literature

The Loudest Voice

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The Psychologist and the Schizophrenic; the Loudest Voice




Sometimes I feel like a shrink.

I look at those words, and I feel ridiculous, but it’s true. After all; I’m the kind of person that people open up to. The kind of person people spill their secrets to after having talked with you two minutes.

“Would you believe the weather today?”
“I know right? Can’t wait for it to start snowing properly. This tea is good, by the way. What kind is it?” I will warm my fingers on the cup and devour the scent. Tea always calms me somehow.
“Twinings green tea with lemon.” they will answer thoughtfully. “You know, before I divorced my husband, he used to beat me. Life was hell.”

But does it really matter? I take interest in people after all. I listen.

And I glance back up at the words, and this is not the angle I want this drabble to take.

Sometimes I feel like a shrink, but not because of actual people.
Sometimes I guess I feel schizophrenic too. They walk hand in hand. The shrink and the schizo.

I have all these characters in my head. I imagine them walking around in the fog of creation, ignoring each other completely. Kind of like Mad-eye Moody’s Foe Glass. They appear as shadows, or are not at all that clear, until one of them surface with something to tell.

Confession; at times it not even my own characters.

I came across a post once, suggesting that you should imagine a slumber party with all your favourite characters. The characters you’ve ever written. That you’ve ever loved. As amusing as the thought is, I gathered it would turn into a blood bath. Besides, we’d need a football stadium if I wanted to gather all my characters.

I say my, feeling a little guilty. You feel a ownership after having told their stories, or lived their lives through a book or a screen.

At times there will be so many with stories pressing, one thinking that his or hers is more urgent than the other. I wish I had a queue system, where they could pick a number and get in line. I don’t.

Juice from Sons of Anarchy will scream at me that he tried to hang himself, his eyes filled with tears, and opt me to give him a better ending. “Please let me have a better ending,” he falls to his knees, crying. “I deserve a better ending,”

My own character Zillah will cross his arms and sneer at me, tell me I’m weak for giving in, even listening to all this other idiots.

Lucius Malfoy sniffs and tries not to be affected by the other personas. I finished his story a while ago; he still lingers in the corners of my mind, hoping that I will come up with a scenario for him to strive in. So that I can yet again prove that bad guys have good sides too; it depends on what drives them.

Bad guys are interesting, they often have a significant thing, or series of things, that happened to them, to shape them into what they are.
I once told a friend who was reading one of my fanfics, that bad guys have wives too. People they love in their lives… It’s not always true, but that time it was.

I search for the good guys, and I spot Jason. He’s been with me for a long time. We smile at each other, and he sighs, probably wondering where I find all these characters. I make a silent promise to return to his story. I left him screaming for his loved one in a hospital bed. We need to sort that.

The Grinch announces “I HATE CHRISTMAS!” and throws an onion at Criss Angel’s head, who is hanging upside down, a chain wrapped around his legs, trying to break out of a straightjacket.

Chaos. My mind is chaos. Whose voice is the loudest?

“Hi, I’m Eric.” he pushes Ivy out of the chair in front of me, and sits down. His voice wasn’t loud at all, but there’s something about his charisma. Our eyes lock. I want to tell him he’s rude.

The first thing I notice, aside from his hard eyes, is his neck tattoo, the piercing above his right eyebrow. How his nose is a nice one. Weird.

“You watched Divergent?” he says. It’s almost an accusation. I feel it, too, because I wasn’t going to, not really. It seemed to be ripping off the Hunger Games franchise, and I wasn’t going to fall into that trap. He’s in my mind. He knows.
“I did,” I admit.
“You read the books, too.” he leans back into the chair. The black shirt clings to his frame. He looks like that guy in the movie. He knows.
“Sure,” I make an effort to sound carefree.

He smirks. I blink. It’s all it takes. The author of his character left a massive void for me to explore. His background. His motives. How I can shape him into something more, if I want to. It’s thrilling, it’s a god complex.

I grab my notepad, twining the pen between my fingers.

I listen. I take notes. I decide what sides of him I want to tell, to write out. What characters I want to put him with. He seems pleased. I feel like a child given a brand new toy, trying to figure out how it works. Excited.

We hit a stalemate. I left him alone on the train with a girl he could potentially love. But it’s okay. His voice will come back to me.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like, if I didn’t have it in me to write all this stories, with all these characters floating around in my head.
I think I would turn schizophrenic for sure.

Or maybe I’d take up acting.
I told one of my readers and a very dear friend the other day that I feel like a shrink. I have so many characters, with loud voices and stories to tell floating around in my head - that if I had the possibilty, I'd line them up, and work through them one by one. 

But it doesn't work like that - one story will inspire you more at a given time. 
A new character will show up and completely blow you away. (Thank you Eric...)

Then you'll have a dream about actual vikings, or stop and ponder as you watch the crows perch on the church roof, or meet a kid that tells you that he's afraid of trolls because they piss on trees, and you'll get inspired, and you need to write. 

You need to write...

I'm wondering how the rest of you authors feel with all those characters that you have hidden away in dark corners of your mind, so feel free to share. 

And now, off to tell stories... 
© 2014 - 2024 ZirconLupa
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ErosNightleaf's avatar
I have sort of hidden away my characters and I really need to recover and communicate with them, learn how they want to be written and stuff.