I think I’m losing my mind. Even at the best of times my inner narrator provides an occasional play-by-play of my existence, but my current level of running commentary is reserved for the times when I’m almost exclusively absorbed in my writing, as I am now.
The source of this narratus intrusionous? I spend hours recounting the lives of my characters, and then I can’t seem to find the switch to turn off the narration. This means that I can’t do anything without a witness in my own brain observing all and synthesizing it into giant globs of first-draft text. Believe me, there’s nothing that will point out how mundane your life can be like having a blow-by-blow account of petting your cat or going to the bathroom. To illustrate, let me provide an especially riveting example from last night:
Caryn pulled open the fridge door and scanned the shelves, searching for a snack. Nothing. The pantry? Still nothing. Perhaps the freezer would come through. Of course, last night the freezer yielded a half-empty bag of dehydrated peas and a frozen pizza, but there was always hope…
This commentary is disturbing for several reasons. First of all, I’m referring to myself in the third person. That in itself is a clue that I need to fire my narrator and get a new one. Nothing against third person — I use it in my writing all the time — but when it comes to my own thoughts, I should at least be the lead character in my own life. Which makes me wonder: if I’m not the one doing the narrating, who is? I’d like to say it’s a gorgeous muse with flowing hair and a benevolent smile, filling sheets of parchment with golden words. Her quill pen yields a graceful cursive, and every line is poetry. The truth is more likely a cranky woman named Dolores residing in a shadowed corner of my brain. She has a gravely voice, a smoker’s cough and the language of a longshoreman. In-between attempts to brush away the dust in the air, she bangs away on the keys of a typewriter that is at least as crotchety as she is.
Second of all, I hyperbolize, even when I’m the only audience for my self-narrations. Sure, the quest for dinner didn’t stop with the freezer, but we certainly have more than a frozen pizza and an old bag of peas in there. That doesn’t make for good copy, however, so Dolores reworked the truth to add a little tension.
And, finally, it’s boring, despite the venture into hyperbole. Which is what I rediscover about my life whenever my inner narrator kicks in: There’s not a lot of drama, and when any does come along the hag in the attic actually shuts up so I can focus. That’s why I write. I get to give my characters exciting lives full of adventure and mayhem. Not that I’m complaining, really. That excitement often includes betrayal, war, pestilence, murder, and mass amounts of family turmoil, none of which I want in my own life. What I do want is for the voice to go away when I turn off the computer so I can have a little peace. <!– ckey=”2942F58A” –>
I totally do this! I’ve always narrated my life within its own story. and of course related to stories I’ve read or am reading.
I like your narrator. Crotchety is more entertaining, I say. Narrate on.
This is too funny – I do this, but until I read your post didn’t realise it wasn’t just a perfectly normal sort of thing to do!!
Hmmm…I’m seeing a pattern. Many of us do this! I gather I also use hand gestures. As a neighbor was kind enough to point out after she passed me out walking! I like your blog.
Snort! I do this too. Then I imagine how it could be better. “She opened the fridge door, there was nothing. George Clooney slipped beside her pulling her away. “Don’t worry my love,” he said. “We’ll go out.”
Sarah, good to hear I’m not alone!
Courtney, that is a good point. As for ‘crotchety’, that’s the word I was looking for, but I had to use ‘testy’ instead. Am going back to change it now! Thanks for the word. 🙂
Christina, I don’t think it is normal. At least, the nonwriters I know don’t live under such a, well, curse or blessing, whichever you want to call it.
Thanks, Barrie! And thanks for stopping by. 🙂 And I think you’re right; it sounds like it’s fairly consistent among writers.
Eileen, this cracked me up! I’m so jealous that your narrator would be so kind. Want to trade?
I do this same thing. Part of me is thrilled by it. Because it makes me think, you know, maybe it’s meant to be this way. But most of me just thinks I’m crazy. 🙂 Nice to know I’m in good company.
Glad to know I’m not the ONLY one with those voices.
E
LOL Caryn – you want what we all want. And yeah, what is up with that 3rd person narrator thing? For crying out loud. I’ve often thought that one of the reasons I became a writer was to give my narrator something to do and keep her out of trouble. 😉
WC
I guess I am still all by myself as I hear the soundtrack in my head as things happen. At least I haven’t got anyone telling me to burn things yet……
Does she finally find the snack?? And What was it I am hungry!