How Covid-19 Turned Me into a Writer

I had better be careful about this one…

When the World Health Organization (WHO) announced that Covid-19 was officially a pandemic, I began another set of journals. This was a habit that I had given up for many years after returning from overseas and realizing that my life was becoming quite repetitive with work, bills and the usual dramas. The onset of Covid was a very unusual drama that kept me guessing as to how long it would last (I even discussed the rising number of cases in China in one of my classes while I could still go in and teach). But then there was the official notice that this was real; this was very serious. Everything was about to change.

And I needed to keep a record of this…

I could have spent a great deal of time just posting my thoughts on social media, but old habits always find a way to sneak into a routine. And I had plenty of material to write on.

Yes, I am one of those people.

I have an addiction to stationery.

When I go out, I feel awkward when I do not have pen and paper on me, even if it is a quick trip to the supermarket or just a short walk to stretch my legs (I have never carried them while jogging; the mind has a focus on other matters at that point). So, where do I get my fix? Dollar stores, drugstores, and the occasional business supply shop always helped me out. I also had a habit of buying a new notebook on my birthday (gifting myself). The only problem with this habit is supply and demand: I have an oversupply of material that cannot match the demand. And there is the other issue: I write down an idea; I finish a poem or essay; I sketch out plans for something longer and bolder…and then I forget all about it. This is the most irritating habit that I never thought I would break (acres of notes and ideas haunt my home).

And then I got stuck at home.

Now, with the obligation to be stuck at home, I noticed that the paper was not about to go away. I had no choice but to wade through years of my life on pages and pages of notebooks.

No excuses this time.

But there was one other problem: what to do with all those unfinished thoughts. Going through the regular routes to get my work published was too depressing to contemplate. I still recall the professor who thought that I had what it took to be a critic in one of the local papers. From taking her compliment too seriously, I spent many weeks getting a lot of form letters and emails informing me that I did have a talent but that there was nothing available for me at the time. And this went on and on and on with online journals and even free magazines that requested submissions. The only place where I had any unintended success with my work was with an online newspaper opinion page. They began to print up my thoughts on books and literature…but still no pay. A dream was being unfulfilled…and then I began to keep a blog.

There is something about blogs that always bothered me: how do they become popular? I would occasionally read about someone writing a blog that suddenly became viral and everyone just had to see it; just had to read the author’s thoughts on whatever subject they covered. And I never understood how this success worked. I currently have two pages that I have not earned me a dime, and, much more importantly, generated no traffic.

So, why continue to do this?

Well, I cannot stop.

As I type this, I found out that I just received another bonus for my work appearing on a special section of one web page. I also have almost another one hundred stories on another web page and have discovered that the money is not the biggest issue for me. For one page dedicated to poetry, I have received comments such as, “Your poems are among the best I’ve read here!” and “I love this imaginative piece” (both direct quotes).

So, Covid-19 made it impossible for me to pretend that I could just pose as a writer. I could no longer be the person I once was who would just scribble in some café and then leave the notebook in my bag when I came home and surfed social media web sites. Having both Vocal and a few other pages to contribute to made me focus and write to a deadline (very important for a former student).

It is strange to think about this now, but I met an artist after a concert, and she made the assumption that I was a poet without even asking what I did for a living. Maybe there was something she saw in me that I did not even know was really there.

Just maybe…

Now, what do I do with all those notebooks and pads?

Thank you for reading!

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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