those fingers typing again. 

• Change of pace - Sometimes all you need is a change of pace. Are you generally a nighttime writer? Try waking up in the morning to get some words in. Do you prefer to raise your word count before the day begins? Maybe it’s time to increase the caffeine and become a night owl for a time. A small change could be all it takes, and you just need to take it one day at a time because this magic doesn’t happen overnight.  

And If We Still Can’t Write

What if nothing else works? What if the words won’t come and we feel like writing is more of an obligation than an enjoyable pastime? Have I personally tried the advice I’ve written so far? I absolutely have. And yet, here I am…trying harder to write a blog post than I have in the last five months I’ve had to work on anything else I’ve wanted. And it’s hard. It’s really really hard. But I’m doing it. So something must have worked, right? Well, maybe…or maybe it was a lot of somethings. Or no somethings at all...

• Don’t write - I know this sounds counterproductive and the source of all the issues I’ve had to begin with but hear me out on this one. For me, one of the hardest things to do is write when I’m trying to force myself to do it, especially when writer’s block is strongly in place. So my words of advice whenever writer’s block strikes is to stop writing for however long you need (or in this case, however long I’ve been in quarantine) and try focusing on other activities.

• Read - I’m not going to jump up and say this has been the easiest thing for me to do either, but I will say I have been finding myself getting less screen time and opting to pick up a book instead (yes, I do prefer hardcovers and paperbacks over eBooks still). That detachment from electronics definitely helps me regroup when I feel fried whether it’s from social media or the news or thinking about writing when I know I won’t be able to. Curling up on the couch or in bed with a book definitely helps me recharge the imagination, which is a huge factor in being able to write, at least for me.

• Play games - Whether you’re a tabletop gamer or into video games, I always found gaming a pleasant distraction from the pressures of writing. As a fantasy author, the opportunity to escape into alternate realms has always been appealing, whether it’s through writing, reading, or playing a Dungeons & Dragons campaign. 

• Safely explore the outside world - Especially in the summertime, we strive to be outside while the weather remains nice enough for us to do so. As phases come into place and numbers drop, some areas are safely and cautiously reopening to the public once again. Even so, I beg each and every one of you to please be careful and take care of yourself should you choose to follow this advice. I’ll be the first to admit that I will not eat inside a restaurant (though we have participated in outdoor dining) and I’ve only just recently ventured to our mall for necessities. Even so, these were still adventures that took me away from the house. One of the best quarantine purchases I made was a hammock for our backyard. Whether it’s just getting some fresh air outside while my daughter plays, or unwinding after a long day of work, or swinging in the breeze with my book, being (safely) outside does help me tremendously.

• Help others - If you can’t seem to help yourself out of the writing block, maybe you can find someone else who could use that extra little assistance. Instead of writing, perhaps partake in beta-reading or swapping with a critique partner. If you’ve ever been interested in editing, it might be an ideal time to look into that editorial certificate. Offer to proofread for your writer friends who need that extra set of eyes on their final draft before beginning to query. Or you could be absolutely ridiculous like me and begin an independent publishing house just as the pandemic began. But whatever you choose, be a cheerleader. Encourage those who may be able to do what you cannot, but stay positive—you’ll get back there one day. 

As each day goes on, it does get a little better, but I know this is our new normal and not where we’re used to being. This blog post was the first time I tried to write something new since the beginning of the pandemic, and 2,230 words later, I’ll be the first to admit it was a struggle, but it’s also been therapeutic. I think part of healing and getting beyond that which holds us back is talking about it—or in this case, writing about it. So thank you, Gillian, for this opportunity and I hope that those of you reading this know that you’re not alone. It’s ok to not be ok, and we’re all going to get through this together.

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow M. Dalto on Twitter @MDalto421.

Quarantine Life by Sherrie Gonzalez (@sherrieberrie)

When asked what I learned from the experience of being quarantined, I would say the most important lesson I learned was how to change and adjust my entire life in a matter of months to feel sane and normal again. While I’m incredibly thankful to still have a job and be able to pay my bills during this time, simply being made to stay at home exposed every problem with my life decisions within the first week. This was now a time to address these problems head-on and quickly.    

1. How to connect with people without physically being in the same room 

I’ll be the first to admit, I’ve become very bad about reaching out to people but this is arguably the product of some awful friendships in my teens and early 20’s. We live in a time where you don’t really have to be that proactive anymore as social media has made it very easy to show acknowledgment and love of your friends without ever having to see them in person. Phone calls can be a huge time investment compared to leaving a comment on their Instagram post or shooting them a Facebook message. I also never really had to make plans because there was always a Facebook invite or the like in my inbox. Once the parties and bar nights were taken away, the loneliness kicks in instantly. You’re subjected to terrible Zoom happy hours where you can barely get a word in. I had to relearn the art of making phone calls or setting up one on one video chats. This was particularly great for reconnecting with my family who were already phone people. I also joined some virtual game nights and smaller video groups so I actually felt like I was socializing. I don’t know if I would say I’m better connected with people now compared to pre-COVID but I’m definitely more proactive.  

2. I didn’t need a gym to maintain my fitness

My initial panic set in the first week of lockdown when I couldn’t attend my CrossFit gym where I had not only made many friends but had peers to keep me accountable. My apartment sits at a cozy 250 sqft with about the space of a yoga mat left after furniture so I had to get creative and fast to do any activity. My coaches thankfully hosted Zoom workouts and lent us a piece of equipment for home to get us through while the city figured out reopening plans. The workouts were still very challenging if not repetitive and I managed to acquire a few more pieces to mix it up over the passing weeks. This meant a lot to me as going to the gym was such an important part of my day. It helped keep my sanity and offered the community I need in what can be a lonely city. While I still prefer in-person, I’m no longer fearful of having to do things myself anymore.  

3. I’ve been paying a lot more for lower quality of life

Upon moving to New York, friends warned me of the increased cost of living, many of which lived in Boston. Boston was not really any cheaper and salaries honestly paid worse so I figured I would take my chances. The huge bump in salary initially was amazing until I secured a more permanent living situation and settled into my new normal. I was living in an old brownstone that hadn’t been renovated in decades and the sidewalks were always trashed. I was catcalled walking to the train almost every day. The trains were a mess and constantly late. The stench of urine was inescapable but I dealt with these things for ‘the proximity’. I also could tell people ‘I live in Brooklyn’ which is a statement that gets a lot of oohs and ahhs depending on where you go thanks to all the amazing media that’s come out of the neighborhood.

These perks quickly became irrelevant once I was no longer able to travel or do any of the things you come to New York to do. It’s then I realized I was paying a premium to live in a dirty old shoebox with no outdoor space in a pretty dumpy part of town. I developed back issues from not having a proper desk to sit at due to space. I would go for walks to do errands or just get some air only to be even more aggressively catcalled and harassed by panhandlers while stepping over piles of discarded food and used condoms. Yet the days where I didn’t leave my apartment because of the weather were the worst. I felt so claustrophobic and miserable. The nail in the coffin was not being able to see the one thing that kept me tethered to living there, my friends. After seeing my coworkers and friends’ exodus from the city, I started to plan my own escape back to where my family lives in Rhode Island. It’s something I’ve actually wanted to do for some time now but couldn’t due to work. 

I initially only planned to stay the summer until I realized how much better everything was here. I could spend time with my family, including my young niece and nephew so I never felt lonely. Going for walks in Newport was pleasant, clean, and full of nice scenery. I had an outdoor space to work and workout. I could even start gardening! I was also able to reconnect with friends in the area. The beach was just a mile and a half away. I had also gained about 5 times the space for what would normally be the same price as what I was paying for my studio. Plus, it was still easy enough to get back to New York to see my friends. I could always rent a car or take the train down for the day. 

4. I thrive in routine and planning

Living in a city like New York keeps you on your toes. There’s something interesting happening every day and the FOMO is real. In the first few months of living there, I completely lost the routine I developed in the much slower paced Boston and no longer was consistently going to the gym or cooking at home. As a result, I gained about 50-60 lbs, developed plantar fasciitis, and wasted a lot of money on takeout. I also no longer valued my nights in and became irritable any night I didn’t have something going on. In all fairness, apartments in New York aren’t usually meant to be places you want to hang out in as they’re pretty cramped. 

