The Voices in My Head
I have been writing stories for most of my adult life - I had my first book published by the age of 24 and have been writing something new - ever since. If I ever nail it, I might quit. Yet, the thing about writing is that you never have the perfect story, or the perfect character, or the perfect ending. I suppose that is because you're always chasing what you can't catch. Which isn't to say that writing is without its rewards.
I've spoken to auditoriums full of people. I've taught writing classes. I've read my stories to college classes, and I've had my books on display in New York, Washington and Chicago - and you know, none of it truly matters. What is important is the journey - quieting the voices that scream inside my head for time.
I was writing my book In Real Life when my wife was pregnant. It's a coming-of-age story that was written about a man who imagined that the life he was living was close to the life that he wanted to live. I was about 3/4ths of the way through the book when I asked my wife to read up to where I was. I wasn't stuck, I just wanted some feedback - my wife came down the stairs with tears in her eyes.
"What happens next?" she asked.
"I have no idea," I answered.
"What do you mean, you have no idea?"
"It depends on Leo and Claire," I answered.
"Leo and Claire? Are you out of your freaking mind - they don't exist. You're Leo and Claire."
"No, they're real," I tried to explain. "They will tell the rest of the story in their own voice."
And you want to know what my wife said? "Get up there and finish it, you moron."
Yet, everyone who has ever placed a pen to the paper understands what I mean. The voices will terrorize you when you sleep, and enter your waking life as you drive, eat, or work. The very best of days is when my characters control my imagination for hours at a time. They keep me away from spending my time In Real Life.
Leo and Claire are doing quite well - if you ever have the chance, read the story that they begged me to tell. Voices, voices, everywhere - time to write something new.
I've spoken to auditoriums full of people. I've taught writing classes. I've read my stories to college classes, and I've had my books on display in New York, Washington and Chicago - and you know, none of it truly matters. What is important is the journey - quieting the voices that scream inside my head for time.
I was writing my book In Real Life when my wife was pregnant. It's a coming-of-age story that was written about a man who imagined that the life he was living was close to the life that he wanted to live. I was about 3/4ths of the way through the book when I asked my wife to read up to where I was. I wasn't stuck, I just wanted some feedback - my wife came down the stairs with tears in her eyes.
"What happens next?" she asked.
"I have no idea," I answered.
"What do you mean, you have no idea?"
"It depends on Leo and Claire," I answered.
"Leo and Claire? Are you out of your freaking mind - they don't exist. You're Leo and Claire."
"No, they're real," I tried to explain. "They will tell the rest of the story in their own voice."
And you want to know what my wife said? "Get up there and finish it, you moron."
Yet, everyone who has ever placed a pen to the paper understands what I mean. The voices will terrorize you when you sleep, and enter your waking life as you drive, eat, or work. The very best of days is when my characters control my imagination for hours at a time. They keep me away from spending my time In Real Life.
Leo and Claire are doing quite well - if you ever have the chance, read the story that they begged me to tell. Voices, voices, everywhere - time to write something new.
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