I should probably start this by admitting I never meant to write Inventory.
I sat down one night with every intention of outlining something normal. A dark romance maybe. A thriller. Something marketable. Instead my brain, bless its feral ADHD logic, went: what if men were the ones shoved into collars, filed, processed, controlled like assets?
Do I have the focus to research this properly? Absolutely not. Do I have fifty tabs open on “how to forge official-looking intake forms” and “fonts that scream dystopian bureaucracy”? You bet.
Here’s the thing about ADHD and writing: you don’t decide what you’re working on. You’re hijacked. Some authors outline neat trilogies. I stare at the wall until a half-formed intrusive thought mutates into a 17,000-word manuscript about dehumanized men and the women who both break and break for them.
And honestly, it makes sense. Growing up, we were all fed dystopias about women being silenced, controlled, regulated. Important stories, yes. But the trope got stuck in my head and my brain shouted: “Cool. Flip it. What happens when the leash snaps onto men?”
Answer: chaos. Absolute chaos.
I spend my nights writing intake slips that read like DMV forms run through a nightmare filter. I draft propaganda slogans that sound suspiciously like something a middle manager would mutter at a staff meeting. I create characters who are broken in ways I wish I could stop thinking about, except ADHD means I think about them constantly, usually at three a.m. when I should be asleep.
Meanwhile my houseplants are dying, my laundry is in a semi-permanent chair pile, and I’ve forgotten where I put my coffee at least four times just while writing this post.
People ask me why this project matters. The polite answer: It interrogates power dynamics through a flipped lens. The honest answer: Because my brain said this was the only thing worth hyperfocusing on right now and I’d rather follow that fire than fight it.
Also, let’s be real, it’s fun. There’s a weird, guilty joy in taking every overblown dystopian slogan and slapping it on men for once.
“Non-Compliance Will Not Be Tolerated.” Sure, Kevin. Back in the cage.
I’m not saying it’s healthy. I’m saying it’s happening.