Wakin’ Up in a First Person Mood

When you roll out of the sack, early in the A of M, do you start thinking about your writing for the day? Or has your brain already been ticking over for a while, putting together clever dialog for your mystery? How does your writing routine fire up, is the question of the day.

And if you’re one of those despicable people who don’t write early, you can move along now; nothing to read….

Most mornings it’s the thought of writing that entices me to struggle to the vertical position and stumble towards the magical caffeine extractor. (I think we made a particularly bad evolutionary turn when we moved to upright posture; some mornings that seems well nigh impossible to achieve.)

Recently I find I wake up with the voices doing their best to drown out the stories floating by. Dialog, always with the dialog. And it’s a whole more clever, the stuff they’re saying, than anything I manage to capture on my screen. (I sure hope they get those multi-sensor recording brain implants perfected soon; I could get so much more done in bed.)

This morning I woke up in a decidedly first-person mode. Arguing with at least three of the voices. Two of them faded with the blood rushing out of my head as I trudged to the kitchen. The other persistent chap wouldn’t give it up. Frankly, he was getting on my nerves. A whole lot more than mere caffeine deprivation could account for. By the time I had the first chocolate-colored drops of the elixir of creativity dripping into waiting carafe I was going on testy. And once I could actually pour the first live-giving mug I was nigh onto abraded.

That mood, and that annoying, smart-mouthed persona, carried me through the first thousand words of the day. (The jamoke didn’t hurt anything either.) By then it was just after six and time to wake the household. Being a two-career gentleman, author and kept man, is a supremely tough gig; it’s not for the faint of heart, and I don’t recommend it to just anyone. But I manage to galumph through, day after overstimulating day, even if my routine’s seriously upset by events beyond my control, like fire, floods, or killer hangnails.

Or even a voice that doesn’t know when to quit.

I got back to the keyboard after eight, and thankfully the voice had gone silent. Sadly, so had the coffeepot. I retired to the Plot Lab to work on the current mystery skeleton, slowly drifting away from first-person mindset. Maybe tomorrow; that voice is one of my favorites, and it comes so seldom. And there’s a perfect story in the trunk, waiting for a serious outbreak of first-person madness…

Letting the Voices Duke It Out…

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