I thankfully got my act together a few years ago, got my weight back down to normal, and settled into a new, very early routine. My life still felt very exciting though with happy hours, parties, shows, and impromptu travel plans to satisfy the more spontaneous aspect of my personality. When those were removed from the equation, there were big gaps in my week and I started to feel very lost and depressed. I had to spend time reconfiguring my schedule and finding new hobbies to fill that time. I started a meal service to encourage myself to cook new things every night. I planned out local walking or biking trips on my free days to see parts of the city I had never been to before. As time went on, I started to feel more normal again. 

5. My 5-year plan can be my 1-year plan  

Moving to New York was important to my career growth but detrimental to my savings growth. Still saddled with student debt and entering my 30’s, having roommates would have made the most sense but I just couldn’t do it anymore. After 10 years of dirty dishes, broken glasses, fights over the communal space, and not being allowed to have pets due to someone’s allergies, I was done. I managed to secure a very small but rent-stabilized studio in Bedstuy and it wasn’t much more than the shared options in the area. I took in a kitten from a friend and was basically living the dream I had wanted in Boston. Once I factored in utilities, increased prices on groceries, more frequently going out, gym memberships, etc., it started to add up. 

Most months I broke even and could really only make minimum payments on my debt. I always had enough to live the way I wanted but not much else. Once the pause was hit on basically all my expenses beyond my rent and groceries, all this money appeared. I was able to pay more towards my debts and set aside more. More recently, I was even able to cut my rent price down by striking a deal with my dad on staying in his condo in Rhode Island. I’m now on track to hopefully have a down payment on my own space by next year.  

While this has obviously been a difficult time in mine and many people’s lives full of lightning-fast change, there have been some bright spots and important lessons to take away. I’m incredibly grateful for all those who have helped me through and allowed me to use this as an opportunity to redirect my life’s course in a positive direction. Even though it’s not over, I’ve come out much stronger and better prepared for what’s next. (hopefully)

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow Sherrie Gonzalez on Twitter @sherrieberrie.

Creation During Catastrophe: What I've Learned During Quarantine by Chris Santoro (@santorodesign1)

I imagine there are plenty of people out there reading this, who can’t even remember this past New Year’s Eve. With how this year has gone, it feels like memories of “normal” life become more distant. While I have moments like that myself, I still remember New Year’s Eve 2019 like it was yesterday.

My girlfriend and I went out for dinner at Les Zygomates in Downtown Boston. Over drinks and dinner, we talked about how 2019 was a year of change for both of us. We’d seen each other go through our fair share of struggles and come out better, stronger than before. We saw growth in each other, and we were proud of our accomplishments. Ultimately, we were extremely optimistic about what 2020 would bring us. What more could we accomplish? What more could we discover about ourselves? We talked about traveling during the summer, finally giving ourselves a long-deserved break from our respective work obligations and a ton of built-up stress along the way. For me, I had goals related to my design studio, Santoro Design. I wanted to launch the new website early in the year, begin to get more of the projects I wanted, and eventually land an office space within a co-working space or other building.

Our hopes were up. 2020 was going to be ours. Then, all of a sudden, it wasn’t. 

By early March, COVID-19 had hit my home of Boston, MA, and it was only the beginning. Around that time, I ended up moving in with my girlfriend down in Providence, RI; escaping the initial cases building up. We watched as businesses we loved began to shut down for the foreseeable future. Restaurants we enjoyed were struggling to keep up, some of them even closed for good. I had to give up the co-working space membership I’d just gotten back in Boston since it was clear I wouldn’t be using it. Our days turned into these amorphous stretches of time. Hours blended in together. Work during the day couldn’t have been more stressful. At that point, I had to not only worry about getting enough work to sustain me, but I also had to be concerned about how I was going to do it all and not lose my mind. I knew that given the state of everything, signing on for unemployment was not going to be an option. The beginning of quarantine was a total and complete nightmare.

Here we are, in the middle of August. As I write this, I acknowledge that I’ve been extremely lucky and privileged to have thrived during this catastrophe. Not only did work never slow down, but it was the best work I’ve done in my entire career; some projects are still on-going. To say that I’m thankful for every single client and connection of mine, who made this reality possible, would be an understatement. I’m also thankful for my girlfriend, my friends, and my family who have supported me during this time. I shudder to think about how I would have fared, or where I’d be right now if it weren’t for any of them. It’s safe to say that I’ve somewhat adapted more to the “new norm,” even though it’s still uncomfortable to wake up to. While I have nothing concrete to attribute to this adaptation, I will say that life in quarantine has been helpful in reinforcing certain lessons that have brought me to this point, and will carry me further.

Allow Space For Unproductive and Negative Emotions

There’s no getting around this: life and work during quarantine have been a fight with the darkest parts of myself: the parts that just wanted to lay in bed, numb and mentally exhausted; the parts that wanted to just procrastinate that task for a little longer; the parts that brought up thoughts of, “What’s the point of any of this?” For those of us able to work from home while constantly feeling the weight of every headline and statistic, it’s been crushing blow after crushing blow to our mental health and our productivity. Contrary to popular belief, no amount of goal-setting or productivity exercises can stifle the feelings of grief, depression, and even anger. There’s no amount of telling our minds to “stop it” or “shut up” when it comes to these feelings of what we’ve all been experiencing: crisis exhaustion. 

The only way we can push through is facing these feelings head-on. We need to give them space to exist and to speak. We need to give ourselves moments to not be okay or unproductive, even meditate on them. When we give them space, we process our feelings and make it easier for ourselves to push forward. In these desperate times, and other times after this, we need to prioritize well-being over productivity, because our well-being will ultimately determine how productive we can be.

Prioritize Yourself Via Your Schedule 

As a creative professional diagnosed with ADD, working from home has been a struggle. Essentially, I was continuously running on fumes. My work got done, my clients were happy, and my studio got paid, but my general well-being was burnt out in ways I’d never felt before. I put myself on the back burner, and I felt it every day.

Since then, I’ve tried to get back to some semblance of my working hours. I have a quiet start to my mornings, work from 9 AM to 5 PM with an hour-long lunch, work out, and then make dinner. I hardly ever take calls in the morning, and I try to keep late nights to a minimum. By doing this, I’ve made efforts to try and reclaim some normalcy. Being a designer requires me to be at my best, so I can make the clearest decisions for the projects I work on, and my clients’ best interests. I know that being self-employed gives me this inherent advantage, but I also believe that these are uncertain times that require us to prioritize ourselves in whichever way possible. At the very least, we should try and reserve one hour of our day to go outside for a walk. Especially for careers in design and tech, there’s nothing more beneficial than separating from our screens and taking a break.

Limit the News Intake

2020 has had no shortage of terrible news. Since the beginning of this year, it feels like the bad news hasn’t stopped once. Especially with our phones, we’ve become a society held hostage to every notification bump, alert, and alarming tweet. This has not only contributed to my own sense of crisis exhaustion but also many of my colleagues and other people. It’s even more difficult to completely disconnect from the news as well because everything that’s been going on has been extremely important; from COVID-19 to racial justice, and our political unrest.

Whether people decide to stop or not stop news intake is up to preference. Personally, I feel like 2020 couldn’t be a more pivotal year for our country, so to stop watching or reading the news is not possible for me. However, I have been making efforts to limit the amount of news I take in during the day. I usually leave it for later in the evening or during the morning before working hours. I’ll get notifications during the day, but unless it’s extremely important I won’t click on them. If I find myself going down a rabbit hole of news overload, I try to snap myself out of it and get back to the task at hand.

We’ve Got a Long Way To Go…

The cold, hard truth is that until we get a vaccine, COVID-19 isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. However, we can at least still try and retain some balance and normalcy to our lives by prioritizing our self-care. At this point, we can’t afford to be anything but realistic about our limitations, our health, and our well-being. As long as we take care of ourselves, we’ll continue to be in better shape to stay productive. The most important thing I’ve tried to remember is that we are all learning and working through this experience together. We can only continue to be patient and caring towards ourselves, and each other.

