There’s ice on the puddles, but still it’s early spring.
It’s been a long winter for most of us. I haven’t had the plague hit my family, thank the gods, but I think everyone’s been touched by that and the US political upheavals of the turn of the year.
But I’m halfway through a draft of the fourth book of my series, and this one’s going to have an angel in it.
I’m starting week six of my personal pandemic lockdown. For my day job, I’ve been working from home since early March, and I went into full social distancing mode mid-March.
I feel lucky I live in Washington, where the COVID-19 response has been relatively sane. And, honestly, for me as a writer, social distancing hasn’t been as hard as for some of my friends.
I’m an ambivert and thrive on getting a large chunk of time alone. I have to be self-disciplined, or I’d never get any writing done, so after a few days I’m not the person who stays in bed all day. (I’m also lucky my neurochemistry supports me here.) In normal times, the need to write means I have to sit on my social butterfly tendencies. Now, in this new, weird, loose time, it’s easier. Also my editor slipped one of my deadlines. A lot has been slipping lately. That feels good in some ways (I tend to be stressed; it’s good if I can relax and slow down) and bad in others.