May 12, 2020. 60 days down, 30 remaining on our Maldivian Tourist Visa. It’s been a couple weeks since the Radio Transmission to Scare the Ink Out of Me, and our anchor is still nestled in the Maldivian sand. For a brief moment, we thought we might be turning back. After all the worried contac
I could put up pictures of places I’ve been without me in them and without explanation for years and not repeat myself. Take that, recent Facebook diversion!
By “here” I’m not waxing philosophical, I mean with this writing gig. Thing is, this is probably the first thing I’ve written since the Coronavirus pandemic started looking serious. I’m forcing myself to not here and now render any opinions on anything to do with COVID 19. I have rendered some opinions on my Facebook page, if you want to see some, but even there, not too many. That’s not what I’m about.
I do have a project in process. It’s a rewrite from scratch, in a different voice, and in such a telling that not one paragraph does not involve some sort of action. Not body movements, but actual action, as in somebody is effing doing something. It’s a good story. I’ve known that all along, and it’s looking pretty easy to read after the rewrite, but it’s been weeks since I did anything. It was the sixth of March, in fact, which is, hmmm, let’s see, carry the 14, gloss over the six, um, 24 days ago. I have slow periods, but this is getting close to a record outside of the fall holidays, when I mostly just take time off. This whole shelter in place, pandemic, folks are going to die thing is just too absorbing, I guess.
Then there’s the bathroom floor. We’re putting in a floor made of pennies in our master bath. It’s gonna look great, and it’s getting near the point where all the pennies are installed (but there are always problems.) That, too, has been quite absorbing. Yesterday we put our bed back into the master bedroom, on top of the lovely new rug, and it is nice and comfortable compared to the temporary bed we’ve been sleeping on. Physical work reminds me of my advancing age, because half a day is the absolute limit, and it’s better to stop at three hours or so, because otherwise I actually feel ill from overwork. I’d be ashamed of myself, but, hey, I’m seventy years old, kid, gimme a break!
I hope that shortly (this week if I’m lucky) I’ll be able to convince myself to get back to work on my rewrite. (It isn’t writers’ block, it’s pandemic.) If so, I’ll let you know. I hope so, because it really is a good story, and it deserves to be told.
Thank you for reading, you joyous funmuffin, you!
We’ve been in the Maldives for a week now. In many ways, it has been a pleasure. The water is crystal clear and turquoise blue over the patch of white sand in which our anchor rests. The local people have been safety conscious, but also generous – making sure