If you’ve been stalled, or blocked, or wondering if your scribblings amount to more than a hill of beans—when the whole world is on fire—please let me be the one to tell you that they do. If you love writing, keep at it. What you produce doesn’t even matter. It’s the writing practice that will keep you sane.
This “novel virus” reaffirmed that my life won’t feel sufficiently meaningful again until I develop a renewed sense of purpose. Writing has always provided that for me, and I’d discarded my writing practice as if it were an empty, battered suitcase at the end of a journey. Hell, I’d thrown it over a cliff.