I hear voices.

Now if I came up to you at a party and said that, you might run for the door. Unless it was your party—in which case you might show me the door.

But it makes no difference either way.

Facts are facts.

I hear voices all the time. They ambush me in the shower and elbow me in the ribs to get my attention when I’m driving to the bank. They whisper behind me when I’m trying to watch a movie, but I can’t call the theater manager and complain or anything.

There’s no one to throw out—they’re just voices talking to me.

All writers hear voices, especially when we’re working. Our characters talk to us. Our muses talk to us. Even ideas and experiences and circumstances speak. They tell us what’s true in the story we’re writing. They take us places and put words in our mouths.

Sure, writing is a craft, but it’s also a relationship with your characters and your story. Just because they’re fictional doesn’t make them any less real. I don’t really know for sure if I’m creating them or setting them free. I guess that’s a question for the philosophers.

The answer doesn’t really matter to me as long as I’m part of the conversation.

’Cause it’s a pretty long and lonely writing day when nobody talks to you.

Unfortunately, there are other voices that talk to me, to us, as well. And these ones aren’t nearly as helpful. In fact, they’re downright destructive. These are demon voices—inner demons. They go by names like “Insecurity” and “Self-Doubt.”

Worse still are the children—“You suck,” “This was a mistake,” and, let’s not forget, “Any success you had was a fluke.”

I swear, writers and other artists have way more demons than other people—and I’m including legitimate mentally ill people in that count. It’s like when you’re about to be born and the people on the other side in charge of that sorta thing look at their clipboards and go:

“Health and genetics, check. Talents and abilities, check. Taste in music … NO country. Taste in general? You’ll figure something out. And, um, let’s see, just need to add an inner demon or two to balance out the package and … hang on … this guy’s gonna be a writer. FILL ’ER UP!”

Maybe that’s not how it went—again, not a philosopher. But I do know that when I listen to the bad voices, I get depressed, it’s easy to put off writing, and I hate everything I do.

Not a healthy environment for a creative person. So if you are one, do me a favor. Find a friend and tell ’em how you feel. Believe in yourself. Work hard to be the best at what you do. And when the bad voices come around like the weird neighbor kid your parents make you be friends with because they just don’t know? Don’t listen. And don’t play.

That way, madness lies.