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow Chris Santoro on Twitter @santorodesign1. 

Learning How to Give Myself Permission to Relax by Erica Robyn (@ericarobyn)

Right before COVID-19 hit the state of New Hampshire, I had been working with my therapist to focus on giving myself permission to relax. Typing that out, it seems so silly… Who doesn’t enjoy relaxing, right? 

Well, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always been the type of person to go-go-go. It’s so odd. While I am entirely capable of being patient when I need to be, I also really struggle with slowing down and taking time for myself.

I hate sitting still or waiting in lines. When shopping, I rush to get in and out as quickly as possible. When driving I get ridiculously angry at people that drive 10mph under the speed limit or if I hit traffic. (Don’t even get me started on the people that drive slow in the passing lane…) I always have various to-do lists lying around that I rush to get through whether at work or at home. 

But it’s not just small things like that… I’m also a total workaholic and more often than not, I’ve been employed at multiple places at once. I’m awful at taking time off from work. I even structure my days to try to get as much done as I possibly can, whether that’s at work during my normal 9-5, completing tasks for my part time job, or doing one of the dozens of important things that need to get done around the house. 

Phew.

Even though I had been trying to work on this through therapy, one day I heard something on the My Favorite Murder Podcast that totally stopped me in my tracks. Host Karen Kilgariff said something along the lines of, “Keeping busy isn’t a character trait, it’s a coping mechanism.” 

Oofh. It was like a flash grenade went off in my head! For the next few minutes, I didn’t hear anything, I didn’t feel anything, I wasn’t looking at anything specific… I just totally zoned out.

This made so much sense to me. I absolutely pack my days to the brim so I don’t have any down time because in the downtime, that’s when the nasties come crawling back. What nasties? Well, for me, it’s the two demons that tend to go hand in hand that so many people are acquainted with; anxiety and depression.

Those two certainly aren’t the best things to deal with during these times when the world seems to have flipped upside down and nothing in the news makes any logical sense. 

But during the stay at home order, as social engagements were being cancelled left and right, I finally had some time to reflect. To REALLY reflect and actually sit with my thoughts rather than jumping from one thing to another. And sure, every now and then, I seem to fall back into my old patterns. But overall, I can see that I have come a long way from where I was back in March.

This is mainly thanks to my amazing therapist, Susan, my incredibly supportive husband, Alex, and my amazing friend, Morgan, the three of which help to keep me on track!

So what exactly have I been doing to stay on track? Check out some of my relaxation tips below.

Try meditation

I was so against meditation for the longest time as I just can’t turn down my loud thoughts. When my therapist recommended trying again using one of the various apps that are now available right on your phone, I agreed to give it another solid attempt. My first few tries were horrible. I did just quick ten-minute sessions and had to actively repeat certain mantras to try to stay focused. But just like anything else, I’ve realized that it takes practice. I have a long way to go in order to improve my personal meditation practice, but I’m excited to keep trying! 

Get outside

Just being in the fresh air is so helpful and refreshing. I’ve been making sure to get outside almost every day at lunch time at least for five minutes just to soak up some sunshine and breathe. It’s also a nice thing to do just to get away from screens and recharge for a bit. 

Focus on the 1-and-1

Morgan, my coworker and friend, and I started doing this soon after we all began working from home. With this method, we have a check in every morning to touch base. On each call, we state one goal we could like to accomplish for the day at work, and one goal we would like to accomplish outside of work. This helps us to stay focused on being productive, but also breaking it up into smaller, easier to manage chunks. 

Re-evaluate consistently

I tend to get stuck in a pattern, whether it’s effective or not. When I start to slip, I find myself pushing through rather than taking a step back to re-evaluate. Recently, I have made sure to pause and take the time to think things over. I’ve been doing this across the board whether it’s with how I’m structuring my schedule, or just how I am spending my energy. Anything that no longer serves me or no longer brings me joy, I cut out if I am able. 

Read for the last hour before bed

This is the one that I don’t usually have too much of a problem with as I’m a major bookworm! But setting an alarm on my phone helps me to remember that it’s time to stop working, log off my computer, boil some chamomile tea, and grab my book! It’s a great way to relax and calm my mind a bit before bed. 

Go to bed at a consistent time

This one was a huge struggle for me at first. But having that alarm to stop what I’m doing to go read helps me kickstart my bedtime routine. When I follow my personal routine, I’m almost always yawning as soon as the clock hits 10:30pm, right on schedule!

I’ll admit, I still do a bit too much. I probably always will. But I think that as long as I continue to value my time, the more self-aware I will be and therefore, the more I will give myself the permission to just kick back and relax.

And with that, I will leave you all with one quote that has really helped me to remember that it’s okay to take a step back and do things that aren’t necessarily “productive.” After all, we all need time to just live. 

“Always make time for things that make you feel happy to be alive.” —Anonymous

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow Erica Robyn on Twitter @ericarobyn. 

My Quarantine Cycle by M. Hallrie

Preface

The year 2020 started out as one of the best years of my life. I had a job I didn’t hate, I had a purpose, I had found a great guy, and the great Bill Withers was still alive. In late February, I got engaged and suddenly all eight of the last years of my life Pinteresting wedding decor (whether or not I was in a relationship) could almost be rationalized…almost. How was I to know that the timeless sapphire ring on my finger would open up a wormhole to the underworld, from which a whirling shit storm would come? Enter stage left, good ole’ Miss. Rona! 

Like with anything challenging or uncomfortable in my life, I will process my learnings with you all through extreme, unyielding sarcasm and the not-so-occasional expletive. In the following fragmented retelling, names have of course been changed, and a few events have been slightly fictionalized because half of my life since March has basically been a blur. My quarantine experience so far can be summed up into six phases. The descriptions of each phase are a bit of a mess—just like my thoughts. I have witnessed a couple of others go through these phases as well, so obviously, this is straight-up SCIENCE.  

Phase 1: Self-improvement and Self Care

Allow me to set the scene…It was Friday the 13th and a full moon. I only wish I was making this shit up…

“Don’t tell the students, but we’re being sent home for two weeks”, whispered my boss to me and my coworkers ever-so-inconspicuously in the hallway. “Homework packets are being printed as we speak—just try to act normal until the end of the day.” Immediately, my brain heard a different message: “Remain calm! Two weeks of paid vacation! We’re all meeting for drinks after school!” It had been a strange couple of days leading up to what I knew could be either the climax or simply the beginning of this highly contagious respiratory event, and those couple of days had been filled with an alarming amount of new rules that just made me sad. No longer could we shake our students’ hands; no longer could we gather together in assembly. You mean, my students can’t hang on me like little spider monkeys anymore?  No deal!  Though many elementary school teachers won’t admit it, most of us went into teaching for the opportunity to improve literacy, because dammit—literacy is freedom…and also for the free hugs.  

It was state testing season, and as always, the pressures on teachers and students were unnecessarily high. Gradually, the seemingly short stretch between February Break (which I worked through because I’m terrible with money) and April Break continued to lengthen as April Break faded like a mirage in the desert. I went to work in the dark and left in the dark, and my undiagnosed Seasonal Affective Disorder was starting to make me snap without warning. This was to be my time to get my shit together again—there is really no other way to say it. I was going to be better for myself and ultimately, better for my students. Besides, this Corona nonsense was going to be under control within a month or so because supposedly we were more or less the best country in the world and all that jazz.  

I committed to several goals that I had previously ignored for so long. I was going to reread Nabakov’s Lolita in English AND in Spanish. I was going to take online Spanish classes and become more conversationally fluent—perhaps even start a Spanish fricken book club. I was going to spend lots of time cooking and eating dinners with my fiance (and having tons of dirty sex), making up for lost time that I had spent staying up late lesson planning. I was going to take frequent bubble baths, and those bubble baths were to be accompanied by delicate glasses of wine or the occasional craft beer, classic literature, and the turning of various vinyl records that had for too long been sitting prettily on the shelf. I was going to post more on Instagram about my fabulous life, get back into a Vinyasa Flow form of yoga, and do cardio-based online workouts. I was going to continue taking my sexy heels classes online because quarantine was not going to stop me from continuing to be a badass bitch. At one point in a state that felt almost like mania, I even considered putting up tons of mirrors in the guest room and making it into my private yoga and dance studio. A girl’s gotta work on her twerk. Suffice it to say that the possibilities were endless, and as an extroverted introvert, I valued my alone time and typically wanted more of it. This phase lasted for about 2-3 weeks—you know—before the shit truly hit the fan.

