Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: novel

November is novels all the way down (part seven)

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In the last post, I wrote about diversity and how it’s not a dirty word. I also wrote about how it’s a part of me and not an affectation. I will say that it’s deliberate in that I choose to make the majority of my characters minorities. So, yes, in that case I’m doing it on purpose. I am not doing it at anyone in particular, but if I upset certain people in the meantime, well, that will please me greatly.

Some people are worth pissing off is what I’m saying. Yes, we need to be civil in general to work as a society, but when people break that social contract by being bigoted assholes, I am no longer beholden by that social contractor to those people.

There are going to be three main characters, and nary a cishetwhiteman among them. I will admit it amuses me to see how far I can go without having one as a main character. I have three or four other characters in mind (not fleshed out yet), and none of them are CHWM, either (figure it out).

I have a snapy beginning to my novel. The first few pages have been written–in my mind. This is how I write, by the way. I write in my brain before I write for real. That’s my way of planning/scheduling/outlining. I do a big brain dump as I’m musing things over in my mind. Then, I write in my mind for a few weeks. Then, I start the actual writing, and it’s like a brain dump agai, but in a more orderly fashion.

Before my medical crisis, my writing regime was pretty uniform. I wrote 2,000 words a day like clockwork in the fashion I outlined above. I edited as I wrote, though I tried not to do that. I rarely had a writer’s block, and I could finish a novel in a few months.

When I used to do NaNoWriMo, I had no problem meeting the word count. Why did I start doing it? Just to get back in the habit of writing again. I set my own goal of 2,000 words a day, and I was able to do that with ease. One year, I did 5,000 words a day–that was exponentially more difficult. In the later years of doing it, I started breaking the rules. I edited a novel one year. I wrote a novel and the the beginning of a sequel another year. I started on a day other than the first of November in yet another year. Before November, I mean.


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Noveling all November long (part six)

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I’m back to write about writing one more time. In the last post, I veered into ranting about the state of the world right now and how anti-inclusive it currently is (especially in America). I have been fighting this fight for thirty goddamn years, and I’m so tired. I did not realize that electing a black man would create a backlash this severe, but here we are.

I haven’t felt this hopeless in years. Politically, I mean. I don’t know if we as a country can recover from the shit that is happening right now. More to the point,  I don’t know if we should. We are not really a country–we are a conglomeration of fifty small nations. A resentful conglomeration.

There is no compromise, by the way. You’re either for inclusivity or you’re not. If you’re the latter, then you’re part of the problem. If you can’t even tolerate people who are different than you, then we have no ground that is common.

Back in the day, many minorities didn’t ilke the word tolerate. They wanted to be accepted as they were. Which, yes, ideally, that would happen. You can’t legislate that, though. You can’t mandate how people feel (though, lord knows,the curret admiistration is trying to do so), but you can dictate how they act. I don’t care if people accept me or not, but goddamn it, they can at least be civil–even if it’s just by a thread.

I include all this in my writing because it’s a part of me. It’s the fabric of my life, and it’s not an affectation. This is what the alt-right doesn’t get–we are not being who we are to spite them: that’s just an added benefit! I’m not agender, queer, and Asian AT them–it’s just who I am. My life experience, and, indeed, my very being, include all those aspects of myself.

The fact that I died (twice!) and came back to life (twice!) has deeply affected me as well. I learned things from that experience that I could not have learned any other way. Unfortunately, it’s not something I can share with many people because it’s so out there. I want to include it in my novel, though, beacuse it’s just that unusual. Will people believe me? Probably not, but that bothers me not.

In my first few attempts at a novel after my medical crisis, I really tried to set it in the hospital. It was such a wild experience; I still haven’t completely digested it yet. At some point, I realized that everything I thought happened while I was in the hospital didn’t. Well, to be more precise, most of what I thought happened did not.

I was as high as a motherfucking kite, and I was delusional/hallucinating the whole time. Some of the things that I thought happened did actually happen, but not in the way I thought. For example, I was so impressed that there were so many people of color on my team. I live in Minnesota, which means the vast majority of people are white. My experience in the hospital was that everyone but a few people were non-white–specifically, they were Asian.


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November means novel to me (part five)

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Back for yet another round of talking about writing a novel in November. Here is my post from yesterday in which I touched on the same topic. In rereading the last post, I realized that I didn’t write about writing at all. That’s hilarious, but so true to my heart.

Jerks like to complain about ‘woke’ characters in pop culture. It happens a lot in video games, and I see it in other mediums, too. If the main character of a video game isn’t a cishetwhiteman, then, it’s pandering to the ‘woke’ crowd. Including pronouns in the game? WOKE. Nonbinary as a gender? WOKE. I’ve told this before, but there’s a document floating around the internet that is a list of all ‘woke’ video games. What makes a ‘woke’ video game? (And, yes, I’m going to keep putting ‘woke’ in quotes because as long as it amuses me).) According to this doc, a Pride flag made a game ‘woke’. Any major character being anything other than a cishetwhitedood was ‘woke’. Of course, anything LGBTQ+ was ‘woke’.

