The Third Lisa

Both of the books we have written thus far are in first person. This is odd, because we always think in third person. We love the way facebook forces everyone into the third person. It validates a lifetime of thoughts such as, “Lisa goes outside to play. She spies a jump rope.” or, “Lisa likes chocolate chip cookies. She fully intends to sneak several while no one is looking. Watching, waiting, she makes her move. Heh heh heh.”

In our heads we are constantly telling ourselves the story of ourselves. It is not in the first person–that would be weird. From a tender age, this daily narrative was embroidered into a story. If Lisa was sent to her room for being naughty, or mouthy to her mother, she started to spin a tale:

Lisa, the poor orphan girl, huddled in the garret, weeping. She should run away from her evil captors, build a fort in the woods or discover an abandoned railroad car; climb trees, romp free and eat berries all day.

Just the other day, one of the Lisas was showering, as she does on a more or less daily basis. Thus began the narration:

Lisa heard a noise from somewhere in the house. She poked her dripping wet head out of the shower, “Honey, is that you?” she called. There was no answer. Her heart began to race. She heard the noise again.

It didn’t matter that it was obviously the wind knocking the mini blinds around, she continued on with a might-have-been scenario:

Keeping the water running to mask her steps, Lisa closed her hand on the plunger. She would not go down without a fight. The next person walking through that door was getting a face full of e. coli. The door creaked open.

Is this freaky? Or is it perfectly normal for gifted, natural-born storyteller types to turn their lives into a streaming screenplay? Have other people spent their lives having real/fictional conversations in their heads? Lisa has for sure. And for that matter so has Lisa.