Ditching old routines and discovering new ways to tell stories in the time of COVID-19

For the better part of the last nine years I’ve maintained a consistent writing practice: getting up at 6 a.m. to write for a couple hours before going into work. This is the only way I managed to publish essays and a book. When the COVID-19 outbreak surged in the U.S., I was revising a draft of a new essay. I dropped the idea weeks ago. Yet inertia has propelled my groggy body out of bed at the same early hour. (The guilt for not getting up is no joke). But I’m not writing. 

This isn’t writer's block. I’m not staring at my computer and failing to find words. I’m not frustrated. I just. . . don’t want to. Suddenly I have this urge to literally put pencil to paper to draw. Draw! I’m not an artist. I draw for shit. But I dug out my old sketchbook and started doodling. I tend to make the same stuff: sharp, angular tulips and lopsided suns, swirls in margins, dots poked in random patterns across the paper. Over and over. And then there’s lists scribbled in pencil: money I spent at the grocery store, at the CVS. I sketched out some charts to compare numbers.

The particular kind of deep thinking in crafting essays, from ruminating on research and word choice, to combing through memories to weaving narrative threads together, feel so irrelevant now. My mind is consumed with thoughts of washing hands and monitoring my grocery supply. Instead of going into an office, I work from home. I avoid other humans because they really might be diseased. Everything is different. 

In a workshop at a writing conference, the author Lauren Groff gave this advice: “Write toward the heat.” Write about what you feel fired up about, what you can’t stop thinking about. That piece on female sterilization I was pitching? The new essay collection I wanted to outline? I feel no fire. Those ideas belong to another world. 

Still I get up early. A niggling voice reminds me that I carved out time specifically to write. But maybe it’s time to re-evaluate. I’ve suspected for a while that my routines have become a crutch. And not just this one, but other routines in my life too. What am I missing out on or reflexively avoiding or saying “no” to that I shouldn’t?

In the Bowie, Jazz and Unplayable Piano episode of the podcast Cautionary Tales, host Tim Harford talks about the complacency of routines and how over time they can stifle creativity. He tells the story of jazz pianist Keith Jarrett playing an “unplayable” piano at a concert in Koln in the 1970s. He didn’t want to play but went along with it after some expert pleading by teen organizer Vera Brandes. The Koln Concert is now the best selling solo jazz album of all time. The point, Harford makes, is new restrictions can spur creativity and problem solving. The broken parts that made the piano unplayable forced Jarrett to play differently than he ever had. He avoided the tinny upper registers and weak bass and focused on the middle. He stood and pounded on the keys so the audience in the back could hear. The results were breathtaking.

Tremendous restrictions have just been placed on all of us, in every way imaginable. All our routines, our “normal” have been upended by the pandemic. Not just in where we physically can go, but what and how we think. Strategizing about getting groceries, for example, has become a more mentally and emotionally consuming task than ever. However, maybe there is an opportunity for something new and good amidst all the chaos and anxiety and uncertainty? To roll with the restrictions we’ve been given since it is absolutely clear normal does not apply. Could we make something out of all of this?

It’s clear to me now that my meandering doodles are my way of finding a story in this pandemic, even if it’s not in the essay format I’ve used over the last decade. Now is the time to experiment with other forms of narrative, to experiment in general. Stories help us make sense of things. Stories help us find meaning. Stories help us feel in control of what’s happening in our world. And all our worlds’ have been squeezed down to the size of the square footage of our homes. That is where the heat is. 

To echo the advice of my coworker (who originally told me about the unplayable piano episode): figure out how to play the damn piano.

A new essay in the works on birth control and sterilization

I’ve been pretty pumped about the new year so far. I like change and new things so I am all about diving into 2020. One major reason is a new writing project that’s been percolating in the back of my head since the fall. The project might ultimately become a book -- a collection of essays. This is exciting and scary since it’s been a while since I’ve thought beyond just a few hundred words. 

Before I get too carried away and overwhelm myself, I’m focusing on one thing, one essay on the topic of voluntary sterilization procedures for women. (More commonly referred to as getting your “tubes tied”). I know someone who had this done recently— though her fallopian tubes were removed as opposed to tied or clamped— and that inspired so many questions (why, what prompted the decision, how does it feel, etc) I decided to write about it.

I also wanted to write about it because getting this procedure done never occurred to me, though I’ve known for a long time I didn’t want to have kids myself. Not one doctor mentioned tubal ligation to me, even though every gynecologist I’ve seen in the past 10-plus years knows I don’t want to get pregnant. A gynecologist even suggested I switch to an IUD when I told her I didn’t want kids, but she didn’t say anything about other options. I feel like tubal ligation or similar should have at least been mentioned. Does this happen to other women???

I’m really interested in learning what other women's experiences were like with voluntary sterilization procedures. How did they learn about them? Were there any obstacles to getting it done? How did they feel afterward?

So with this new writing project, I'm taking a new approach. Typically my focus is on personal writing (my life, really) whether it’s essay or memoir. With this topic, I’m approaching it more broadly, with the primary goal of learning from others instead of exploring my own ideas. This is actually not too dissimilar from the research approach I use in my day job, which is often geared toward understanding specific experiences, behaviors, or attitudes. 

Even though this writing project has nothing to do with my day job, it’s exciting that I can actually employ those skills in my writing. This is not something I thought having a non-literary job would do. Yay!

Which brings me to an ask: I’d love to learn about more women’s experiences getting any sort of voluntary sterilization procedure, whether it’s a tubal ligation, a salpingectomy, or something else.

I know this kind of thing is private and personal so I created a short, anonymous survey. If you’ve had a sterilization procedure yourself, please take a moment to fill it out. If you know of anyone who’s had one, send them the link! I’d appreciate it so much. OR just respond to this email and tell me your story! 

Any information will be folded into an essay on the topic. I don’t know what the angle is yet, but an ulterior motive is to acknowledge and discuss a procedure I suspect many of us don’t know much about. At least I didn’t.

I’m excited to see how this new project develops, and grateful for any support along the way. Stay tuned for more in 2020!