Phase 2: Home-Improvement 

EVERYONE and their Mom went through this phase and you can’t deny it. In the middle of a pandemic, the whole fucking world flocked to Lowes to paint their damned houses. I remember standing in line before there were caps on the number of people entering stores and the same week that mask-donning became the caring thing to do. If there was going to be an outbreak in Manchester, NH, this was sure as hell going to be it—the one damn time in three weeks that I had taken the risk to go out! At six feet apart, which was nearly impossible due to the sheer volume of eager customers, I waited in a line of what must have been 12 people to get some paint colors mixed, all the while having neighborly conversations with strangers about what project they were working on to stay sane. I’m not sure I have much more to say about it, except that one-third of the three rooms I’d intended to paint actually wound up painted…sort of…aside from the grueling white trim that I got too bored to finish. But dammit if that isn’t the prettiest damned room in the house…almost. The perfectly decorated coffee stand and Pinterest-worthy herbs potted in old coffee tins would have to wait, for this phase only lasted a couple of weeks.  

Phase 3: Debilitating Depression

This phase was the shortest for me, but it was without a doubt the most memorable. Much of it can only be described in vignettes of dialogue and the rest, in melodrama. Perhaps some of you can relate …

Scene 1: A Typical Argument

Fiance: “I’m noticing that the house is a mess and you have so much time at home. I am just starting to feel like I’m doing everything myself.”

Me: “You don’t even know! You still get to go into work AND play disc golf—stupid outdoor activity! I’m working twice as hard remotely and I’m getting headaches because I don’t have those stupid blue glasses, and my students aren’t learning, and I can’t hug my parents and my friends won’t video chat with me and everything sucks! Our wedding is never going to happen either!”

I storm out of the room crying as though I’m experiencing a never-ending bout of PMS or I just watched Mufasa die in the Lion King.

End Scene. 

Scene 2: Summer School

Me: “Carlos, we are in class. The expectation is that we wear clothes on our tops and bottoms to school. You need to put your shirt on and find a table. Please move your body out of bed. Carlos? Carlos! …Okay thank you for moving into the kitchen. Please tell your father that he should also have a shirt on…and probably some pants too.”

Also Me: “Michael, please keep your hands to yourself. You need to have a safe body. Okay, now your brother is crying because you poked him in the eye. Juan, are you okay? Michael—I don’t think your mother would want you chewing on her nice curtains…Michael? You just pulled like two feet of curtain out of your mouth. I’m almost too impressed to be upset.”

End Scene.  

Pepper in the current socio-political climate, a splash of crippling empathy for those who lost their jobs or their loved ones, overwhelming sympathy for victims of police brutality, and the fact that there was no equity in education either in person or remotely, and I. Just. Couldn’t. Things got slightly better for a while as I began working part-time in emergency childcare. I was supporting our essential workers and helping to provide a safe environment for children. I had some purpose again. Yet, at times it would only make me feel worse not to be able to hold a crying five-year-old when she fell. In this climate, I was policing children’s bodies to keep them safe, and nothing about it felt right. I felt like I was adding to their trauma, and I felt powerless. There was no playbook on fun socially-distanced activities or how to get a toddler to keep her mask on. Really, I don’t care where you land on your views on this virus—there were rules I needed to follow whether I believed in them or not, and I simply could not figure out how to ensure that they were followed in a way that felt less…well…militant.  

My heart officially broke one day as a child whined about going outside to play. He pointed to the outside, screaming “Coronavirus!” in genuine, misguided fear. As a teacher, the goal was always to do more good than harm, and I didn’t feel at all that I was accomplishing that goal. It was a failure I’d felt many times before but had thought perhaps I’d never feel again, and it seeped into my veins. It felt cool to the touch…like despair.  

Phase 4: Self-destruction

And now, a poem . . .

Grub hub.  

       Door Dash.

              Uber Eats.

                     Support local.

Hulu.

      Netflix.

            Prime Video.

                   I’ve watched it all.

*snaps from the digital cafe*

Things were getting kind of blurry-slurry. I was regularly day-drunk, and so was my inner dialogue. “Life was a world full of bubble baths and rosé…now it’s just rosé…gimme more rosé…all duh rosé…”  

I’ll paint the picture for you…to-go containers would abound, as would the Ben and Jerry’s, which I could have DELIVERED. I wore pajama pants and the same Taco Tuesday shirt every other day—that is if I even bothered putting on pants at all. I’d hide to-go containers and take-out bags under the rest of the garbage in the kitchen trash can—my dirty little secrets—I felt like I was somehow cheating on my fiancé and myself as my bank account dwindled and the pounds packed on. Would it be the quarantine 15 or the COVID 19? Lethargy, clogged arteries, and a third go-around of all seasons of Schitt’s Creek. I finally watched Game of Thrones, which started out so great and then ended like a pile of flaming shit. I blame part of my downward spiral on the fact that the last two seasons were basically written by sick elementary-aged children, who still haven’t learned the art of the narrative. But no matter how deep down the rabbit hole this spiral took me, I’d NEVER let it get so bad as to actually finish watching Lost…miserable mindfuck that it was.  

Phase 5: Crazy Cat Lady Status

There was one advantage during this crisis. I’m a Scorpio and have been told on numerous occasions that I can be quite manipulative. Before COVID, I had asked my adorable old landlord of two years if I could get a cat. His answer had always been, “I’d rather you not,” no matter how often he told me and my fiancé that we were such good, clean neighbors and tenants. But self-destruction and depression brought forth a no-fucks-given attitude in me, determined to manipulate this shitty situation and spin it into gold. I typed up a truly heart-wrenching plea about not being able to hug my students and being stuck home alone all the time, and my fiancé delivered the letter in an envelope with the rent check. I know my landlord’s a nice guy, but I’d like to think that it was my convincing prose that got us the go-ahead.  

Clearly the science continues to ring true since as soon as I started looking to adopt, there were hardly any cats available! Everyone was getting a quarantine pet at the same time. The difference between me and them was that I had ALWAYS wanted one, and those bitches were ruining my chance. I finally found a place in the next state with some cute adult cats. Through email, they asked me what personality traits and general age I was looking for, and they connected me with a tiny gray tuxedo kitty with the wonderful boomer name of Tammy. As soon as I was approved, I raced to the shelter to follow the quarantine adoption protocols and bring Tammy home. (I may or may not have already ordered everything for her before I even knew she existed and before I got approved, like a complete psychopath.) The whole thing took place a little bit like a drug deal, not that I know what making a drug deal is like. I called the shelter upon arrival, signed the contract over the phone, gave them my credit card number, and out came a woman with a box full of screaming cat, which I never got to meet ahead of time. The woman’s only words to me were sarcastic and insincere. “Good luck. She’s gonna talk for sure!”

I made the rookie mistake of opening the box before starting to drive home, and out popped a screaming, purring, little ball of love. But I couldn’t get her back into the box after that, so I embarked on a two and a half hour journey with her sitting on my center console, continuing to scream, pant, and purr all at once.  She also flung her body onto the dashboard once or twice. Really, it could have counted as reckless driving, but it ended so beautifully, with this little needy nugget, curled up asleep on my lap by the time we reached the last 20 miles. My fiancé immediately wanted to change her name, but I thought she was just extra enough for the name, Tammy.  

