Squid Game Convinced Me To Write a Novel for NaNoWriMo
A spoiler-free story about how I found inspiration
First Things First
When I bring up NaNoWriMo, the question I get asked most often is “what the heck is NaNoWriMo?”, so let’s get that out of the way first. It’s a catchy abbreviation of National Novel Writing Month, an open challenge to write at least 50,000 words on a novel in a month (specifically, the month of November).
Why 50,000? The number was chosen by Chris Baty, founder of the challenge, because it was an achievable (but challenging) novel length that people could generally agree was long enough to be “a novel”.
50,000 isn’t right for every project, or for every genre. For fantasy and sci-fi, 50,000 can be as little as half the length of popular stories. But, it’s a reasonable starting point for most writers and it’s freaking hard to do.
My History with NaNoWriMo
I’ve participated in NaNoWriMo each year since 2013, and I’ve won —meaning that I’ve met the 50,000 word count goal — every year for the past 5 years. It’s a time of year I look forward to because the rapid pace basically guarantees that I’ll get deliciously lost in the creative process.
In order to get 50,000 words in a month, you have to go fast. You have to write without fear, without going back to check your work, and without endlessly rewriting the same sentence to get it just right. There’s no space for doubt. There’s no space for uncertainty. There’s only space for frantic, furious, forward momentum.
It’s not for everyone, but NaNoWriMo makes me feel alive in a way few other things do. In fact, I’ve written before about how this intense period of focus has inspired the entire mindset that I now use to approach all my goals. Focus and immersion encourage creativity, and routine solidifies the habit. By November 30th, I’m so used to getting into the flow of writing that it’s nearly effortless.
Even with such a positive experience, I’ve been on the fence about NaNoWriMo this year because it wasn’t part of my plan.
My goal for 2021 was to put away other projects and focus on the game I’ve been developing. I wanted to work on one project until that project was done. I’ve been working on my game for the past 10 months and I’ve made excellent progress, but it’s not actually done yet. So, that’s that, I thought. I wouldn’t start a writing project this November. It was settled.
Then, I watched Squid Game.
Squid Game, if you have somehow missed the internet buzz, is a fairly new 9-episode series available on Netflix. It falls solidly into the “Death Game” genre alongside The Hunger Games, Battle Royale, and other less obvious relatives such as the “Saw” franchise and (in my personal opinion) Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
It ticks all the boxes that lovers of Death Games are looking for: contestants enter a game in which they compete for their very lives, often being pitted directly against other contestants in a violent manner.
Like all good stories, Squid Game goes a step further than its genre demands. Within the tightly-paced plot, there are compelling character arcs and deep emotional journeys for several main characters. They have separate stories, motivations, and conflicts that twist together beautifully at climactic moments.
I love a good Death Game, and probably would have enjoyed the plot even if layers of meaning and character growth were stripped away, but, as it is, I was entertained, moved, and inspired by the writing.
After watching Squid Game (twice), I knew I wanted to write a Death Game. Not only that, but I want to write a beautiful Death Game. It might seem like a grim choice, but writing characters that are facing almost-certain death allows a writer to explore a whole set of vibrant and heartbreaking aspects of the human experience.
What is a person willing to do in order to survive?
What about to win?
What won’t they do, no matter what?
How do they cope when hope is lost?
What will they sacrifice for love? For revenge?
With the dire consequences of a Death Game, we can explore the gritty, foundational elements of our characters (and, potentially, ourselves).
One thing that I think Squid Game does exceptionally well is explore what desperation can look like, and how deep its claws can sink into a person. We start with characters who feel that they have lost everything, and that lays them bare. Raw, unpredictable, and at times feral in their behaviors.
Ah, can’t you feel it? There’s so much potential here.
I loved Squid Game for the story, but I loved it even more for the craft. I can’t help myself now. I’m doing NaNoWriMo to follow the story threads that Squid Game inspired in me. I may not be the writer I need to be in order to write a truly beautiful Death Game, but, goddamn it, I am going to try.
Anyone with me?
