Would it surprise you to learn that I have always wanted to be odd? I like Sinatra’s music, but I’ve never wanted to be in New York or A-Number-One, Top-of-the-Heap. I much prefer being the kind of person who needs to be explained. I may be wrong, but to me, my mind seems to work in its own peculiar fashion.
At one time I worked in a psychiatric hospital in a locked unit where people were very reluctant to discuss the voices they heard in their head that no one else could hear. I freely confess that my imaginary friends speak to me. Ed Landry decided last night’s four AM bathroom break was the perfect opportunity to tell me how I messed up the last chapter I wrote.
That I see things differently and hear the voices of characters in books equips me to be a writer. If nothing else, it involves me in interesting conversations (or debates depending on your take). Just as talking to God enhances my spiritual walk, talking to my characters enhances my writing. It may sound like it but I’m not boasting. When other people begin to empathize with my invisible friends, I take it that I’ve done something right.
The truly scary part is that those voices are, more often than not, the voices of reason and sanity. How often I change my mind is a closely guarded secret. If it ever got out, my image as a hardline, narrow-minded geezer would be in serious jeopardy. In fairness though, there are some things I think that even the voice of reason fails to moderate.
In the lines of an old song: “You may be right. I may be crazy. Oh, but it just may be a lunatic you’re looking for…”
Maranatha
Comments