“It’s a cat in a box!” sung to the tune of “Dick in a Box”…if you don’t know this little SNL gem, then either you’re irrelevant or I’m old (most likely, the latter). Anyways, I now sing this song to Tammy whenever I catch her being cute, which is all the fricken time. The weeks that followed her arrival consisted of absolutely no sex (obviously, because I was obsessed with spooning with my new cat—totally normal, right?). “Would you like all ten feet of the bed, little Tam Tam?” The selfies, the plans I had to create her own Instagram account, and the parenting arguments threw a temporary wrench in my relationship. I never knew that I was destined to become like the helicopter moms I couldn’t stand.  

Phase 6: Home Destruction

Furballs roll by like tumbleweeds 

On their path to nowhere

Like me

Clean clothes pile up on the bed

Push them to the floor

To sleep

My office flows across the dining room table

A selfie stick and a Chromebook

Endless paperwork

This poem really sucks some D

A sad attempt at humor

Living out my truth

Phase 7: Finding Balance?

Back to the present. If there is anything I’ve truly learned, it’s that I feel better if I attempt to work on only that which I can control. As I sit my much fatter ass on this sagging couch and watch the news over my morning coffee, my cat harasses me and swats at my computer charger. I am awaiting my first day of working remotely since summer school. It’s time for professional development, and EVERYTHING will be different this school year. I know that I’m in for five hours of nonstop Zoom meetings every day, and I am considering banging my head repeatedly on the coffee table to numb the inevitable pain. I’m making one last Door Dash order (last one, I promise!) because damn, all this sitting and being talked at makes a girl hungry. At this moment, I am hopeful, overwhelmed, and extremely nervous that I may fail myself again. And by the way, I’m still not bothering to put pants on. Quarantine be damned, I will maintain this one aspect of freedom.

Over the coming months, I will brace for the next wave of the virus and the probably next full-on quarantine, which is why I’ve decided that these aforementioned phases may in fact be a part of a cycle that repeats itself. It seems appropriate to compare Rona to a shitty menstrual cycle filled with cramps, cravings, and extreme bouts of unwarranted overreaction. I wonder if we are doomed to repeat it all, or if we will be prepared to be better on the next go around. My new mantra is cautiously optimistic: Put on the pants. Get shredded. Learn something. Love someone. No—I will not repeat the exact same cycle again. I have graduated from my sedentary alcoholism into a functioning alcoholic for social and educational justice!  

Perhaps this phase is like the acceptance stage of grief. One of my closest friends has helped me create a budget in an effort to help me act like a grown-ass adult, and last night, I brainstormed with my fiancè about how to officially turn the guest room into my office and classroom. I am not returning to school until December at best and I can’t do anything about that. I can, however, help my students learn how to read because, during my home destruction phase, I took an Orton-Gillingham course in order to better teach all children, including those with dyslexia. Without the joys of quarantine, would I have had the discipline to stay home during the summer and take this course? Honestly, probably not. WTF is self-discipline anyway?

If you enjoyed this piece…good…but the author is anonymous. You won’t be able to find her anywhere…

The Lens of Our Time by A. Garrett (@AubreyMedusa)

“And we saw it then,

An Age, set down in Crystal.

And the more we gazed down,

The more clear it all became.

All our fears, worries,

Joys and bonds,

Reflections of a world

Now only Forever”

—Evelyn Wort, “The Dragon and Web”

It's never been more clear to me, today here in the summer of 2020, that what's important never changed.

These have indeed been months of fierce change, savage hypocrisy, late-day Prophets, hungry minds, restless hands, and a historic scythe of what I thought our little world to be. I knew that it was possible that one of the viruses that we've heard about for years would cross our oceans, that it could become a global issue, but what I wasn't prepared for was how it would bring my life into sharp focus. If the question is what I've learned in the past almost (unbelievably) six months, it's one word: clarity.

I've seen a government that I, frankly, knew didn't care about my personal well-being stop being quiet about it. More than that, I've seen them take the mask off that reads that they care about anyone other than their own. My home country was woefully unprepared for this, and I fear that it was out of choice. I wonder what my father would have said if he was still here. When he saw politicians discussing the acceptable numbers of sick and dead children, just to make sure an imaginary line representing imaginary money didn't drop below an imaginary limit. I can see, with microscopic clarity, that I have more in common with a barrel of trash awaiting pickup on my street than those who claim to be my elected servants. I am living in an empire, and the empire is falling.

As I write this, though, I find myself losing patience with the negative aspects of this pandemic. I don't want for you, dear reader, to mistake this distaste for blind optimism or a willful ignorance of the pain of our time. Much to the contrary, I can't escape the pain, the cries, the fires burning everywhere, and every day. But as I write this, could I allow myself just a moment of joy? Of hearing the violins as the boat sinks, and finding any level of meaning in them? To eat the corner of the bread, the rest of which has gone stale? Why not? Why can't I run for one night? Why can't I drink deep of the wine of the world, even as it scratches my throat?

Maybe that's the true meaning of this historic clarity. That truly: THIS IS IT. THIS IS ALL. THIS IS LIFE. The vinegar is knee-deep and tastes like vinegar. We are all here, together. And I am here, together with myself.

And what does that mean to me? I think it means that I've survived to meet this challenge. I've felt tremendous, crushing, hateful stress bearing down on me. In a life of dark nights of the soul, I can't remember feeling this tired. But I'm still awake. I'm still upright. And I'm still here. Why not celebrate that tiny victory in a hostile world? Can't I be allowed to feel like the morning mouse who couldn't sleep for the sound of the owl? What could be a real strength, if not staring down the cold barrel of history, and laughing “No”?

What's clear to me now, is that I am a being of incredible might. I've always felt small, but improbably, the boot of these months has made me feel gigantic. My hands flex into a stony fist, ready to defend those who are being pushed away from an uncaring power faster than ever. Every minute I spend at my job supports the supply chain that keeps good, everyday, real people fed and clothed. The money I earn from my job can be used to help people even further. I've chased away years of anxiety and depression (for the most part) to really improve myself and stop being afraid. I wish I could go back in time to half a hundred moments and tell my younger self that. That I would enter the fire and LIVE. That I would THRIVE. That I wouldn't give up on the goodness in this world.

But you know, the most important thing that I've been shown by these months is this: I am just one person. Despite my newfound power and strength, despite the fire that I find within myself, I am a tiny animal walking a tiny path on a tiny ground. I can't save the world. I can't breathe into the hearts of every hate-filled husk that I encounter. I can't liberate all the people in the shadow of my privilege. I can't make the world a better place. It's all too big for me to even touch.

However, I can change my world. I can damn sure do that every day. I can greet every person I meet with empathy, respect, kindness, and charity. I can be the daily knife that stands against oppression when it crosses my path. I can work to be actively anti-racist and uplift, listen to and learn from marginalized voices. I can live my life, every day that remains in my pocket, as I want the world to feel. I can be the warm aura of fresh bread. I can be the sacred darkness of a loved one's embrace. I can be...better. I can be better tomorrow than I was today. I can love, and love myself enough to not hold unreasonable expectations. I can be me.

And we can all be ourselves, together. That's how I know we can win. Hand in hand, with perfect clarity. I love you all.

“But what if the world was just too big for our eyes to see, Gran-Hopper? What if we could only see it by looking at it together?”

—excerpted from Little Leaf Hopper in the Big Wood by Ian Snell

Rediscovering Self Worth by Brenton Barnes (@brentonsquared)

The beginning of my quarantine was sudden. It started in the middle of March and nearly every day since has felt exactly the same. My day planners, to-do lists, photographs on my phone, and hours logged on Animal Crossing say otherwise, but as a people, we have collectively existed in a state of unknowing. With no idea when this pandemic will end, we’ve reached the point where the past five months feel more like an abridged year with compressed and confusing experiences throughout.

Somewhere in that time, something occurred that felt a long time coming: I became uncertain of my value and self-worth.

* * *

Like so many others, I’ve had the unenviable position of becoming unemployed during this pandemic, but not due to it. I cannot “go back to work” since the company that I worked for doesn’t exist anymore. In the “Before Times,” I would have written it off as a simple set back with mixed emotions. People such as myself had reasons to be cheerful in the past: the world was open and full of possibilities!

Previously, most of us never had trouble finding work and our time spent on unemployment was typically brief. Unfortunately due to the pandemic, with many businesses closed or laying off employees, people are now finding themselves needing to rely on unemployment insurance longer than they expected or wanted to.

