Perhaps I feel that was writers, someone would understand.
If any of you were to really spend any long periods around me, you would see it. Say...we became neighbors maybe. Lived in the same apartment complex. Maybe you have a huge house, and I rented a room. Maybe we're roommates for whatever reason.
I can often be found speaking. Seemingly to no one. Allow me to explain this pathetic practice.
Our reality and senses are often referred to as our 'stream of consciousness.'
At some point in your younger years, your brain finally begins recording memories that you can actively retrieve. Thus begins your stream of consciousness.
I feel as if my stream is moving faster than others.
We've all had it. Those days/nights where you simply can't turn your mind off. Thoughts come and do not stop.
For writers, we hope that they are ideas. More often than not, though, our thoughts are either mundane, useless idle processing, or they are worries, fears, hopes, dreams, daydreams.
As I've said, as soon as I was about six-eight years old, my memories finally became steady. I discovered music, and spent hours using a walkman cd player.
I played video games and listened to animations and music videos. The action, or storylines set to music, formed a connection in my mind. So, as fans of fiction often do, soon enough, I started thinking of my own stories.
Most people cannot afford to zone out to music or daydream for so long. Not me. I was homeschooled, had no job of course when I was young, and too much free time.
Anywhere from 6-8 hours a day was spent daydreaming, half of the time accompanied to whatever songs I had downloaded.
But I grew tired of solely visualizing weapons. I bought a machete, and began 'forging' my own sharpened sticks to swing around.
Then, as I've said, I used fiction solely as a basis to reinvent myself. But those habits stayed. Well, how does the brain work again?
We are creatures of habit. Pathways in our mind become stronger.Hours of daydreaming had left my mind numbed to logical processing... But now, I was a living idea factory.Imagine the best brainstorming session you can ever have. That never stops.
Caffeine or not. Sleep, or no sleep. No matter how physically or mentally tired I am, that it what my brain does.I can only stay in an idle, or focused, state of mind for about three seconds. Then the storm rolls thunder again.
I can write. But my hands get tired and my mind refuses to focus too much on a single idea. I enjoyed discussing these ideas with my brother, for a time. Before he got sick of me.
Having not a soul alive to talk to... the acting sessions began.
Swinging sticks in the yard, shouting at thin air, making up speeches about bodily energy and the reason that Iron ISN'T actually an antimagic. As my characters became more real, I started to imagine them.
Not imaginary friends... a mental construct.
Any one of my characters. I put myself in the place of one... and imagine the others. Then I act it out.
And when I have no one to make speeches to, I imagine one of them is there, asking, 'What about this?' Solving my own plot holes.
It's strange. It's weird. I'm not normal. And I don't care. That's why I'm so scared. Who would REALLY want to live with an insane young man? No one.
Besides... what if my brain could focus on something else?
Career driven workaholics waste away from stress. I don't want to live that miserable life.
But my parents are worried. I scare them.
I tell them I'm not freaking posessed! It's purely a creation of my own mind that I have completely in control at all times.
If one of my characters actually spoke to me, unbidden, then yes, I would be scared. But they don't.
It's just a practice. A hobby. A way to fill the time. No different than twiddling your thumbs, or tapping your foot.