One would think editing and doing rewrites of a novel during a pandemic while unemployed would only add to the stress of the everyday. For me, it has done the opposite. It has made me feel productive, alive, sane, and functional. From this conclusion I have made for myself with only myself, I think I can scientifically say that doing what you love can save your life.

It is no surprise my anxiety and depression have been having a house party inside my brain. They’ve invited all their friends: insecurity, self doubt, feelings of worthlessness, despair, anger, fatigue, panic attacks. They are dancing, drinking, smoking, have a grand ol’ time while I am sitting under my weighted blanket waiting for them to crash so I can find some relief. I have little control over them currently and it is insanely frustrating. I have my tools to use and they work, don’t get me wrong. But the party always continues even after I unplugged the electricity.

On days I write and edit my novel, they are quiet. I sit in the bedroom while my husband sits in our living room (what you do when you have a one bedroom and no jobs to be able to move and rent a two bedroom) and I write in bed. I spread out my notebook with notes, various books to reference for dialogue, synonyms, ways to say ‘smile’, etc. I have snacks, at least three beverages, and usually two cat editors who are very snuggly. I use this time as my work day and I feel accomplished. Well, I feel accomplished for about an hour until I realize with dread all the other things I could be doing which is nothing, my anxiety just lies to me.

I manage to apply for jobs, submit for auditions, record self tapes, and write other things as well. However, it is only the latter that keeps me calm. As I have previously mentioned, I now limit my job hunting and doomscrolling. I read the news and I apply for jobs minimally because I become a horrid monster when I don’t. I panic, I cry, I scream. I can’t breathe. There aren’t that many jobs and looking every day reminds me of that. The news infuriates me and I can’t help but think if we had a decent government who cared for us, we might be seeing Broadway reopen in the spring instead of next fall as is now being predicted. I think of all the future plans that could be happening and the people who could be alive. All of that buries me and I refuse to let it so I limit it. I leave myself time for it. I mourn, I grieve, I scream, I cry.

Then I go back to my happy place.

I think something I have learned during the last seven months is this: life is short, unpredictable, and things you value tend to get lost in the shuffle. I am guilty of focusing on what I should be doing and forgetting to live. I forget the value of a hug or a long talk without glancing at my phone. A good meal shared together. An epic family discussion about everything and anything. I forget how much writing has saved me countless times since I was little. I forget how good it feels to act and be recognized as an actor. I push all these aside to focus on plowing forward and the long term future instead of the present. The future is always uncertain and I constantly rely on it when I need to be relying on being here and now with my husband, my family, my friends, my goals and dreams that I have time for. I have time to create and I know it will vanish eventually. I know how shitty everything is but if I had a silver lining it would be seeing my values as parts of myself I can’t afford to lose again.

Writing this novel has been such a gift. I love it so much. It is so much FUN. Just FUN. It is work, no doubt. It can be frustrated but in that really good way where I know if I sit and focus and talk it out, I will figure it out and move on. I am learning so much about crafting a story. I am learning to trust myself and know that my idea for this story is GOOD. I don’t have a lot going for me right now but I have this. This little thing that sprung from my imagination and onto a page and it is saving me. It is showing up for me when I need to not be me. When I need to write about Revera, a place I made up entirely, and live in the world of these people I invented.

If you have something you love to do, try and do it as much as you can right now. I know it is always the thing you don’t have time for. And maybe you still don’t. All I can say is try and find it, whatever it is. On days where your anxiety and depression are rocking the walls with their parties, find it and shut them out.

And now, an excerpt from my novel that has a tentative title that I don’t really like so for now, it is an excerpt from an untitled fantasy novel. It is in its third draft which mean it a ways from being done. This is towards the beginning, narrated in this section by one of my main characters, Rufus, and introducing another, the Finder. Perhaps not the most exciting excerpt but a little intrigue, a little set up, a little tease.

Rufus was growing less fond of this world by the minute. 

Not only did the food he ate turn to ash in his mouth but every inch of this place that had been built for the girl was a charm of some sort. Nothing was real and he wondered how she had fared so well in this land of make believe. How had she not figured it out yet? Perhaps she isn’t that smart, he thought to himself. His hunter’s knife in hand, he took the blade to a thick branch he had removed from one of the two trees in the park he had sequestered himself in. He thought he might try and take her tonight. No use in waiting. He had located her and she had liked him. Trusted him, even. She seemed keen to leave this place, why not head out with someone you enjoy the company of?

The blade slid through the bark a little too easily. Bad wood. “Fake wood,” he added with a hollow laugh. Rufus had always wanted to come to the Fringe and now that he was here, the curiosity had worn off in a matter of seconds and he was ready to be back under a green tinted sky. 

“Shadow.” Rufus froze, hearing the hiss come from behind him. He should have sensed her before hearing her but she was good. Better than good; she was the best and as much as he wanted to deny it, he knew it to be true. 

“Here for a quick visit?” he replied. Rufus didn’t turn to face her; he knew what the Finder looked like and didn’t need to see her pinched up cold face to increase his displeasure at her presence. 

Her quiet footsteps came up to his right. Wrapping his fingers around his knife, he knew she would already have her weapon at the ready. “How long have you been here?” she asked icily. 

“Oh, not too terribly long, my lady,” Rufus said. “You? Find anything interesting?” He heard an airy laugh escape her lips. “I was considering leaving in a short while, as a matter of fact. Care to join me?”

He felt her shift her weight beside him. She was standing just out of his peripheral, on purpose, of course. She doesn’t know I’ve found her, he realized. She didn’t even know he had been sent for her. I am as much of a surprise to her as she is to me, he thought.

“I think I shall be taking my own path. Alone,” she snarled. Rufus swirled on the bench, knife raised and found himself staring at an empty space in the grass. 

“What an unpleasant, unexpected complication,” he sighed. He could only assume who had sent the Finder and it made his decision with timing much easier. “Tonight it is.” Sheathing the blade, he hopped off the bench and headed towards the sand colored house several blocks away where he knew the girl would be packing her bag for her getaway plan he was about to ruin.