The Proper Way to Talk to Yourself

 Some writers outline.  Some writers brain storm. Some writers shove earth worms up their nose. And then there is me.  Sunday evening I finished the first draft of my novel. Finishing that horrid thing has made me happy enough to don my toga and throw pies at walls to the tune of "Mahna Mahna" by the Muppets. This is the first novel I've ever finished. I have a morbid obsession with rewrites, so finishing actually finishing this without stopping to rewrite is almost equivalent to a miracle.  Looking over my novel, I realize that the plot is...nonexistent. Sad, but true.  Of course, that only means one thing: it's time for me to neglect my school work and hash out that plot! But I'm coming to realize that my favorite ways to hash out plots are just a bit odd.

Usually, I climb onto my bathroom counter and have a face to face chat with myself. It's not that I enjoy looking at my face, it's simply the fact I have to make eye contact with myself or I lose focus. You think I'm joking. I'm not.  It's never really occurred to me how odd this must seem until my mom happened to walk past the bathroom yesterday and backed up. She stared at me before asking, "Nicole... what are you doing?"

I shrugged and replied, "Thinking." She gave me another odd look, before asking me why I had to think on the bathroom counter.  I had to look deep into my soul for the answer to this question. After much searching, I have found no answer, but I have found the secret chocolate frosting! No, I'm not sharing. I would tell you the story of how the frosting came to reside in my soul, but I save that story for cocktail parties and intimate minion gatherings.

Although, I didn't find the answer to why I feel need to climb onto the counter to talk to myself, I did realize that I have a bucket-load of strange writing habits. Below are three that would be most helpful to you, my readers (the rest are just weird and help no one, not even me):


Novel Correspondence

It's a novel idea! Okay, that was bad. I'm sorry.
Sometimes, I find myself at the point where I can't even look at my novel, let alone progress the plot. So instead, I write letters to my novel. It's a total waste of time, but relieves much frustration. This is the last note I sent my novel:

Dear Novel,
Plot...jkdfjkdsfhjkdshkjdfhkdsldfljkdfsjkdsfalk
Shanks,
Nicole

They say the best way to move forward in a relationship is to lay it all out in the open. Novels are no different. (Okay, maybe a smidge.) What better way to get all that resentment off your chest, than an angry letter typed with your muscular pinkies...or your forehead.


Empty the Contents of Your Head

That was an intentional spill. That's how I like my milk...yo.

Take your head, cut it open, and scoop your brain right out. Not literally, silly. Get your characters out of your head and into the real world! As you're pouring your milk, think about how your characters would do this simple task. What kind of glass would they get? Would they get a glass at all? Would they pour it in their mouth straight from the carton or pour it on a lizard's head? Would they miss their mouth? Would milk end up in someone's left nostril? These are questions you must answer.  You might even have to impersonate your characters to answer these very important questions. Don't worry, your characters aren't real, so you won't go to jail. Probably. White cells aren't jail...they have padding. Jail doesn't have padding, okay?

On a similar note, talk to your characters if you have to. How do they feel about you? Do they resent you for making them dress up as a Teletubbies in chapter 3? Make sure your characters know you care about them because if you don't care about your characters, no one else will. However, don't coddle your characters. Don't be afraid to torture them. They'll thank you later...or try to maim you with your own foot. Potato, potato.  You know, when you spell that it doesn't make as much sense...Or maybe...it makes MORE sense! Now, I'm confused.

Stand in a Corner

Nothing like rocking to and fro to stimulate those brain cells. You can even whip your hair in the corner. Everything makes sense in corners. What? It's true.

Do you have any weird/useless writing habits like me? Leave a comment! I like comments. Or if you're "normal," feel free to make wisecracks about my increasing lack of sanity.