My daily routine for the first few months involved sifting through listing after listing on job boards, selecting the right resume, writing the right cover letter, applying for what best suited me, and…generally not receiving a response. If I got lucky, I received a rejection letter, but even that wasn’t common.

I felt a palpable sense of existential dread that was difficult to shake, even when I exercised, went on walks, reconnected with friends and acquaintances, had fun and tried to rediscover my passions. During many nights it nipped at my heels and followed me, waiting, and always finding the best time to strike: like when I tried to fall asleep.

Unable to turn my brain off, I was forced to face a barrage of questions:

“Who are you?”, “What are you doing?”, “Weren’t you supposed to be something else?”

If I dreamt, sometimes I would have vivid dreams about working at my old job: unsatisfied but being offered a wage and bonus to keep life affordable, health benefits, a 401K, and paid time off. A millennial wet dream if there ever was one. When I woke up, the questions would follow and one morning I asked back:

“Who am I? What am I worth? Do I even have any value in myself anymore?”

* * *

The answer to my questions came shortly thereafter: I had fallen into a trap of my own making. My value was being defined by productivity and what I was doing for money. In the past few years, I’ve experienced life events that have changed my lifestyle and added their own anxieties. By allowing those anxieties to take the forefront, I tried to permanently solve my problems by chasing money and felt unable to focus on passions that made me feel fulfilled.

After talking with some fellow graduates of the class of 2010, who are, arguably still feeling the pain of the 2008 recession, I found out that others had experienced a similar realization. They had come to misunderstand who they were and had defined themselves not by their actions, thoughts, or passions, but by their jobs.

This realization was a tough pill to swallow and was just as upsetting as it is enlightening. However, I firmly believe that when something breaks, it opens up the opportunity to replace it with something that does work and will ultimately benefit you.

* * *

My realization immediately triggered a memory. It was of an exercise I had read about on the now irrelevant humor/satire website Cracked.com.

The basic premise was that you were asked to think about what tasks you did after work and write it down as a list. Next, you were asked to think about the person you wanted to be or what you wanted to achieve in your life. Then, you’d review the list of actions to see if they reflected what you claimed you wanted, and then you would quickly realize that your list of activities is what actually defines you.

If I were to use this exercise against myself based on my pre-COVID-19 life, I could list the following as after-work activities:

• Listen to podcasts while sitting in a line of traffic on the highway.

• Spend time with my wife and cats.

• Eat dinner.

• Make a light attempt at being creative (sometimes).

• Do something to entertain myself before going to sleep.

Conversely, the list of what I wanted to be included a writer and an illustrator. Quite the opposite illustration…don’t you think? Predictable puns aside, a creative life is a far-reaching endeavor and I started to think about it long before the pandemic.

When I was younger, I had the same goals and still paid my bills by working unsatisfying jobs. However, unlike in recent life, when I arrived home I was focused on honing a worthwhile skill by practicing and creating new works, making moves, or creating opportunities to further a creative career. Essentially, I was experiencing the joy of creation and deriving value from that.

As such, I re-evaluated my current values against what I wanted them to be and thought about what my younger self would have to say. While I can never go back and be my younger self, I can at the very least look at my past actions, learn from them, and move forward with my current wisdom and skills. For instance, I now have a better concept of time management and a work-smart, not-hard mindset!

I’ve also been actively starting to consider why I choose to do the things that I do. Instead of looking at my decisions as a chance to grow and develop, they’re often transactional and sometimes feel one-sided.

One thing is for sure, whether it’s seeking money from a job or craving “attention” for your efforts (especially on social media), treating any decision like it’s a transaction will make you seem disingenuous and that can take a toll on your psyche. We’ve been warned time and time again that no one should ever do anything “just for the money,” and while there isn’t anything wrong with making money, we should always have a better reason behind our decisions.

On that same note, money isn’t the most valuable currency. Money is helpful and it makes life easier, but it is a fickle variable and is never constant. Time, though finite, is constant and we should always value how we spend our time. Time well spent offers a better self-worth ROI than a salary or hourly wage ever could.

* * *

While it’s good to have come to this realization, I need to recognize that the world is still in a time of extreme upheaval. To try and make a complete one-eighty and become the productive person that I want to be during this time is the equivalent of trying to get my life back on track over the course of a single Sunday. However, I can, at the very least pick and choose my battles, consider the value of my actions and take steps towards valuing myself and having something real to offer.

If I don’t, my alternative is an anti-comedy sketch that I used to show my co-workers to help them feel better: the story of landscape company CEO Eric Haden who had material wealth, but hated his life. He had no significant other, his diet and general health were bad, and he took his anger out on his employees and his office environment. A perfect example of what happens when you don’t value yourself and how that can trap you.

The bottom line is this—that example is no way for anyone to live their life…and certainly not the way I want to live mine.

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow Brenton Barnes on Twitter @brentonsquared.

A Desk With Calke Green Legs by Jamie Thomas (@thatjamiethomas)

I used to write in coffee shops. I used to write in classrooms. I used to write in parks, in libraries, at wineries, and, once, on a bus. 

Now, I write at a small desk in my bedroom. 

The previous owner of the unremarkable mid-century modern house we’ve lived in for nearly two years left it behind when he moved, and while I can forgive one for assuming this particular desk is, therefore, rubbish, it is no such thing. In the five months, I have been in lockdown, it has become my whole world. 

It was once a school desk, meant for two students, side by side. It is perhaps three feet long and boasts two cubbies, separated; perfect for textbooks, with a slight indentation for a pencil or two. The legs are metal, and although half of the paint has been rubbed off, a casualty of years of carelessly braced feet, what is left is the beautiful antique green known as calke, a deep sage made famous by Farrow and Ball that graced the breakfast room of the famous Darbyshire abbey. The antique wooden chair I sit in is painted the same color and is uncomfortable, but aesthetically pleasing, which counts for little when I am seated and everything when I enter my bedroom and see it standing cheerfully, waiting. 

The top is pale wood Formica and chipped, but hardly consequential because it is rarely visible. 

There are two computers, one stationary, one not; the former I use to listen to music though it is actually meant to serve as the hub of our household network, the consequence of a husband who works in tech. The latter is my laptop. There are speakers, routers, and disk drives. There is even a mouse, rarely used. These are the ordinary things, and they are not beautiful; a part of me resents their presence, but I have grown begrudgingly used to them as the months have skulked by because as I have adopted this desk, a necessity as my world has narrowed, I have filled it with enough curiosities that I hardly notice the monotonous green lights and sharp, silver lines. 

There are beeswax candles, pillars not yet burned, and the stubs of sheets of wax I rolled myself, slightly lopsided. There are animal bones, glass phials of moth wings, and a cup of feathers. There are stones that have names I’ve forgotten; there is a crystal door knob set in green cast iron, and a bundle of black sage I’ve yet to burn. I do not believe in its ability to cleanse or produce vivid dreams and hallucinations, but its sharp, spicy smell is pleasant, and sometimes I find myself reaching for it when a plot thread has me particularly flummoxed. There is a stack of books, some I’ve read recently, others yet to be read, and I thumb through them absently when my fingers grow tired of typing and itch for the feel of paper between them. One of the books is my own, and although I use it primarily as a reference, sometimes I shuffle through the pages and stop to read a paragraph or two. It reminds me of the world before.   

There are notebooks, of course, but unlike my fellow wordsmiths who freely admit to collecting them despite never intending to mar their perfectly pristine pages, mine are full of names and questions and illegible scrawling that may or may not be important plot points and are probably how tousled one character’s hair looks after another has run their hands through it. Tacked on a corkboard is my first book contract, surrounded by botanical ephemera; beside it, pages from a vintage French book of flowers: Lis blanc, Crassule, Hortensia, Pied d’alouette. I grow some of them in my garden. 

At night, my writing desk is lit by fairy lights and tiny flames, and this is my favorite time of all. 

No one inhabits this world but me, and it is mine, lovingly curated during a time when getting out of bed is difficult, let alone creating, sharpening aesthetics and images and half-remembered dreams into tangible plots and characters and dialogue. I am myself when I sit in the rickety wooden chair, even if my back bears the brunt of the horrid posture it invites if I stay too long, and although I do not write as quickly, now, as unreservedly, as joyfully as I did when the world was different, the words themselves are not less; they are hard-won, and, sometimes they are even better. 

For me and so many others, lockdown has threatened my identity in ways I could never have imagined. Who am I when I am not standing at the head of a classroom? Who am I without the company and counsel of my friends? Who am I when I am with my husband and daughter far more than I’ve ever been in the last ten years? The answer is, of course, still me, but the effort of remembering, of reminding myself, is exhausting, and I am so very tired of being exhausted. 

Despair has come easy, far easier than I would have thought, for I always imagined myself resilient, owed far more to the cynic in me than the optimist. I am used to difficulty, and I treat my hardships irreverently, with a sharp tongue and a whiff of martyrdom because I am used to them by now and know that wailing and hair-pulling are pointless, if cathartic. The difficulty is still there, waiting, at the end of it. Oh, good, it says pleasantly as I blink with red-rimmed eyes and a head full of cotton. You’re back. Now, where were we?

I still have such days because I am, after all, only human, and given to flares of the dramatic. But I have also found that the best days I have spent in lockdown have been those in which I have, intentionally and with purpose, brought joy in my world, however small it has become: seeds planted with my daughter that have grown into carrots she pulls and eats on lazy, sweltering afternoons; a bottle of my favorite wine shared with my husband; a lazy nap taken with my equally lazy cat; an evening spent in front of the fire pit in the backyard, the smoke curling into the twilight sky from a stick I have held in the flames until its tip is smoldering. 

And, of course, my writing desk with its legs of calke green and merry collection of strange, beautiful things that litter every surface. 

While I wait for the world outside to heal, I have created my own within, and every texture and color and scent is mine, a reminder of who I am, even on those days when I struggle to reconcile the person this tragedy would have me be, and the one I wish to remain. When, at last, this is all over, for one day it will be over, the world will not be the same as it was when I left it, nor will I be, but it will not have been cynicism that will have shaped me but joy found in the most inconsequential: beeswax candles; moth wings; the pages of a book. 

And a desk with calke green legs left by a man who will never know how much it has meant to me these past few months to have a place that I have made mine, where I have known joy, and myself. 

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow Jamie Thomas on Twitter @thatjamiethomas.

What this Spoonie Learned During Quarantine and How it Can Help YOU Write by Winter Krane (@WinterKrane)

When I meet new people, I get asked one inevitable question:

"How do you find time to write with five kids?"

I'll tell you right now—This is small talk. They aren't actually asking, just like "Nice weather, huh?" doesn't require anyone's opinion. 

This means my answer can be equally simple. 

"I make it a priority." Bam! We're done here—next topic.

But WRITERS, they want to know. This 2020 quarantine had even me asking that same question. 

...Only this time, the answer was:

I can't.

Why I couldn't write

*If you want to know why I couldn't write, read on.

In a hurry? Skip ahead to: "Winter Krane's Writing Plan for When You're Not Writing."

I first heard about COVID-19 when I was sick in bed. 

Sick days are a relief. My body has something to fight that isn't me, and I'm dealing with symptoms that are—mercifully—easy to explain. 

I have an undiagnosed autoimmune disorder that started showing up around the time I was ten, getting worse with age. On my worst days, all my joints lock up, taking my mobility, and leaving me helpless until fatigue takes over, knocking me out.

TRDL: I'm a Spoonie. 

Now before I go on, please know I'm okay. I have doctors and an amazingly supportive husband who battles this with me. He brings me my medications, goes to my appointments, holds my hand. He's my alpha reader, my cheerleader, my encourager. We also have five kids that we homeschool. Lucky for me, they take after Daddy—always checking in, making dinner when I can't—telling me to rest.

If I had one complaint about my situation, it would be that my husband works—a lot. 56-hour work weeks aren't uncommon. That makes it harder for me to find time to write but—to put it simply—the kids and I miss him.

So! There I was, sick in bed when I heard about COVID-19. Let me be clear—I'm broken-hearted over what the world was going through, BUT selfishly I had reason to be excited. I imagined family time—my husband home with us. I could already see prolonged bedtime stories with my kids as we all huddled up in blanket forts. Or two parents helping with school, that would mean work done in half the time!

And for me, that would mean time to write.

Oh, summer-child. 

How 

 wrong 

     I 

was. 

Somehow my imagination glossed over the fact that my husband is an essential worker. And he was working with people who were assumed to have the ‘Rona. He started sleeping in a different side of the house not to expose us, showering as soon as he got home. Good morning kisses were replaced with more overtime. 

Fantastic. 

There I was—in the middle of quarantine with five kids—antsy kids who couldn’t see their friends, go to the park or beach, and we all missed dad. 

I still tried to write, but my computer’s appearance was the pavlovian signal for disaster. Then somewhere between picking gum from my daughters' hair and re-climbing Mt. Laundry-more, I'd get a ping on my phone. What else could it be—but a notification on Twitter from someone's mawkish tweet about how "You’re only a writer if you write." (Queue inward screaming).

And then my health took another turn. Over half my teeth became loose. No cavity, no visible problem with my gums. Just teeth planning an escape route to the tooth fairy. There I was, chewing carefully as a cow because—everything hurt—and all I wanted for Christmas was my two front teeth. This made me popular with a whole new set of doctors. But hey—even if my teeth don’t want to stick around—new friends! 

Social secret: My unknown autoimmune disorder is my wingman—getting me all the phone numbers...of doctors I need to call...but still! Digits!

Any time I had left over was divided between homeschool, appointments, sleeping or—more importantly—being Mom.

At first, I cried. I was facing an amputation from creativity. But self-pity is a dangerous horse to ride, especially as a Spoonie. Not only does depression take away spoons, but it likes to get comfortable and stay longer then you invited it.

And so—it was time to write—without writing.

—I present to you—

Winter Krane's Writing Plan
for When You're Not Writing
In seven easy steps!

Step One: Accept that you're still a writer when you're not writing. 

That’s NOT an inspirational tactic- it's crucial. 

Most people would disagree with step one’s statement because they confuse "can't write" with "won't." The reason they do that is “won’t” often is the real problem. It feels like everyone I talk to wants to write a book “someday.” 

I’m not talking to someday writers. I’m talking to writers who are in a season of their life that won’t let them write. This kind of “you just won’t” mindset ignores those struggling with loss, depression, health—the people who would write if they could. 

So! If you know you want to write, but it’s not possible right now, then you’re still a writer—words on the page don't dictate you. 

—Still think that’s bogus? I know—I sound like I’m promoting Professor Hill’s “Think System,” but look at ANY other creative craft, and you'll see what I mean. For example, an opera singer is still an opera singer when they're not on stage, AND THEY KNOW IT. They treat their voice with care like hydration, constant temperature for their vocal cords, practicing scales. Their voice is their instrument. You, my dear writer, are your own creative instrument—the words that you write are the performance.

Step Two: Be mindful.

Ever read a tweens poem about love? They’re painfully generic because they’re at a stage in life where they haven’t truly experienced romance. 

If life is getting in the way of your writing, then you—my writer friend—you’ve hit the jackpot. It means you’re in the middle of REAL-LIFE EXPERIENCE—this is the stuff novels are made of. Don’t tell me your life is boring. Boring things are beautiful when someone captures them in words. And no: “I write about X, so it won’t help.” Even if you’re writing holographic unicorns in Candyland, all writing relates to life—and right now, you’re smack dab in the middle of it. Pay attention. Keep mental notes on what you see, smell, feel, think, and taste. Hold on to that, because each experience makes up your voice. 

Step Three: Force new experiences.

When you run out of things to pay attention to, it’s time to make new things happen. I don’t know what you’ve done in your life, or how many years you’ve lived, but new experiences are everywhere. You’ll never know what will help you in your writing later. It can be as simple as picking up one food you haven’t tried when you go shopping to waxing your armpits. MAKE yourself think of possibilities. 