I’ve heard this whining for so long. It was called affirmative action in the nineties/aughts, and my god, cishetwhitemen like this are so goddamn fragile. They like to call us special snowflakes, but they are the ones who are sniveling and whining when a game’s protag is anything but (say it with me), a cishetwhiteman.

Bro. Brah. My dude.

Do you know how many video games star a cishetwhitedude? Even with all the diversity that has floated into games (and I, for one, am very pleased about it), I would guess that 75% of games (and I’m being conservative here (the only time I will be conservative)) star a cishetwhitedude. If you want to play as a cishetwhitedude, you have SO many options!

Also. I just need to point out that women (and, I’m assuming women-adjacent people) make up nearly fifty percent of gamers. In some countries, they (we) are in the majority of gamers. In other words, by putting more so-called diversity into games, developers are acttually making the games more realistic than they were before.

I’m Asian, AFAB, agender, areligious, queer, not married, and no children. That’s my life. That’s who I am. I’m not a made up character; I’m living a so-called ‘woke’ life. I’m environmentally conscious, pro-choice, an anarchist, and I would be a small-l libertarian if it weren’t such a dirty word. I believe in the collective and lifting up each other.

None of that is fake or an affect; it’s simply who I am. And there are a lot of people like me. We’re not trying to be weirdos or out there or ‘woke’. We just are. I know it’s hard for some people to believe, but we are not who we are AT them; we. just. are. Are some of a bit extra because of them? Hell, yes, but that’s a pretty normal reaction.


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Novel in November (part four)

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Here’s the thing about writing a novel (at least for me). When I get an idea in my head that won’t leave, I know I need to write about it. Before my medical crisis, this was not an issue because what got stuck in my head was what I wanted to write about, anyway. Now, however, I’m not sure I want to write about what I’m obsessing over–even though it will be the background for what I do want to write.

Oh, here’s yesterday’s post. I went off the rails for quite a long time, but that’s part of my writing style. It’s not going to change, and let’s face it, I don’t want to change it. I ilke it. I think it gives my writing character. I already know that I am not for everyyone if not most people, and I am fine with that, too. In fact, there are people I hope I’m not for, and I want to antagonize the shit out of them.

To put it plainly, I write about several topics that fit into the term DEI. Which, as we know, is a dirty word with the current administration and his acolytes. I talk about race, gender, sexual identity, religion (a lack there of), and other things considered problematic by this administration. I’m not married, and I don’t have kids; I have no desire to marry, and I never wanted children. I had cats, which I much prefer to human babies (for me).

I don’t believe in rigid gender norms/roles–indeed, I don’t see any reason for them. One of the reasons I have an easy time with pronouns is because, well, there are several reasons for that. The reason related to this is that since I don’t see why we have rigid gender roles, it’s easy for me to accept people as their stated gender.

I don’t know if I’m explaining this well, so I’ll try again.

I’m a weirdo. I have always been a weirdo. I have always had to mask and calibrate myself to not freak out the normies too much. I didn’t even realize I had to do this until I was in my twenties (which made my childhood and teens very difficult). Once I realized how much of a weirdo I was, I studied normies so I could try to see what made them tick. Plus, the whole emotional support person thing I’ve talked about countless times before (my mother forced me to be that for her). I put my high EQ to work, and I came up with an acceptable way to be around normies–for the most part.

There is very little that I find shocking as a result. I mean, there are things that bother me, disturb me, and disgust me, but shock me? Very rare. That’s not a flex or a humblebrag, by the way. It is just the way I am.


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November means novel time! (Part three)

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I’m back to write more about the novel I want to write this November. I tend not to make goals unless I am firm about meeting them because I don’t need to feel bad about anything more than I already do.

I have the strong desire to write a novel this November. Or rather, to write a novel in general, and I’m using November as a springboard for it.

Here’s what I want to include in it (in a general way). I want it to be funny. I tend to write humorously in a way that borders on darkly sarcastic. I am not good with descriptions, so I rely heavily on dialogue (which I am good at). I’m also good at characterization and giving people personalities.

I was a psych major in college, and I have had a life-long interest in the subject. I am really good at reading people, uncannily so. I often know more about people than they know about themselves, but I learned in my twenties to keep that shit to myself.

It’s interesting how freaked out people get when I say something about them that they didn’t know they were revealing. I’ve been in forums where people insist that nobody can do that. Or that empaths aren’t real. Or that it’s always a bad thing when someone says they’re an empath.

It’s like anything else in that if someone insists they’re something or pride themselves on it, yes, it’s a problem. Like the ‘nice’ guy who endlessly talks about how nice he is really isn’t. Or rather, he mistakes basic decency as something he should get kudos for. One should just not identify too strongly with any one thing about themselves.

Each person is the cumulation of many things–not just made up of one thing. That one thing can go in a flash, too, so it’s best not to get too comfortable with it. Like my brother insist that he’s pure logic. He’s not. Yes, he’s more logical than not, but there are ways in which he lets his emotions influence his thoughts and behavior. I’m not saying this is a bad thing! I’m just saying that if someone can’t/won’t see those aspects of themselves, it’s really easy to get scammed.

