It’s Just the Normal Noises in Here by Martin Crosbie

Today best-selling author Martin Crosbie is the guest blogger and he starts with a question, but then explains. I suggest you read it and look up the answer to his question.


The first reader who can tell me where the above semi-well-known phrase is from will receive their choice of one of my e-books.

I live with noises and voices in my head all the time. And, if you’re a writer you probably do too. It’s part of the deal. I’m currently writing two books at the same time. I’ve tried to do this previously and one has always fallen by the wayside. This time it seems to be working though. When I get stuck with the story in one book I switch to the other. One story is a light, romantic tale that takes place on a tropical island and there’s lots of laughter and occasional frolicking. The other is darker. It’s the third book in a trilogy so it has to honor its predecessors by maintaining the personalities of the characters who have been carried over into the final book. And it gets really confusing. I wrote the first book three years ago and the majority of the characters that I’m bringing back weren’t in book two so I need to get to know them again. And, sometimes I can only take so much. When that happens I switch to my light, romantic tale on Valentine Island and spend some time with the characters that don’t require quite as much of my attention.

I heard a very successful author say one time that he lit some candles and invited his characters into the room each time he began writing. I’ve never needed the candles. They’re there, almost all the time. Driving is bad. Even if there’s someone else in the vehicle I can still think about my story and what’s currently happening in it and what’s going to potentially happen next. I can be smiling and listening to a conversation but I’m not really there. I’m on the tropical island or dealing with complex relationship issues or trying to figure out if I’m really going to put a ghost in the house. I’ve even had someone share an anecdote with me and I’ve caught myself just as I was about to relate a similar incident that happened to Malcolm or Heather or Stephen from one of my novels. It’s been very close a couple of times.

And, if I’m on my own it’s even worse. From time to time my mouth will move as I talk my way through part of my plot and occasionally I’ll even smile in satisfaction when I manage to pull some loose ends together. That’s me congratulating myself. I remember as a teenager sitting with my buddies in a fast food restaurant and watching in amazement as a man spoke to his own reflection in the glass windows. Now I know why. He was a writer.

Today, I do those same things and I’ve developed a way of dealing with anyone who notices. I’m sure karma has a group of rambunctious teenage boys lurking somewhere in my future, waiting to mock me. And, I know there have been drivers in cars beside me wondering why I’m muttering. Well, I deal with it this way. I don’t care. I don’t respond or acknowledge. I keep working out my story in my head, mumbling and muttering as needed. I’ve always enjoyed being a little bit different, and being a writer has allowed me to adopt eccentricities that most people would find strange or weird. So go ahead, stare all you want. I’m a writer and I don’t care. It’s just the normal noises in here.

So, how about your noises?

18 thoughts on “It’s Just the Normal Noises in Here by Martin Crosbie

  1. (“…ah, so welcome to your shared life human…” smiled the goblin liking the read there, then adding “…where well one might wish for fame and fortune now, and where instead it’s seems ever this [i]journey to self[/i] from what one writes, for doesn’t what one writes out then writes itself back within one too, where the reader only ever gets to see those footprints of that journey there, and can move then on to others things wherever, but the writer, wretched creature that he just is, is left behind on a journey in a shared life within him still…”, “…you waste your breath goblin…” intervened the slot at this point continuing “…for if they write then they know that much already, whereas if they don’t, then who is ever going to understand that the writer is the victim of his pen here, an addict of his own addiction, I mean you created me and all this too, this shared life as you so like to call it, the very least you could do is call over to the counter to order another coffee for us…”, the goblin’s hand went up accordingly, the bistro seemed empty, but somehow peace and quiet, within his mind at least, had become a thing of some distant past, “…oh, and don’t forget to ask what Martin is having, and rest assured goblin, no one sane ever reads this far anyway…”, yes at least the slot always tried to comfort the goblin in his folly)

  2. Great post, and very true. As a writer I think we all adopt little eccentricities and the like, that is juts part of the norm for us. Sometimes I find myself asking questions to myself of characters aloud and find peopel staring at me very weirdly! 😀

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