Christy Writes: When The Voice Won’t Shut Up
I’m waist-deep into my newest book, and it is a radical departure from my previous two books. Consequently, I’m spending a lot of hours and mental energy on it, which means I’m also spending an inordinate amount of time dealing with The Voice.
You know the one I mean. The one that pipes up at inopportune times and says stuff that distracts you or makes you question yourself. No one likes dealing with The Voice, but it can pretty much be the kiss of death for me when I’m writing. Let me show you what I mean.
Me: *writing away industriously*
The Voice: What in the world does that mean?
Me: Quiet, I’m just trying to get this thought down. I’ll edit later.
The Voice: I sure hope so, because if that hot mess of a sentence goes to print, they’ll be doing a Saturday Night Live sketch about you within the week.
Me: I said be quiet.
Me: *writing away again*
The Voice: We need a snack.
Me: We do not need a snack.
The Voice: Fine. But don’t blame me when your blood sugar drops and you get the shakes.
Me: Given that the giant bowl of Lucky Charms an hour ago was your idea, I really don’t think it will be an issue. Now be quiet.
Me: *writing away again*
The Voice: Hey, you should go check the mail. I think there might be checks in the mail today.
Me: If there are checks in the mail, they’ll still be there later.
The Voice: Yes, but if there are, you should probably get them in the bank before 3:00. You know, since you’ve written 83 checks in the past week and not remembered to put any of them in your checkbook register.
Me: IT’S FINE. Now be quiet!
Me: *writing away again*
The Voice: Are you sure you should be writing this book in the first person?
Me: I am twenty chapters in. I’m not changing the voice now.
The Voice: First person is tricky. You can’t get into other characters’ heads at all.
Me: I wish you would get out of my head.
The Voice: Ha. Good luck with that. Although if you get me a snack when you come back from checking the mail, we may be able to negotiate.
Me: I don’t know why you think I’d ever listen to you anyway.
The Voice: You used to listen to me.
Me: Yes. Yes, I did. And as a result of listening to you over the years, I bought not one but two lousy cars based solely on the fact that I liked the color, tried four different colleges, married the wrong man, and once dyed my hair so black I made small children cry in the street.
The Voice: Haha, yeah. Good times.
Me: So you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t listen to you now.
The Voice: You’ll be sorry.
Me: I’ll risk it. Now be quiet.
Me: *writing away again*
The Voice: I don’t know why you think anyone is going to want to read a book like this anyway.
Me: Because it’s different.
The Voice: It’s different because nobody’s writing books like this. Hey, here’s a thought: maybe writers aren’t writing books like this because people don’t want to read books like this.
Me: You don’t know what you’re talking about.
The Voice: Fine. I don’t know what I’m talking about.
Me: So we’re in agreement. Good. Now be quiet.
Me: *writing away again*
The Voice: Did you ever wonder if maybe you should have been a painter instead of a writer?
Me: No. Now be quiet.
The Voice: Writing is hard. The field is really competitive.
Me: So is painting. Now be quiet.
The Voice: At least with painting, I wouldn’t have to read a sentence like the one you just wrote. Is that even English?
Me: I might be able to write better if you’d be quiet.
The Voice: I doubt that.
Me: Listen, you. I am writing. I am a writer, ergo I write. I don’t need your distractions or your criticism. If you were an app I could uninstall, I’d have done it ages ago. Now for the last time, shut up so I can write.
The Voice: FINE. Fine. You don’t have to be such a jerk about it. You won’t hear another peep out of me.
Me: Good.
Me: *goes back to writing and enjoys ten blissful minutes of silence*
The Voice: Is it time for a snack yet?
The Voice makes us all tired…
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