Creative Captivity

I unintentionally self isolated before it was fashionable – I was way ahead of the curve.  I came down with a nasty cold a few weeks ago and took to my bed – by the time I stepped back into the world all hell had broken loose.  I immediately checked my toilet paper situation (which was fine) and have been laying low ever since.

I’ve been glued to the television – the news is terrifying – Covid19 is all anyone can talk about, the pandemic.  I’ve learned to keep my social distance when out walking the dogs – I actually hold my breath when we cross paths with another person.  I am in touch with my family and friends on socially distanced technology only and I’m good with that.  This virus is not to be taken lightly, even my imaginary friends are laying low.

When I realized I was going to be anchored to my condo for the foreseeable future I began to make a mental list of all things I could accomplish while in isolation, things that I’d been meaning to get to ever since I moved in.  And then I promptly tuned in to NETFLIX.  As it turns out I am a natural couch potatoe.  I am also a natural snacker – a bad combination.  

Truth told I’m used to spending time alone — I’m a writer, I spend a lot of time lost in thought and wandering through my imagination.  I spent the first few days of captivity wracking my brain for inspiration, I found nothing, nada.  I put the lack of creativity down to the cold medication I was taking and went back to bed.  The next time I emerged from my bedroom I had a better idea – I would re-write my book.

So that’s what I’ve been doing – writing, editing and reworking a story that has been largely ignored for months.  I dove in not thinking I would be throwing myself back in time – back to this very month two years ago – back to the beginning of the end.  As I read, typed and re-worked the words I discovered I could distance myself from the raw emotion of the story by trying to express it better.

I’ve had a thoughtful couple of weeks revisiting a nightmare and appreciating the woman who lived to tell the tale.  I have come a long way in the past two years.  It wasn’t a bad thing to re-write my way through that journey – it’s been cathartic.  

The tulips I’d purchased just prior to the pandemic stood sentry over the re-writing process – they did their best to remain interested as the hours slipped by and the old manuscript made its way into the trash.  They gave up the ghost as I got near the end of the edit so I turfed them – they can do  the rest of their self isolating in the compost bin.  

Perhaps when I’m totally finished this re-write my imagination will reboot.  One can hope.  Self isolation is easier to cope with if you can muster a little captive creativity and a few imaginary friends to keep you company