I can tell within ten minutes of talking to someone so many things about them. When my brother first started dating again, he would tell me about his dates and want me to give him an analysis of each one. He used to joke about having me eat at the table next to theirs so I could do an on-the-spot analysis. I declined (he was only joking, anyway), but I mention it to point out that I have a gift for reading people. It’s not a gift i want, and I would give it away if I could, but here we are.


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I will write a novel this November (part two)

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In the last post, I was writing about how I want to use November as novel-writing month once again. Even though NaNoWriMo is (deservedly) disbanded, I still think of November as the time to write a novel. I have not written a complete one since my medical crisis, so I’m going to give it my best shot this year.

One problem I’ve had all my life (and it’s only increased since my medical crisis) is that I constantly edit what I think because I don’t want to upset/offend anyone. The reason I do that is because it was drummed in my head at a very early age that other people’s emotions and feelings mattered whereas mine did not. More than that, mine were bad and not to be shown, especially if they were negative. In my family, the only emotions/feelings that mattered were my father’s and if he wasn’t around, my mother’s.

What’s more, I was severely criticized/chastised if I dared to let my emotions show. Add to that the fact that I’m weird so I tend to keep my opinions that aren’t important to myselfd. Meaning, pop culture. I’ve joked/not joked about how I got dumped for my opinion on Pulp Fiction (hated it), and while that was a very particular situation, I’ve found that many people do not take it well when you don’t like something they love. No matter how gently I phrase it, it’s not taken well by the majority of people, so I don’t bother saying it until I know someone well enough to be assured they are not going to freak out.

I will say that I’m not trying to be contrary when I don’t liek something popular; I really am not. I usually know what I will and won’t like because my taste is very definite, but I have been surprised a time or two (in a positive way). I did not think I would like The Royal Tenenbaums, (Wes Anderson) but much to my surprise, I enjoyed it immensely.

When I write, there’s a soft, but persistent voice in the back of my mind telling me not to write this and not to say that. I can write pretty gruesome things without blinking an eye. I don’t find horror stuff scary, so I can throw any amount of that into my writing without a care in the world. But I can’t say shit that would be hurtful to people I really care about, even if it’s for the sake of fiction.

I have to get past that if I’m going to write a novel worth reading. I don’t want it to be safe, bland, or boring. On the other hand, I don’t want to just parrot shit that is hurtful without being intentional about it. I’m tired of hipster hatred. It’s not funny; it’s not clever; it just allows people to say shit that is hurtful under the thin veneer of comedy. There’s a YouTube content creator I watch that is starting to do this more and more, and it’s turning me off.


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November can still be novel-writing month

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For quite some time, Novemember has been novel-writing month for me. I have done NaNoWriMo for over a decade, and in the latter years of doing it, I became a NaNoRebel instead because I was bored with the original premise (writing 50,000 words in the month). I’ll be honest–I can easily write 50,000 words in a month. I used to write two-thousand words a night every night, which took me roughly three hours or less.

Two years ago (I think it was), NaNoWriMo was accused of not doing enough when a moderator was purportedly grooming children in the teen forums and luring them to fetish websites. NaNoWriMo organizers/leaders did not react well at all, and they dragged their feet on doing anything concrete about it.

Last year, they made some very ill-formed remarks in support of AI for disabled writers/writers with disabilities (they were widely condemned by said community), and they were called out for their ableism. They shut down the last day of March this year (2025).

I felt no remorse to see them go. In addition to their reacting badly in these two major situations, I had just outgrown them. I did not see any reason to not start a novel before the first of November or not to edit or to count my words. I am grateful that they got me in a groove back when I was doubting my ability as a writer, but I did not need them by the time they shut down.

I will say that I’ve had a big writer’s block since I had my medical crisis. I have tried to write since then, but it’s been a struggle. Not these posts, but writing, ah, let’s just call it fiction for now. It’s not strictly fiction, but that’s close enough.

The problem isn’t that I don’t have an idea–I have one. It’s changed  and shifted in the four years since my medical crisis, but the core is still there. The problem is that I write about thirty thousand words (or more), and they just lie flat on the page. They don’t dance and glimmer as they should; they just stubbornly sit there.

I have said many times that I consider myself the conduit for the characters I create. I’m not writing their dialogue and actions–they are. I have had characters simply refuse to do what I want them to do if it’s not what they want to do.

With my current project (well, current as in the one I want to work on, but I have not touched it since last November), I have been calling it ‘everything and the kitchen sink’ in my head. Why? Because I want it to be part memoir, part murder mystery, part romance, part comedy, part noir spoof, and part homage to Bloodborne. Oh, and all cohesive. Or not. I want it to work, but it doesn’t have to be cohesive, exactly.

I’ve always been weird. It’s only been relatively recently that I’ve figured out (with the help of a friend) some big reasons why. It’s not because my brain is broken, which is what I’ve thought for decades. Well, the mainstream and normies would probably consider it broken, but it’s that I’m neuroatypical.


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