In many cities, the threat of the novel coronavirus and the efforts to slow its spread have altered daily life dramatically. Ordinary objects (doorknobs, soap) seem transformed, banal activities — biting a nail, buying milk — freighted with danger. New vocabulary has emerged, as have new habits and new ways of navigating a narrowed landscape.

Still, if you see enough theater and you have, like me, a fascination with onstage dystopias, certain elements may feel familiar — restrictions on movement and behavior, distrust of the environment and each other. “King Lear” and “Endgame,” “Far Away” and “Blasted” are classics of the genre. But you could fill a shelf with plays of the past several decades that have dreamed bleak outcomes for humanity. And then, in a pinch, you could burn that shelf and those plays for warmth.

Recently, I spoke with several playwrights — via telephone and email — about what it is like to first imagine a cataclysm and then live through one. Because playwriting is a solitary art, many of the men and women described routines that felt both somewhat typical and wholly changed. “Friends have suggested that I must be coming up with so many stories during this time,” Robert O’Hara said. “I’m simply hoping we all make it through this alive.” These are excerpts from the conversations.

José Rivera, “Marisol”

The Public Theater, 1993

Apocalyptic event A young copy editor navigates a despoiled New York City. The moon has disappeared, and food has turned to salt.