In the huggable future
By Ian Robinson
Covid has left me remarkably isolated.
Thank God for Wellspring and its Zoom classes.
Few have addressed the toll Covid takes on us when we don’t have easy sources of conversation.
So much of talk is inspired by the human interactions each of us normally experiences, and even when we gather on the phone or Skype or Zoom, we’re at a bit of a loss for words. And that’s the kind of talk in which everybody can share. As for the kind that isn’t shareable? I had no idea how much I missed professional talk until my buddy Nadia called for a bit of mentoring about how to be a good editor and we talked for half an hour about how to balance respect for the authorial voice with the need to provide clarity for the reader.
Snoozerama for normies. For people in the biz, it was bliss. When it was over, I had tears in my eyes.
How many people want to talk to me about the use of the unreliable narrator in modern fiction?
It’s lonely as hell.
And yet … I’m counting my blessings. Making pizza with Kathleen for her birthday lunch.
And below, at Lake Louise in September for our 35th wedding anniversary.
So there are good moments.
But not enough. Not nearly enough. Particularly when one’s clock ticks a trifle faster than others.
So here’s hoping for a vaccine. Maybe they’ll roll one out before the end of the year.
Once I know it works and I’m immune, I’ll be the guy hugging everybody — people, service dogs, tall house plants – just because I’m so damned tired of being apart.