The Escapism of Books, and My Own Novel

I’ve been spending a lot of time on my porch recently.

It’s my only connection to the outside world – here, I can wave and chat with neighbors like I always did, and for a moment, we can all pretend there’s not a pandemic on.

Today, the porch wasn’t as relaxing as usual. Just like two years ago after the synagogue shooting, there were news helicopters hovering nearby to cover the protests. I was there in spirit, we put up signs in the window to show our support and love for our neighbors.

I started writing my novel two years ago. It has been there with me through multiple crises, personal and societal. I can honestly say that it’s the biggest thing getting me through quarantine. While I can’t get out into the world, my story can, and it is!

As a child, I used to mentally escape into the adventures I found in books, but with my own novel, it’s like an endless story. I can take it a million places at once.

The country and the world are burning, and I‘m trying to explain all of this horrible injustice to my kids when I can’t even explain it myself.

At the same time as all of this horrific stuff, my readers loved and were deeply moved by my beautiful, silly, tragic story, and querying is going really well so far! Whenever the world gets to be too much, I can take myself into the world of my story, or into the career I’m trying to begin.

Worth noting: I got a professional query critique from The Evil Editor, here. Check it out! I’ve made some very important changes since.

Stay safe, friends.

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