Being a writer during the quarantine

So I’m kind of proud of this.

My newspaper newsroom, the Portland Tribune, is closed for the quarantine, obviously, and everyone is working from home. Katy King and I live in a smallish, two-bedroom apartment. The smaller bedroom is Katy’s office, from which she runs her one-woman business. In order not to get in her way, and to minimize the impact on two of us working together, I devised a “deployable” office in the far corner of our living room.

The Portland Tribune “downtown bureau,” stowed away for the night.

During the evenings, the structure tucks away into a space 83 inches wide by 46 inches high. It’s behind a cement pillar that rises the height of our building — were on the 17th floor. After dinner, if we’re working on our fiction writing, or reading, or watching TV, it’s hardly visible. We keep the drapes open at all times because the stunning view of Portland is one of the primary reasons we’ve lived her for nine years. 

At around 8 a.m. each weekday, I “deploy” the office. It becomes 120 inches wide and 64 inches tall. I love a standing desk and have used one for decades, so that helps. I turn the leather chair around for those times I need to sit and work. I closed the drapes because of the glare.

The Portland Tribune “downtown bureau,” deployed.

I usually put in about 10 hours per day, more or less, as managing editor of my newsroom. In the late afternoon/evening, I reopen the curtains, lower the monitor, reverse and stow the chair, and once again the office is tucked away, out of sight.

Katy and I can go hours without seeing each other. We refer to the kitchen as “the cafeteria.” Despite the quarantine, we actually talk about our day over dinner, or over a glass of wine on the ouch. “How was your day?” Because, honestly, we’re both crazy busy, and there’s a ton to talk about. 

I have to say: It’s working pretty damn well.