Fried

I cheat outrageously at NaNo since they no longer hold writers to a standard. 2014, the first year I participated, was one of the last good ones. Back then, you had to produce a 50,000-word document and run it through verification to award you a completion certificate. Now, you only must update your word count past fifty thousand. One recent year, I went from zero to fifty thousand the afternoon before Thanksgiving. I wrote every day that month. I just wanted to stop stressing about a story I didn’t care about and enjoy the holiday.

I’m not saying I’m there with 2024. My interest is flagging. It’s because of the ADHD and Big Lots keyboards not designed for human hands. I am still determining what I will do with the piece that lies about a sentence shy of ten thousand. I don’t like the idea. Still, I need to consider that fiction writing may be beyond me as a job. This is true until I manage my ADHD. Writing is not fun when it feels like someone is driving a railroad spike between the hemispheres of my brain.

ADHD can make concentrating feel like one is having a migraine. I never see the white spots in my vision, but my head is extremely painful, so I’m guessing lucky me has that manner of ADHD on top of the kind that makes it hurt to read. Now, if I could get a doctor to listen.

To writing, then, as this is work, though I love talking about creativity and communication.  There’s a scene in Bag of Bones that is useful here. Stephen King has the narrator, Mike Noonan, describe how his wife had to leave post-its on him. She left them to let him know what happened while he was writing.

That used to be me. Until college. Writing papers and blogging have me so frigged up that I consciously write now. It is a miserable experience. I used to just punch out and channel. Now, I want to be understood. It is fear of being doxxed or ignorant reactions to my work. (Accusations that I find idiotic but compelled to deal with.) Fear isn’t much of my make-up, so I think this could be a disconnect between my muse and me.

You kids should remember there is always a way through. Sometimes, you must cut through the brush to find it. Ashwagandha is a pain to take. Wellbutrin made me suicidal. There’s no hope of finding a medical professional with a clue. This stuff is losing to me because I will not quit until I win.

I filed for my divorce in 2016 without the aid of a lawyer (notice a pattern here?) When I did finally get in front of a lawyer, she said, “You fucked up exactly right.” I may have done it again.  It will take time and energy to fix the problems over here, but I will not stop. I’ve got enough stuff I can edit to keep momentum through 2025. If I feel like it, I can write fiction. Still, I want to weld the conscious to the unconscious. I aim to get something I love back.

[There’s also a chance this is caused by depression or my living situation, so it may flower as something different. I prefer letting go of NaNo 2024 over burning myself out worse than I already am.]

I read a solid article on the ADHD burnout cycle, but I don’t remember where or by whom. If it was on WP and you recognize the idea, give me a shout so I can credit the writer. The writer was a woman. Her great ADHD idea was a day free of “have-to.” This was her name for obligations one imposes on oneself. I love NaNo for what it did for me, but beware, it is a month full of “have-tos.” I think I made it only two days this year. Then, I needed a day off from the daily obligation of strapping myself in this chair. It is also entirely self-imposed. I have to fix me before I do anything else. That involves going to war with ADHD for stasis. Stasis is my word for the perfect day and minute I want to live inside. I will do this largely without help of any sort.