As the quarantine approaches infinity days long, I keep staring at the novel I’ve been working on, and I keep not working on it. Life seems to have passed it by, turned it into an artifact of a now forgotten world. Even though it’s, you know, science fiction.
I was also reading a well-received novel about life in modern Manhattan called Fleishman is in Trouble. I found it unbearable and gave up about a third of the way through. These people didn’t have real problems — they had no idea what was about to hit them.
And I wonder about TV shows. Grey’s Anatomy has been chronicling the lives of hot, horny doctors in Seattle for about a hundred years. They’ve dealt with ferry accidents and tornadoes and hostage situations and just about everything else — except what hit Seattle in real life a couple of months ago. How are the writers going to handle that? (How are they even going to film a TV show?
These are stupid things to be thinking about, I know. But the smart things to be thinking about are kind of, you know, terrifying.
Just imagine that by 2021, possibly sooner, we may see shows that are “Zoom Comedies” where the actors never leave the Brady Bunch/Hollywood Squares panels at the start of the show, and somehow interact. Someone will write a book about a Social Tracer detective or squad – heck there’s probably one already in the works. Godzilla v. Trump – in which a radioactive monster saves the rest of the world from the President of the United States – can probably be done entirely in animation with everyone working remotely. I wish I had the time to write a script for it to send to Studio Ghibli, who would reject it, so that I could send it to Toho Animation but hope that somehow Studio Pierrot or Bones Animation actually makes it.