Wednesday, Feb 12, 

Day 19 inside, lots of friends send messages to stay strong. What they don't understand is this solitary life is peaceful.

I haven't had a sniffle for a month, but this morning Xiaolin is coughing; she's got a headache, and she naps half the afternoon. I drink a strong coffee, and I teach another class online. 

The virus has an official name, thanks to the WHO: COVID-19, designed to be forgettable. 

Xiaolin learns how to make pancakes, and I make a 'Quarantinos' Pickle Pizza.

I outline, and I write, and when that mythic, sweltering Chongqing sun lights me up, I sit on the balcony reading Stephen King until my face starts to burn. Later, I take former FBI negotiator Chris Voss's masterclass. He gives me an idea. 

This virus has taken China hostage, and we need a negotiator. 

"Hey, virus, I'm going to call you COVID-19, you can call me Kai.”

Gnashing teeth, blazing red eyes. "I'm a ferocious, virulent, coronavirus."

I use the late-night DJ voice. "It seems like being taken seriously is valuable to you." 

"I'm a world-class pandemic," it roars, puffing out its chest. "I'm gonna dwarf the Spanish Flu." 

"The Spanish Flu?" I mirror, inflecting my voice downward. 

"A century ago, you didn't even have planes, today I hopped around the world to 24 countries."

"What about traveling the world is important to you? It sounds like you want to be a big deal, be remembered." 

"That's right, better sit up, pay attention.” COVID snarls, mouth full of jagged crowns. 

I need to find a black swan. "What most worries you?" I could feel the palpable shift and smell the fear. "Ah, I see. We're all holed up in our houses, and we're bored, but you can't spread the way you want to."

COVID shifted on its paws. 

"You quiver in fear, and I'm outside waiting for you."

Tactical empathy. "How am I supposed to carry on with my life like this?" 

"Go outside. I dare you."

Drop an anchor, Chris whispers. 

"So let's say I go outside, what are we looking at? 20% complication rate? 2% fatality? The odds are pretty good for me." 

COVID growls, looking every bit the ferocious young Sagittarius, terrified of being boring.

"I want you to feel like you're being treated fairly. We respect you, you've ground the world's factory to a halt. We will never forget you."

Bend their reality, anchor them in preparedness for a loss. 

"But let's be honest here, you're nasty, but you're not the zombie plague. We can get over this. Keep this up, that universal vaccine gets to market all the faster. You're bigger and badder than SARS, COVID, and we're going to remember you." My voice is friendly, imploring. "We'll use you to help us prepare for the next big one. When we wash our hands, when we refuse to scratch our itchy noses, your name will be on our lips."

COVID stopped gnashing and considered. 

Use leverage. 

"I can make you famous, but you've gotta calm down so we can get up and running again." 

90 minutes later, we'd made a deal.