Meet Bob, My Inner Editor

I didn't know what to title my short story, based on my novel's main character's early childhood, when I first started writing it, so I just labeled it: "Loss: Anne's story." The "title," at the very least, helped distinguish it from all the other Microsoft Word files that contain notes, tidbits of stories, and outlines in my novel folder that are saved on my desktop.

As I've been working on the story, my inner editor has been nagging me: "What's the story's title? Why haven't you come up with a title yet? You need a title!" The label, apparently, was not good enough for my inner editor.

I like to call my inner-editor Bob, if only because it's a lot easier to say, "Bob, shut up." By naming my inner editor, it turns that incessant, writing-blocking voice inside my head into a "character," someone that I can respond to and have discussions with. I can tell "Bob" that I'm focusing on the plot right now, and that the plot will drive what I end up titling the story. More often than not, my inner editor, Bob, listens and responds.

Once I finished "discussing" with Bob the merits of focusing on the plot, he quieted down and left me to my work. I also realized that the label could actually be the story's title. "Loss" - it's simple but it encapsulates what the story is about and is a theme in my novel. "Anne's story" - that I wasn't so keen on at first, why I shied away from using it as part of the title and why "Bob" kept nagging me.

Then again, I'm beginning to think I could create a set of stories, set around themes from the novel, for the two main characters: Anne of 2005, and Charlotte of 1792. In that case, labeling or titling it "Anne's story" makes perfect sense. It distinguishes it from Charlotte's.

Take that, Bob!

See? Talking to your inner editor - rather than trying to ignore him (or her) outright - has its benefits. Sure, you might sound a bit crazy to your non-writerly friends, but at least you're putting that inner editor in its place so you can get back to doing what you do best: writing.

All of this isn't to say that I'm set on using "Loss: Anne's story" as a title (it very well could change), but for now, I like the title, the label, or whatever you want to call it.

My Voice

I'm losing my voice. My consolation prize: I feel a ton better than I did yesterday, meaning it doesn't feel like a needle is jabbing at the back of my throat anymore. Definitely a plus!

Since I have to strain to speak, I'm going to try to keep my lips sealed for the day. Granted, I'm still at work (go me. I'm such a good employee =0), so talking, at random points throughout the day, will be involved, but I'm going to try my best to rest my voice so as not to lose it completely. That's only happened once before, and I'd prefer not to re-live it.

It was about a week and a half before I graduated from Augustana College. I hadn't had a cold, I hadn't been drinking (heavily) the night before. I just woke up, and, boom, no voice. I felt completely and utterly fine -- my throat didn't feel scratchy whatsoever. But when I opened my lips to speak, nothing came out.

For the next few days - through graduation parties, phone calls from my mom trying to make plans for visiting for graduation, and my best friend's engagement party - I had to whisper if I was going to talk at all. But, even after a few seconds (not minutes, mind you), my throat felt strained.

So, I gave up speaking as much as possible. I literally became a wallflower, an observer of everything. It was extremely hard, not being able to partake in the convos around me, but at certain times it was kind of nice, just being able to listen. Plus, I noticed more around me since I didn't have my own voice to distract myself. For any writer, I think that can be useful - learning to be an observer, utterly and completely.

Yet, not being able to speak gets extremely tiring. At Razan's engagement party, I was introduced to her huge family - many of whom I was meeting for the first time - and I struggled even to say, "Hi. How are you?" My friends and roommates had to explain to them, especially the older crowd, why they couldn't hear me.

I don't want that again. I like my voice. I like talking. I like participating in conversations.

But, maybe, in case this happens again, I should start learning sign language - just to be safe.