Like many writers, I spend a great deal of time talking to myself. Well, that’s what it looks like to other people. I am often guilty of talking to my characters as if they are actually there. Sometimes I’m a character, and sometimes I’m just me. Still, it’s a quirk that writers can get away with. If we hear voices, we’re creative instead of schizophrenic. Marjorie Taylor of the University of Oregon actually did a fascinating study on comparing fiction authors’ behavior with that of children with imaginary companions. I’d link you, but apparently the site has been taken down. In any event, we get away with a lot of weird behavior that the rest of society wouldn’t be able to without being rushed down to the nearest head shrink.
Tomorrow I hit the road for the eleven hour drive to Kansas City to go see my best friend and my niece. This is the much longed for vacation that I didn’t get over Christmas break. I’ve got my Zune loaded up with audiobooks, but I will likely spend a great deal of my drive working on my plot for HiS. And that’s going to mean talking to myself. Which brings me to the title of my post–this day in age, everybody and their grandmother has a bluetooth headset or some other handsfree connection in their car. Everybody looks like they’re talking to themselves. I actually hate that when I’m in a store or out in public and someone speaks and I think they’re talking to me. But in my car? Oh heck yeah. I can talk to my characters all day long and tese days everybody will just think I’m carrying on a real conversation over the phone. My reputation for relative sanity is safe!
My reputation for being ditzy enough to lock myself out of the house when it’s 27 degrees outside and everyone who has a key was out of town–not so much. Let’s just say it was a long morning. I now have spares. ‘Nuff said.
I’m hitting the hay. When next we meet, I shall hail from KC!