The Voices In My Head
I see a therapist twice a week.
His name is Ted.
Ted hates me.
I know this because he told me so. At least I think he told me. It’s hard to tell with all of these other voices in my head.
These people.
These characters I created with pen and paper or with any number of keystrokes across my computer keyboard.
One of them is telling me to write a story about an old man who goes fishing for marlin by himself in a one man boat.
“That’s Hemingway,” I tell him.
“What’s Hemingway?” asks Ted.
I explain to Ted that I’m being badgered by one of my characters who has plagiaristic tendencies.
“Tell me about him,” says Ted.
“He’s one of my earliest characters,” I say. “He lacks originality.”
