When the pandemic began, I kept writing novels, finishing up a story about a kid who goes bicycle riding with Albert Einstein. However, the events that gave me extra time to write had decimated the book business, and now my manuscript—in fact, my last two manuscripts—were stuck in limbo.
Caught up in my habit, I barely noticed. I finished an opera with Tony, helped him with another one, and planned a couple more. I cranked out short pieces reflecting on my life, current and past. I prepared to publish a series of eight novella-length memoirs I had written over the years, which I called “Stories from My Life.”
I looked up, and the landscape had changed. I had entered a new stage. I could feel the train speeding along but wasn’t sure where it was going. I liked that.
And so each morning, as always, I’ll pour myself a cup of coffee, plop down at my computer, turn it on, and see what comes out.
It will be a good day.