Scratching on the Walls —Struggling for Words in the era of Covid 19

It feels as if the world we knew was a dormant volcano. Trudging through our days, a rumble in the air, we sensed that something was coming, but something is often nothing, so we let it slide away. Caught off guard, it erupted with a vengeance as we scrambled for shelter. From our on-line safe places, watching the sheer volume of lava flow so quickly has been frightening.  

“Essential workers” have not had the luxury of staying home and the enormity of what they’re facing is unfathomable. Knowing, as well, that there is profound pain, financial instability and suffering––much of the drama unfolding behind closed doors––is heartbreaking.  

I understand we’re not living in some dystopian film noir with an army of approaching zombies, arms outstretched to grab us. I know that epic catastrophic events have happened before, and the world moved on. But tell that to my dreams. 

I need to wrap my head around this thing, find answers in this moment in history. As always, I turn to wordsmithing as I attempt to make sense of the uncertainty and chaos that surrounds us.   

Solitude is nothing new for me or for most writers. In fact, solitude is something I wanted more of, even craved. But this hyper-isolation is a different breed of cat. Hey Universe! I take it back! I never had this in mind! This staying away from family and friends, this keeping to the six-foot rule in parks and at the grocery store––now this is really something. Something I’d never anticipated. Something depressing, sad and lonely. But it’s something crucial to practice, even when I’m craving physical connection the most. 

We are living in unprecedented, brutal times. As writers—be it novelists, memoirists, poets, philosophers or journalists—we must remain clear-headed and observant, as if we have this life-thing figured out. We must write that evocative and brilliant piece that others will read and say, ”Oh yes. She wrote that during her Covid 19 isolation period.”

Seriously? If only I could heed my advice. These days, stringing together a coherent sentence for my latest work-in-progress is something to celebrate. Funneling any semblance of focus in the midst of collective global anxiety is next to impossible. Armed with my iPhone–-wide-eyed and alert––news flash pings demand my attention.

Compounding my angst about world events, I compare myself to more productive writers who are managing to write thousands of words per day. I compare myself to those who’ve become ill from this virus, discounting my pain as trivial. I compare my situation to those scrambling to secure emergency support, no rescue boat in sight. In the midst of pandemic, my thoughts trail existential––does this book I’m struggling to write even matter? 

Yesterday I rang up a close friend, a wise woman to whom I turn when the walls are closing in. She advised that I give myself a hall pass, telling me that compassion should also extend to myself. She said I should treat myself as I do her, in a non-judgmental and empathetic way. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Oh yeah! Breathe. Good plan. That’s one way of wrapping a tourniquet around this hot mess of emotion.

She also suggested that I burrow through the distraction and define one thing that is really important for me and shouldn’t slip away. What do I really want to do? Obviously, I want to hop a plane and see my kids but that is out of my control. But what is in my control is writing and being accountable to myself to make that happen. So, I’ve decided to bury the phone during my morning hours, that time of day when the words flow smoothly. 

My previous novels are about strong, brave women. In Chapter One, none of them felt strong and brave. But how my characters dealt with crisis, carving a life worth living, defined who they were. I’ll channel them up, let them become my muses, directing my latest project until its conclusion. 

Interestingly enough, a sequel to my second book, THE WELCOME HOME DINER, seems to be writing itself––real life, real time. The book was inspired by two women who opened up a diner in Detroit, hoping to spark life and renewal in a downtrodden area of the beleaguered city. Today, these women have turned the diner––Rose’s Fine Foods––into a production kitchen, making meals for the front-line health care workers at Henry Ford Hospital. As Mr. Rogers advised, when bad things happen, let “the helpers” give us hope. Right now, they are everywhere.  

The endings to my books aren’t necessarily happy, but they’re hopeful. This will never be remembered as a happy chapter in the history of our planet, either. But perhaps it will be remembered as a time of correction, a time of healing and redemption.

When we emerge from our bunkers––bleary-eyed and confused––when we stumble into the “new normal”, whatever that looks like, what will be our takeaway? How will we have changed? What will we will write about? As the characters we create, who will we want to be? 

—
Peggy Lampman’s passion is writing women’s fiction, which provokes the mind and touches the heart. She uses contemporary themes as a means to break down relationship and cultural barriers. Her novels, THE PROMISE KITCHEN, THE WELCOME HOME DINER and THE RUBY OF THE SEA, reflect this fascination.

She was born and raised in Birmingham, Alabama, and holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Communications, summa cum laude, from the University of Michigan.

After graduating, she moved to New York City, where she worked as a copywriter and photographer for Hill and Knowlton, a public relations firm. She moved back to Ann Arbor, her college town, and opened up a specialty foods store, The Back Alley Gourmet. After selling the store, she wrote under a weekly food byline in The Ann Arbor News and began writing her first novel.

Author Page: peggylampmanbooks.com

Food & Musings Blog: www.dinnerfeed.com

Facebook Author Page: https://bit.ly/2VDjgaC

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/peggy_lampman/

Twitter:   https://twitter.com/dinnerfeed

 

RUBY OF THE SEA, Peggy Lampman

From the award-winning author of The Promise Kitchen comes a riveting new story of twin sisters caught in their mother’s crosshairs on what to do about their disturbed younger sister.

Lush with devastating secrets, lies, romance and psychological drama…”You tell me about a family without a certain amount of dysfunction, and I’ll tell you that family is lying.”

After aimlessly traveling the country for fifteen years, Linnea Chandler returns to her hometown of Key West, Florida keeping the genesis of a life-altering phobia to herself–not a good idea, as she comes to find out. The 19th Century lighthouse that she, her parents and two sisters call home also has a troubled past, carrying the frightening myth that eerily mirrors the mystery of her younger sister today. Should Linnea run while she can?

The women must decide to what extremes they are willing to go to protect their secrets. Ignore the brutality behind the retrieval of spoils from a fatal shipwreck in 1857? Defy a 2017 hurricane threatening to pummel their town? And when their world is upended, do the women have the strength to move forward?

“In this beautifully woven tale of three sisters, Lampman explores the devastating impact of mental illness on family and creativity without ever losing sight of the glory of being alive and the transformative power of love. An important book, definitely one for the book clubs.”
–Kerry Ann King, bestselling author of Whisper Me This and Everything You Are

“The Ruby of the Sea is a powerful story about the meaning of home as a place of safety set against the fears that haunt every family. When three sisters reunite in the historic lighthouse where their parents live, they must confront secrets that include a painful truth they have avoided: the youngest sister suffers from bipolar disorder. Filled with evocative descriptions of the Key West Landscape and mouth-watering Cuban food, this is a book to savor.”
–Barbara Claypole White, bestselling author of The Perfect Son and The Promise Between Us.  

BUY THE BOOK HERE

 

 

Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing