I mean, a big part of the reason has to do with blogs: no one blogs anymore. Except sometimes. But I think the main reason I haven’t done a lot of writing about pandemic life is because, as Madge always said, you’re soaking in it. (And if that just dated me, then let me be dated.)

I was a voracious sci-fi reader when I was a kid, but I tended to avoid the “big” titles that “everybody” read. Dune? Fahrenheit 451? Foundation? The Left Hand of Darkness? Never read a page. And I certainly missed out, in my little corner with my short stories from the 1940s, and The Stainless Steel Rat, and Wild Cards, and Dangerous Visions, and Callahan's Crosstime Saloon. But I just didn’t want to retread old ground.

So, I have nothing to say about pandemics that you couldn’t say about them. What I will say is that, as a writer, a life of forced isolation is a life of bliss. The only change is that I have an excuse now.

Stay safe, stay healthy.