A couple of months ago I started writing a new novel, titled Coma Confidential. I plan to publish it next year at volume I of a new series, yet to be named.
It is such a fun challenge to write my protagonist, not only because she starts out not knowing her identity and trying to gather the clues but also because of the special state she's in. Since she's in coma, she cannot see anything, so the only visual descriptions she offers are hallucinations, or else memories. But even while the visuals are restricted, there is a rich sensual input that she can interpret by listening intently to the people around her, who don't suspect she can hear them.
Here's a glimpse of what she's going through, see what you think of it:
Is there anything in my expression—a blush, perhaps, or a hint of a smile—that betrays my joy, my amusement at having fooled them, somehow, into thinking me senseless?
The nurse checks the catheter at the back of my hand. It is then that something strange begins to happen. A part of me seems to separate into the air. It floats up to the panels of acoustic ceiling, hovering next to that shiny curtain track. From there, I spot the top of her white cap as she tidies the sheets under me. There I am, crumpled on them, bandaged beyond recognition.
It is such a fun challenge to write my protagonist, not only because she starts out not knowing her identity and trying to gather the clues but also because of the special state she's in. Since she's in coma, she cannot see anything, so the only visual descriptions she offers are hallucinations, or else memories. But even while the visuals are restricted, there is a rich sensual input that she can interpret by listening intently to the people around her, who don't suspect she can hear them.
Here's a glimpse of what she's going through, see what you think of it:
Is there anything in my expression—a blush, perhaps, or a hint of a smile—that betrays my joy, my amusement at having fooled them, somehow, into thinking me senseless?
“Poor thing,” she says, talking to no one in particular. “This girl looks like a heap of bones, bound in gauze.”
At that, the breath goes out of me, as does the folly of thinking of myself as a Sleeping Beauty. To her, I look like a mummy. No, I am one. That’s not a bad thing, is it? I fancy myself as a dead Egyptian queen, being prepared for a journey to the afterlife. What makes this idea hard to accept is never having possessed any ruling powers. Or have I? My past is a mystery to me.
“Ah!” says the nurse. “Power is back on. What a relief!”
The hum resumes, and another sound comes alive, too. The tip of a pen is scratching across the surface of some paper. She must be reducing me to numbers, taking notes of my body temperature, pulse rate, respiration rate, blood pressure, and who knows what else. Can’t she stop, just long enough to call out my name, so I can begin to learn who I am?
The nurse checks the catheter at the back of my hand. It is then that something strange begins to happen. A part of me seems to separate into the air. It floats up to the panels of acoustic ceiling, hovering next to that shiny curtain track. From there, I spot the top of her white cap as she tidies the sheets under me. There I am, crumpled on them, bandaged beyond recognition.
Ash finds herself in the ER diagnosed with coma. She has no memory of what has happened to her, but what she can do--despite what everyone around her might think--is listen to the conversations of her visitors. Will she survive the power outage in the hospital and then, being kidnapped out of it?
wow Uvi, I cannot wait to read this book!
ReplyDeleteOh thank you Charlene, I am really excited about where this story is going!
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