When I attempt to write on any of my WIPs, my ideas and plots seem to pale into insignificance with the real-life drama at our doorstep. So, one way to look at it may be that any plot I can conceive of has no hope of competing with the present circumstances. The other way to look at it should probably be, that our books, our febrile imaginations, are what is going to assist the world to escape their terrors for a brief moment. It is almost our duty to see to it that our voices are not silenced by the horror surrounding us, that we continue to provide that glimmer of freedom from the living nightmare unfolding around us. Even a best case scenario/outcome has many millions across the globe perishing, financial ruin for a host of businesses and investors that no amount of governmental rescue packages can hope to forestall, death affecting almost the entire population of the planet we call home.
Though I absolutely struggle to write even a word or two each day, I am compelled to at least give it a try, for without our form of reachable entertainment, that briefest of respite for millions of human beings caught up in the worst calamity to befall our planet for many years, they may begin to lose hope, or worse, turn on each other. If my pathetic attempt at this writing gig helps even one soul to find some hope in the bleak forecasts offered by the experts, then I see it as a privilege I am not able to shun for selfish reasons.
