NaNoWriMo is fast approaching–where the hell has 2024 gone? Seriously. I know that this is a trope, but it’s also true. Every year does, indeed, go faster than the year before. Yes, I know this is not possible, but I am also not possible. So there! Oh, and here is the post from yesterday.
I know why it is, of course. It’s beacuse when you’re a kid, a year is a huge chunk of your life. When you’re five, it’s one-fifth of your years on this earth! I remembering waiting or Christmas (when I actually believed in Santa–which was up to eight or nine) and it took F-O-R-E-V-E-R. Now, a year is but a sharp inhale or maybe the following exhale.
I’m fifty…ah…three? Yes. Fifty-three. I’m never quite sure because I always add a year to my age at some point before I turn the next age. No idea why, really. In Taiwanese culture, you’re one at birth, so maybe that has something to do with it? It doesn’t help that I consider September 3rd to be my re-birthday. (In that case, I’m three.)
Anyway. This year has just flown by. I think in part because I have been grieving since February. Grieving is strange. It makes time both expand and contract. Sometimes at the same time. It seems like just yesterday that the tragedy happened. At the same time, it seems like forever ago. I have not been able to write (except here) since then–which I’m sure is part of the issue.
It’s nearly November. It’s because I’m thinking about NaNoWriMo that I’ve been musing about time in general. And because it’s been three years of bonus days of which I’m feeling I’m not taking proper advantage. Ugh. That was a terrible sentence. Let me phrase it better. I died (twice) on September 3rd, 2021. I was not supposed to come back, but come back, I did. Twice! Only to fall back into unconsciousness again. I was in a coma for a week, and my medical team told my brother to start thinknig about pulling the plug. Strongly advised.
And then I woke up. And while I was drugged out of my mind, I was able to do everything reasonably well. And was back home in a little over a week. No rehab. No physical therapy. Still drugged the fuck up, but functional. I could not read for the first few days I got home (blurred vision), but that went away fairly quickly.
Well I went far afield there, didn’t I? Let’s get back to brainstorming what I want to do for NaNoWriMo this year.
Yesterday, I was talking about the mystery trilogy I wanted to tackle. I have the first two books loosely planned out in my mind. And, yes, this is the way I used to write before the medical crisis.
Side note: It’s hard to know what is the result of my medical crisis and what is the result of aging. It’s also difficult to know if my current lack of writing output is because of my personal tragedy. Every time I try to write, my emotions get all tangled up, and the words just stop.
Back to my ideas.
The first book of the mystery trilogy will be set in the hospital as I mentioned. The second will be the mixing of two genres that I’m not sure can go together. And one of the genres is one that I hate. I want to see if I can bend the genre to my will and not the other way around. That’s how genres grow and change, right?
I actually have most of the second book’s plot ‘written down’. I put that in quotes because it’s in my head, not written down. That was the book I tried to write during NaNoWriMo either last year or the year before. I got the words, but it just wasn’t working the way I wanted it to. I have a lot of ideas for it, which is both my strength and my weakness. I have a hard time curtailing my excesses because everything seems necessary to me. And I have one hell of a time being linear. My brain loops and circles and cuts back and forth. I thought that everyone’s brain worked like that–but nope.
The third book, I don’t have an idea for that. Maybe two is enough! Oh wait. I kind of do. At least, I can see how I can split the two main ideas into books two and three. And in true Minna fashion, the meat of what I really want to stay will have to wait until the third book.
The more I write about this, the more I’m leaning towards it. I’ll table that for now and get to the next idea.
2. My memoir. What happened to me, the medical crisis, the two weeks in the hospital, and all the accompanying delusions is literally a unique experience. I know the trope is that nothing is new, but this is. Or rather, my expecrience is. I researched for hours and could not find anything close to it.
Here’s the problem with writing my memoir. Yes, that one experience is incredible and worthy of being told. But is my life surrounding it so? Not really. Could it be interesting to read? Yes. I have a way with words. That’s not me bragging, by the way; I just happen to know my strengths. Is it enough to make it worthwhile? I’m not sure.
I don’t want to write it in the conventional way, though. I think that goes without saying. I don’t do much of anything in a conventional way, so why would this be any different? I would like to do something creative with it, meaning write the time of me being in the hospital whilst under sedation as if what I was hallucinating was actually happening. In case you can’t tell, I really want to write about the delusions I had, but as if they were real. I have tried to do it in the past, but I cannot quite get the balance right. If I choose this option, it will be interesting to see how far I push the boundaries of what is real and what isn’t.
Of course, it’s not like I have to write one or the other. I can try to start both if I want–there’s nothing stopping me. This is the biggest thing I’ve taken away from NaNoWriMo; it’s there to help me. I tend to be a rules follower if there’s no reason not to be. But if I’m going to break the rules, I will smash them to smithereens. There is no in-between with me.
More tomorrow.