When the planet went into lockdown, many who create for a living or for fun or as part of childhood found themselves being funneled into new ways of expression. Whether it was by design or the path of least resistance or by strict and enforced measures, the mind, we started to see, might adapt and evolve in many astonishing ways, for she needs to keep busied and purposeful.
I contacted friends, who in turn put out the word that there was an open forum, without specifications, without age limits; a blank page for those who wanted it. Seasoned and cynical poets, wanted hackers on the run, novelists, fathers, mothers, rock stars, grieving friends, ramblers, pals, big mouths, more shy types, Germans, and young uns. Welcome, all. Thank you, all.
This is your book.
When you are asked one chilly night far in the future, “Grampa/Nana, what did you do during the plague?”
You might rub your hands in front of a warm hearth, smile, chuckle and declare, “I was a poet.”
The proof of this you now hold in your hands.