Monday, May 3, 2021

Talking to Myself

 Annamaria on Monday


I think my current attempts to master dictation have been aided by the fact that, over the past year, I have developed a habit of talking to myself.  I don't remember who it was, but once in my deep past I spoke to someone who admitted that he talked to himself.  He said, “Why not? I like to talk to an intelligent person, and I like to hear an intelligent person talk.” I don’t share his sentiments. I would rather talk to another human being, and I know for certain that it would be more interesting to me to hear another person's words, instead of just my own.

 

I have however been talking to myself quite a bit of late. I was comforted to learn, from a psychologist on the radio, that this new habit isn't a sign of insanity. It is actually not at all a bad thing to do, especially when one is in pandemic-induced solitary confinement.



 

 

Sometimes, when I am talking to myself, I am actually speaking to a person who is not present, frequently to a person whose presence I sorely miss. I am 92.96% certain that I am not the only human on earth to have developed this habit over the last 14 months.



 

 

I readily admit that I have always talked to myself as a writer, words of encouragement or words of caution. Here are some of the phrases that I have found helpful:

 

When Drafting  

 

I tell myself: “It doesn't have to be good.  It just has to exist.  Then, it can become good.”

 

Having instilled this attitude in myself over a long period of time, I find it helps me keep going when I am second-guessing myself.  Somehow, and don't ask me how, my characters seem to know better than I what the story needs to be. Second-guessing them only gets in the way. Even when I know I am writing drivel, I force myself to keep going.



 

Aside: I just sneezed. The dictation function in Word listened to my sneeze and typed this: “serious.” Should I tell it that I don't have covid, just spring allergies? 

 

To take up where I left off, here’s another thing I tell myself when drafting: “Stop here! Don't finish this sentence.  You are going to have to quit for the day in the next few minutes.  Since you know the rest of this sentence, when you come back you will be able to pick up where you left off and get right back into the story.”  I find this technique almost magical. All I will have to do when I get back to the computer keyboard is read the last paragraph or two, finish that sentence with the words I had in mind, and then I am off and running. 



While Editing 

 

“Less is more.” This is a constant reminder to myself. The advice applies particularly, I think, to historical novelists.  We research and research and then are sorely tempted to dump all those fascinating little tidbits of history into the story. I allow myself to regurgitate them into the first draft, but when editing I force myself to cut them out and toss them away . Alternatively, of course, I can write a blog about them. The thing is that, in the editing stage, I will understand much more clearly what the story needs. Then, I can choose the most telling detail—one that will tell the reader something about where the story is going , or better yet, something about the character and what she is thinking. 


 

VERBS! 

 

Lots of times I find my draft sentences are extraordinarily complex with lots of participial phrases, many of them. When editing, I find every time I have used the verb “to be.” Action verbs are what a really good story needs most. They keep the narrative lively and make moving pictures in the minds of the readers. I take each page circle  all the forms of “to be.” I try to find ways to recast the sentences so that the verbs are active. I allow myself only three “to be” verbs on a page.  This is a tedious task. I have to talk to myself a lot to keep at it.  The words often come to me in the scolding voice of Sister Mary Catharine, my professor of writing and wonderful mentor whose memory I revere,  because she would never stand for less than my very best.

 

Lots of times , when I am writing , particularly when I am editing myself, the voice in my head is hers . But I did make up one admonition for myself.  Here it is: 

 

Every once in a while, write a three-word sentence. 

 

 

By the way: It is impossible for me to find proper illustrations for this discourse. But I think it's probably awfully dull, and I want to liven it up with photos.  The ones here today are pictures of places that I wish I could have visited over the past 14 months. Or—I say with hope in my heart—that I will visit in the next fourteen.


14 comments:

  1. To be, or not to be, that is the question, no more than three times per page... Oops, there went 2/3 of the allotment for this page.

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  2. Actually, 3/3 of the allotment, since "that is" counts, right? :-)

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    1. You know, EvKa, that I am a Bardolator. Shakespeare wrote sentences so profound and entertaining that they deserve to occupy a page all by themselves! I have no hope whatsoever of accomplishing such a feat.

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  3. I am glad you talk to yourself! It makes the rest of us feel better. However, you comments seem profound. Mine tend to be more along the lines of "Now what did I come to the kitchen for anyway?"

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    1. hahahahaha--Michael I almost fell off my chair laughing. So true.

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    2. Also, picking something up and putting it down again, only to totally forget where you put it, and having to spend inordinate amounts of time searching for it again...

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    3. I laughed too, Kwei, almost certainly because I have done daily what Michael describes. And what Zoe describes—multiple times each day. AND stood in front of the open fridge door, wondering what a went there to get. I might think these behaviors a sign of old age. But I have been doing them all my life. Considering the great company I now know I am in, I may stop calling myself a ditz!

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  4. You go to bed leaving a sentence half finished so that you can pick up easily the next day??? Gadzooks! I'd come back to the page and wonder why I hadn't finished the sentence and then not know what I was going to say anyway.

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    1. Whenever I have typed into the night until my forehead starts nodding against the keyboard, I usually come back to it the next day and find the last paragraph was utter gibberish...

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    2. You know this, Stan, but I’ll say it anyway. “There are only three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”— Somerset Maugham.

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    3. Zoe, The difference with you is that you know utter gibberish and remove it. Not all novelists are capable of such discernment. I have tried to read a number of published book that are replete with it.

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  5. Don't worry. You are in good company talking to yourself. We're in isolation in a pandemic. I do the same, as my parents did and my sibling admitted to doing -- before the pandemic.
    I do find myself directing thoughts to loved ones lost years ago.
    And I have played so many card games and chess online. Now I'm learning new forms of solitaire. MSNBC is always on and the anchors are now my friends, those whom I see when I get up and before I go to bed. And I'm reading the Times and Guardian online continually, looking for new columns.
    So, don't worry. You are a social being, like humans are, and we need and like human contact and communication.

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    1. Thank you, Kathy! You are right about what we need. Human contact and communication has been virtual for so much of the last year. But the real thing is coming back. WHEW!!!

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  6. I found great comfort in your post, Sis, for it seems the subtlest effect of the pandemic has been (to be) its subliminal numbing of one's ability to concentrate sufficiently to cut through an ever-present background of disjointed thoughts blurring our minds to the simplest of acts--like where are my keys, why am I here, and what am I doing. I think there are enough of us experiencing that syndrome to form a club.

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