What did I do? I shaved my head. 

...I had no idea that my skull’s five o’clock-shadow would feel so prickly when I slept. 

Step Four: Write with your mind.

Okay—now that you’re mindful and worn out on all the new things—you can’t take it anymore. I understand. Life can be too real. You need to escape. How about an imagination vacation?

I don’t think writers use their imagination enough. We all accept that our minds create books, but when was the last time you played pretend? Judge me if you want, but I write all day, every day in my head and I’ve been doing it since childhood. When I was a kid doing dishes, I pretended I was Cinderella washing up after my stepsisters. As an adult, I’m envisioning chapter play-by-plays as I stir soup over the stove. When I CAN write, I type them up, but for now, I just start over, repeating the story in my mind. Sometimes I imagine it in a whole new way. Sometimes I’m repeating everything to be sure I don’t forget.  

Are you a plotter/outliner? Go over your outline, expanding where you can. Are you a pantser/discovery writer? Imagine your characters, have fun figuring out who they’ll be. Have aphantasia? Speak your story! Bonus points if you record yourself because you could use text to speech and have actual words on a page to work with later!

Remember in step one we established that words on the page don’t define you? Now’s your chance to be a writer without words, even if you don’t get any books written down, you’re exercising your mind, teaching it to think in story. 

Step Five: Add OTHER PEOPLE’S CREATIVITY to YOUR WELL. 

One of my favorite writing songs is “Mof the Story” by Watsky. I recommend you check it out...if you don’t mind foul language. The best line in the song?

“If I need to—I’ll go through you—and absorb your ******* powers.”

Writers luck out. We can digest the work of our peers and those who came before us by opening a book. I can’t write before I fall asleep, it wakes up my brain, but I can read. You can’t read right now? I get it but...

If I can’t read, I can listen to audiobooks. 

If I can’t dedicate myself to all those hours, I can watch a movie.

If I can’t watch a movie, I can change the background noise by letting writing classes and book breakdowns play on YouTube, listening repeatedly, picking up random parts. 

—Off the cuff, I’d recommend: 

Brandon Sanderson’s lectures on writing

A series of college lectures about Science Fiction and fantasy writing that are so in depth I’d recommend them to most fiction authors- no matter their genre. 

Film Courage

Interviews with Screen writers—talking about the craft. These have a plethora of in-depth, eyeopening information on craft.  

Mynamesismarines

Marines is a booktuber—a person who talks about books they’ve read, reviewing them on YouTube. There are so many people that do this all with different tastes and thoughts, keeping us writers connected with readers and keeping up with books we might want to enjoy or avoid. *Warning- watching booktubers may make you drool over all the books you discover you NEED in your collection. 

Vivien Reis

A young adult fantasy writer who posts “Writerly” videos for writers. 

The Write Channel with Nicola Monaghan

This is a smorgasbord of creative writing videos, from top tips with famous writers to vlog chats with Nicola herself on her process. I’ve linked her video that starts off with my favorite Neil Gaiman clips. 

Kate Cavanaugh

Kate has an amazing series where she follows writing routines from other authors and tries them out for a day. She often has me laughing. 

This is in no way an exhaustive list of people I watch, let alone people who upload writer content. Feel free to add your favorites in the comments, not only of other writers, but for me! I’d love to hear suggestions! 

Step Six: Do something that reminds you you're a writer.

The first time I couldn’t write, far before COVID-19, I got a cheap box dye and made my hair red. Why? Because it reminded me of my favorite fictional writer, Anne Sherly. (Did you really expect an answer that made sense from me?) Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw myself and a little bit of Anne. 

As silly as it was, this kept me hyped for the times I’d get to write later.

I don’t know what this means for you. Maybe you need to get yourself a pretty journal to fill when you get a chance. Perhaps doodle “I’m a writer” on post-it-notes and stick them on your fridge. Or maybe it’s as small as hanging your favorite writing cardigan next to your chair. 

This can be the equivalent of dressing for work even when you don’t have a job. You’re letting yourself know you have plans when you’re out of this slump. 

Step seven: Reach out.

I remember a post I found from a writer who was struggling. He was a new father, and his wife was going through a serious health scare. In between his job, caring for his wife and his newborn, all his free time was used for sleep. In an open post he asked other writers how they write through times like this. The majority answer was—we don’t.

But you know what—after getting confirmation that there are times life kicks you away from your desk—he wasn’t alone.

Whatever you’re going through, it’s okay to talk about it.

That concludes my list. I do have one more thing to say—but it’s dangerous. You must keep trying to write. Sometimes the act of trying when you can’t will cause a spiral of depression. But this isn’t something to beat yourself up over. Making attempts is far more important than success. I repeat: DON’T BE HARD ON YOURSELF—not yet—save that part for editing.

Because you will write again.

*All artwork used throughout this piece was created by the writer.

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow Winter Krane on Twitter @WinterKrane. 

One Thing by E. J. Dawson (@ejdawsonauthor)

If I learned anything from COVID it was worrying about everything leads to getting a whole lot of nothing done.

I spent four months unemployed which I judiciously used to write or do writing related things. But I wont lie and say there wasn’t a couple of weeks were I did nothing.

We all had them, trapped in our homes, fear and worry chasing our thoughts into procrastination and apathy. Even the introverts were itching to get out.

I spent a lot of time criticizing myself for not doing enough. 

Last year I wrote ten novels in the space of a year while working full time.

I had four months off and wrote less than hundred thousand words. That might sound like a lot, but not to me. And they were all garbage. 

I went ahead with the release of my book back in April which was supposed to be during my first paid gig as a speaking author. It would have been a great launch but there were no funds to be had for hard copies or advertising thanks to my unemployment, and then the gig was cancelled.

I released anyway but it was under severe constraints and without nearly as much joy or celebration as the first book I’d released three years ago. I had to let go of my emotional attachment to the wondrous thrill of having a book out there because of the crippling anxiety I couldn’t spend anything on promoting it. When I started trawling through blogs looking for reviewers I’d had several prestigious ones lined up and they just couldn’t read it. Why? COVID.

It sucked the time, emotion, and life out of everything and is STILL doing it!

But we are our own worst critics, aren’t we? And I won’t criticize you for feeling like you might have failed for doing nothing. Even as I sit here and criticize myself.

After a while what I found was the small goals were what really mattered most. Rather than focus on the quality or quantity of what I was doing – I just focused on getting one thing done a day. One tedious task a week.

I made a routine of cleaning the house and having stuff done by the weekend so on the weekends I could relax, and during the week I was at ‘work’.

I didn’t make my writing career more demanding than it had to be. I worked progressively on editing those scripts from last year. On getting ahead of schedule so when I went back to work I would already have a lot of my writerly work done. 

What was most rewarding was the niggly tasks though. The ones we always put off on weekends because there isn’t enough time.

I hate sewing and I suck at it but most of our blankets have been mended. Finally put those pictures in their frames. Dusted all the architraves. Buffed marks out of the walls. Fixed the broken blinds in the dressing room. Got rid of all the spiderwebs out the front of the house.

I rearranged the bookcase a little. I read older books I hadn’t in years. I reorganized my desk space. Updated my goal and work progress on my wall. I read books on writing, working to improve my craft. I updated my website to something I much preferred. 

All time consuming and potentially irritating but nevertheless important. And it didn’t matter if I wasted the rest of the day or week or whatever time frame I’d given myself. If I got that ONE thing done then the time I spent playing games, staring out the window, or scrolling social media didn’t feel misspent. It was about my mental health and what I needed to do to get through those moments.

Now I’m back at work I don’t feel like I wasted that time as much as I could have, and with all the things I did get done my house is a nicer space to work from home.

So if you find yourself confined and restrained; make yourself achievable daily and weekly goals. Do the things about your home, and with your hobbies and life that you’ve always wanted to do and never “had time.”

Just that one thing. A day. A week. A month. Then go back to the things that make you feel safe, secure and comforted. 

All those One Things do is make the space you’re in all the more safer, cleaner, and very much your own. 

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow E. J. Dawson on Twitter @ejdawsonauthor.