On Thursday, March 12, 2020, as I drove home from work, I wondered what it would be like to keep driving. We had learned that day that our campus would be closing for the next three weeks, possibly longer. I imagined heading for an isolated cabin and hunkering down to ride out the pandemic that was washing across the country. What would it be like to cut myself off from family, home, work, news — from the whole world?
I thought about what I would do if I had been infected with COVID-19. I usually don’t entertain worst-case scenarios, but I indulged the prospect as I navigated the route I had driven thousands of times before. What if I had shaken one too many student hands during the last few days? What if I had hugged one too many colleagues after we talked about the deadly plague that dominated hallway and office conversations? What if I brought the virus home with me and infected my wife?
Could I isolate myself from everything that had seemed important in my life up to that point?
Of course not. My wife and family are the greatest sources of love and belonging in my life. My work helps me afford my home and, more importantly, lets me contribute to making the lives around me better. Keeping informed helps me contribute as a knowledgeable citizen in a complex world. I could never leave these beloved aspects of my life behind.
But the classic fiction writer’s question (“What if?”) still tickled my imagination as I drove home. I wouldn’t keep driving until I disappeared, but what if I made up someone who did?
I pondered that fictional man who ran away. Who would he be? What if he had good reasons to suspect that he’d been infected? What if he had been exposed to the disease in a way that he didn’t want to explain to his family? What if he had the means and the motive to step outside his life? What kind of person could do this? He’d be cynical in a time desperate for hope, superficial when he needed depth, complacent when called to meaningful action, successful but overflowing with doubt.
While I definitely didn’t want to be that man, I kept thinking about him. When I got off the interstate, I parked on a side street, grabbed a notebook, and jotted these words: “Guy possibly infected by coworker. Isolates in cabin for two weeks. Keeps journal.” I stuck the note in my pocket, drove the last few miles home, embraced my wife, checked the news, and started planning how to move my on-campus classes online.
The next day, I spent 45 minutes isolating myself in the basement on the exercise bike where I have a stand for my laptop so that I can write while I pedal. That’s kept me motivated for writing and exercising. On that first day, I wrote the initial journal entry for my fictional protagonist in his isolation cabin. The writing process was intriguing and kept my mind moving creatively during a crazy time when writing coherent nonfiction (sometimes even functioning coherently) was difficult. Tapping out a few hundred speculative words while spinning in place felt like an anchor holding me steady in the pandemic storm.
The next day, I reread my previous day’s writing while taking short breaks from working on my classes and communicating with students and colleagues. Then I guessed what my character’s second journal entry might be, climbed aboard the exercise bike, and wrote a few hundred more words.
Then, as we have all tried to do during this pandemic, I kept going.
For the next month, I drafted new journal days while sweating in the basement. My protagonist developed a family, a career, a point of view, a past, and even an inkling of his future. I shared the idea with a few friends who wanted to read the finished story. When it became long enough to be a short book, I thought I might try to publish it and donate any profits to organizations helping people during the pandemic.
The completed manuscript was different from anything that I’d ever written, and I had no idea if it was any good. The title was the only part that I knew was terrific: “Fever Cabin.” So I sent the manuscript to some writers I trusted and asked if they would “blurb” it — meaning write a brief comment about the book. To my surprise, they wrote back quickly with encouragement and praise way beyond what I expected.
What started as the flight of my anxious imagination during a pivotal drive home is now an actual book. Anyone who buys “Fever Cabin” will be donating to The Community Foundation of Western Massachusetts COVID-19 Response Fund (to help people right here where we live) and Feed America (to provide food assistance for people across the country).
As a bonus for your donation, you’ll get an odd story that I hope you’ll appreciate during these more-than-odd times, maybe some reading material to help you get through another day of isolation in your own fever cabin. And you’ll have my gratitude for your contribution.
John Sheirer is an author and teacher who lives in Florence. His most recent book is the pandemic-themed novella, “Fever Cabin.” Find him at JohnSheirer.com.