Love Under Quarantine

I couldn’t ask for more.* * *

SADIEI’ve been putting off sitting in front of my computer today for a good reason beyond just needing a break. The alerts on my cell were bad enough. First up is some hate mail from a reader telling me I write pornography. She goes on to complain about my characters swearing so often. English is apparently a beautiful, expressive language and I’m lazy and foul-mouthed and hell-bent on cheapening the written word. Paper shouldn’t be wasted on my disgusting stories and my family is probably hideously embarrassed by my lurid attempts at literature.

Good to know.

Fuck me. People.

Just because you have an opinion doesn’t mean you should share it. And if you want to put your thoughts about a book out there, that’s why reviews were invented. But no. Someone has to dump it on your doorstep, throw it in your face. I’m not chocolate. I was never going to make everyone happy. Readers might like one book and hate another. Art is subjective. There are so many aspects about writing a book and having another person read it beyond my control. What my muse is willing to supply me with. What mood the reader was in the day they happened upon my story. The list is endless. Sending me hate-filled missives, however, is just trash behavior. I’ll defend the romance community ’til the day I die. So many readers have been more than kind and supportive of me. But the Internet has made it too easy to be an asshole.

I delete the e-mail and fetch myself a glass and a bottle of wine. It just feels like one of those nights. Maybe I’m about to get my period. It would figure.

Next up, confirmation that every book signing for the summer has been canceled. It’s like a hit to the gut. And I get it. Of course I do. It had to happen. But I earn a decent chunk of my income through signed book sales. People will still buy e-books, but people are also really distracted right now. And who can blame them? Life as we know it just went out the window.

At any rate, time to start reviewing my spending to see where the business can pick up the slack and keep me afloat. I need food, a place to live, electricity, water, and so on. My books need to be edited, proofread, and formatted. Covers need to be made and new releases need to be promoted. Everything else is pretty much on hold for now. Essentials only. No new pretties. And the new couch I was saving up for…that money can go toward the bills.

Also, I need to write more. I need to get my ass into gear and boost my productivity. Only staying inspired during the stress and panic of a pandemic is hard as all hell. Even my new friend/boyfriend can only inspire me so much. Keeping your chin up in times of duress is a bitch. The positives—I believe in romance and hope and love. I believe we’re going to get through this. For sure, though, there are dark days ahead. Publishing seems to have been in a state of flux for the last decade or so, and things aren’t settling down anytime soon.

I down a mouthful of wine and take a deep breath. At least I’m not going through this totally alone. So many people must be looking at months of lockdown with no comfort in sight. Layoffs, unemployment, and seriously hard times. I’m lucky. Evan’s right next door. Dad is feeling better and Mom is just fine. Things could definitely be worse. As someone much wiser than me once said, I know everything happens for a reason. But what the fuck?

I try not to get hung up staring at the news, spending endless hours getting updates on the headlines and latest figures, but things are damn scary in Los Angeles and New York City. Hell, they’re scary all over the country. The lack of ventilators and personal protective equipment rip my heart in two. Pictures from Italy of hospitals struggling to help the sick. The burial pits in Iran, so large they’re visible from space. It’s all so terrifying and heartbreaking. Hard to make sense of it all.

It wasn’t that long ago that everything was normal and boring. How the hell did we get here? Then there are the people ignoring the warnings and still having get-togethers. I’d dearly love to rage-scream at them. From six feet away, of course. How the hell can people be so careless?

Times like these are a trial, all right. Maybe this was what it felt like to be alive during World War II. Or to send your son off to Vietnam, not knowing if you’d ever see him again. Living with this weight on your soul constantly threatening to drag you down. Humanity seems both stronger and more fragile than I ever imagined. And I mean, I think I’m healthy. Evan might have something to say about my diet, but that could be worse. This virus, however, seems to be taking people from all age groups. No one is completely safe. We can all only do our best.