You close the manuscript and take a few days off. Then your characters start calling. A writer’s encounter with Character Whispers, the Phantom Guilt Equation, and the strange difficulty of leaving fictional people alone.

Character Whispers: When You Stop Writing but Your Characters Don’t

I recently published another book.

This should, in theory, have resulted in a short period of satisfaction followed by several days in which I did absolutely nothing resembling writing.

That was the plan.

Take a few days off. Step away from the manuscript. Read something. Watch television. Go for a walk. Remind myself that there is a world beyond Scrivener.

A perfectly reasonable plan.

There was only one problem.

My characters hadn't agreed to it.

The Whispers Begin

It usually starts innocently enough.

I'll be sitting somewhere, doing something entirely unrelated to writing, when I find myself wondering what Coby McTavish is doing.

This is ridiculous. Coby isn't doing anything. I am the author. If I'm not writing him, he is effectively standing motionless somewhere in the Scottish Highlands waiting for further instructions.

Except it doesn't feel that way.

I start wondering whether Gracie is all right.

Then I wonder what Ewan is doing.

This is more concerning, because whenever Ewan is suspiciously quiet, I assume he is up to something.

And where is Muir?

Is she with Ewan?

Oh dear.

Then I remember the ghosts.

Have I left somebody wandering around a corridor for three days? Is there some furious Victorian gentleman waiting patiently for me to return so that he can finish haunting somebody?

And what about Thomas Tallis? He's been dead for five centuries. You'd think the man would have developed some patience by now.

Apparently not.

These are what I've started calling Character Whispers.

They're the little fictional voices that continue after you've closed the manuscript.

What happens next?

What am I doing?

You haven't forgotten about me, have you?

Ross?

ROSS?

The Phantom Guilt Equation

Character Whispers are closely related to another condition I've diagnosed entirely without medical qualifications:

The Phantom Guilt Equation.

It goes something like this:

I'm not writing today.

Therefore:

I'm falling behind.

Which obviously means:

I'm losing momentum.

Which inevitably becomes:

Perhaps I'm losing my ability to write.

And finally:

I have abandoned everybody I have ever created and they are standing in the darkness wondering why their author no longer loves them.

Perfectly rational.

The strange thing is that I can know how absurd this is while simultaneously feeling it.

I've written books before. I've taken days off before. I've returned to manuscripts after breaks and somehow retained the ability to form sentences.

And yet, after publishing a new title, the same anxiety returns.

Perhaps I should just write a little.

That's dangerous.

Because there is no such thing as writing “a little”.

I'll simply open the manuscript and make a note.

Then I'll fix that sentence.

While I'm here, perhaps I'll look at the next scene.

Actually, I know what Coby should say.

Gracie wouldn't answer like that.

Where did Ewan go?

Why is there a ghost in the kitchen?

Three hours later, my day off has been cancelled.

Perhaps They're Not Calling Me Back to Work

I've started wondering whether I've misunderstood Character Whispers.

Perhaps they're not evidence that I should be writing.

Perhaps they're evidence that the story is still alive while I'm resting.

There is a difference.

When you've spent enough time with fictional characters, you become accustomed to thinking through them. You know roughly what they'll say, what they'll avoid saying, what will irritate them and what they'll do when nobody sensible is supervising them.

So perhaps it's hardly surprising that they occasionally wander through your thoughts when you're nowhere near the manuscript.

The imagination doesn't clock out simply because the author does.

And I find that rather comforting.

One of my recurring fears about taking time away from writing is that I'll somehow lose whatever allows me to do it.

Perhaps the words won't return.

Perhaps the characters will become distant.

Perhaps I'll sit down again and discover that the peculiar little door through which these stories arrive has closed.

But then Coby clears his throat.

Gracie says something I wasn't expecting.

Ewan is suspiciously quiet.

And somewhere in the distance, one of my ghosts knocks something over.

They're still there.

I haven't lost anything.

I'm simply not typing.

Writers Are Allowed to Leave the Room

This may be the lesson I'm slowly learning.

Rest isn't abandonment.

A day away from a story doesn't mean you've stopped being a writer. A weekend without adding to the word count doesn't erase whatever you've learned through thousands upon thousands of previous words.

And perhaps the characters don't need us hovering over them every minute either.

Coby can survive a weekend without me.

Gracie is perfectly capable of looking after herself.

The ghosts have already been dead for quite some time, so another Saturday probably won't make much difference.

Ewan and Muir...

Actually, I'm less certain about those two.

Still, I'm prepared to risk it.

Listen to the Whispers

So I've decided not to fight Character Whispers.

When one arrives, I'll listen.

If it's something worth remembering, I'll jot down a sentence.

Not a chapter.

Not a scene.

One sentence.

Then I'll close the notebook and return to whatever I was doing.

Because maybe Character Whispers aren't saying:

WRITE!

Maybe they're saying:

We're still here.

And that's a very different message.

The fictional world hasn't disappeared because I took a few days away from it. The characters haven't packed their belongings and moved into somebody else's novel. Coby hasn't applied for a position with another author.

Although, given his history with employment, I wouldn't put it past him.

They'll still be there when I return.

Coby will have something to complain about.

Gracie will know considerably more than she's telling him.

Ewan will almost certainly have done something that requires an explanation.

The ghosts will continue behaving as though death has given them additional administrative rights.

And Thomas Tallis will still be waiting for somebody to appreciate his music properly.

So yes.

I'm taking a few days off.

I'm going to rest.

I'm not going to feel guilty.

I'm certainly not going to open Scrivener.

Everything will be absolutely fine.

...

Did anyone else hear that?

...

Baaaaaa. 🐑🐏🐑

Oh, for God's sake.

I'm coming.

By Iwan Ross

Iwan Ross is the author of the Haunted Highlands mysteries and The Highlands University of Ghostology series. He writes about ghosts, mysteries, relationships, Scottish weather and fictional people who apparently refuse to respect their author's days off.