Not much happening.

At all.


The pandemic finds me working from home until further notice. It’s great, actually, I’m really loving it – even after about two weeks of it – but given all the sports centres are closed, I’m not exercising the way I normally do, and that’s been quite difficult.

Plus, you know, all the worrying about family and friends, and realising that if any of them fell sick or actually died, there’s no guarantee I’d be able to fly out and see them. That’s been awful. However, I’m staying indoors as much as possible, and I’m grateful that my relative youth and health means that these inconveniences are minor in the grand scheme of everything. Like many here and around the world, I can only wait and see how things pan out. My hope is that Switzerland will peak around now and then things will ease up here in April.

I didn’t write a post for February because I frankly didn’t feel like it. Truthfully, I’m going through something of a . . . I don’t want to call it a crisis, because it certainly isn’t that, but perhaps more of a reconsideration. Writing is slow, finishing pieces is slow, revising is slow, submitting is slow, everything is slow, and nothing has really progressed in the last two years.

The feelings and thoughts I keep trying to tease out are whether this (writing in general) is really what I want to pursue, or if writing in this genre is what I still want to do, or if there are other reasons I’m not seeing for my reluctance in writing (and lack of interest in reading) romance at the moment. Maybe this constant brain fog and apathy is normal, and this is just what life looks like when you’re working full-time and trying to cook healthily and workout regularly and have a social life and occasionally do something else fun that’s different and engaging. Maybe it’s all too much and that’s why everything isn’t ideal. Maybe it’s all progress, just very slow, and my expectations are too high. Maybe I have to drop something and put the writing on full blast for a few weeks. Maybe I drop the writing entirely for a few weeks. Maybe I’m deficient in a vitamin. Maybe I’m depressed. Maybe my job sucks all my energy (mental, physical, and let’s face it, spiritual) out of me and everything else is getting the dregs. Maybes after maybes after maybes. Therapy should probably be the first port of call, but D: the prices here.

And I don’t even have kids. I mean, genuine question to writers with kids and full-time jobs: how?

And is any of this actually important when a virus can turn everything upside down in the space of a month?

Taking a step back to assess perspective and priorities is generally a good thing to do and while writing this, it occurs to me that that’s what I should be doing, instead of trying to bullishly do everything.

Well, now’s as good a time as any. I only leave my flat to get groceries and walk around in the fresh air every few days. (Please note Switzerland isn’t in total lockdown like Italy or France.) Like, what else am I going to do? Tackle my to-read shelf? Finish the WIP?


I hope my (dedicated and few) readers are keeping well. It’s very heartening to see people rallying around the world to counteract this virus. The memes are on point. Years and Years did a live stream, which is the most adorable thing, and other bands are doing similar kinds of stuff. It’s just amazing. I don’t have much advice except to self-isolate, don’t hoard food and toilet paper, and wash your hands. It will be okay, eventually. This too shall pass, eventually.