Month/Year
- April 2026
- April 2024
- June 2023
- April 2023
- April 2022
- March 2022
- November 2021
- July 2021
- May 2021
- April 2021
- December 2020
- November 2020
- October 2020
- September 2020
- August 2020
- June 2020
- May 2020
- April 2020
- March 2020
- January 2020
- December 2019
- November 2019
- October 2019
- September 2019
- August 2019
- July 2019
- June 2019
- May 2019
- April 2019
- February 2019
- January 2019
- November 2018
- October 2018
- September 2018
- August 2018
- July 2018
- June 2018
- May 2018
- April 2018
Tag
- A Scowl Becomes Me
- Abuse
- Agent search
- Audio book
- August
- Authenticity
- AutoCrit
- Balance
- Blog
- Blurb
- Book design
- Books
- Books on writing
- Brandon Sanderson
- Character names
- Cover art
- Cultural appropriation
- Depression
- Dialogue
- Editing
- Emotion
- Expenses
- Fans
- Haruki Murakami
- ISBN
- InDesign
- Japan Writers Conference
- Japanese content
- Kintsugi
- Language
- Life in America
- Life in Japan
- Mental health
- Murder
- Muse
- NaNoWriMo
- National Novel Writing Month
- Neyuki
- Orpheus Insufficient
- Orson Scott Card
- Pandemic
- Pantsing
- ProWritingAid
- Publishing
- Punctuation
- Routine
- Scrivener
- Self-publishing
- Sequel
- Sexual abuse
The idea: Under Shōko's Bed
I told her that I wished I could remain a little longer, that I would be happy just to stay under her bed. She laughed and I said goodbye and went home—and started ruminating. The idea of someone who is so shattered that he would curl up under a friend’s bed stuck in my imagination.
I am the first to admit that Under Shōko’s Bed is an odd tale. If the story is charming at all, I think the oddity is part of the charm, though. The germ of the story came on a visit to a dear friend of mine. (She is also the one who chose the name of the main female character, Shōko Kawasaki.) I had been suffering on and off with depression for years, and when it was time to leave the friend who so buoyed my spirits and go back to my day-to-day routine, I told her that I wished I could remain a little longer, that I would be happy just to stay under her bed. She laughed, which always lifts my heart, and I said goodbye and went home—and started ruminating. I had begun a novel before, but lost the motivation when I changed jobs and felt no more need to push out creatively to compensate for frustration in my work. But the idea of someone who is broken enough to actually carry through on my suggestion, to be so shattered that he would curl up under a friend’s bed, stuck in my imagination. I have known despair. I have wished I was dead, unable to stand the incessant pain of knowing my entire life would amount to nothing. I could imagine a person acting that mentally ill, because I was very nearly that bad off.
So in the periods when I wasn’t depressed, I wrote. I wish I could say that the writing is what healed me. It certainly helped, but what banished the depression completely two and a half years ago was finding the right doctor and then the correct combination of medications. Now the depression is gone, although not the daily struggle, so I continue to write. The healing goes on with each little success, but more than that, I simply enjoy getting the stories out of my head, turning them into words. Hopefully, those words will spark others’ imaginations too.
Finally, if the character’s depression in Under Shōko’s Bed rings all too true, you have my deepest sympathy. Just know that there is light at the end of the tunnel. I overcame depression and I believe that you can too. It’s worth trying—it truly is—even if just for today.