To be alone in one’s head...

Is it really normal to have people in your head, suddenly accosting you and spouting out their story all afternoon, whether you want to hear it or not?  I mean, really?  Ever since one of my own characters decided to become my possibly-not-necessary muse, I’ve become accustomed to accepting that I might not be completely in control of what’s happening in my imagination, but even so...

It’s not as though they're even polite about it or ask my permission first.  Oh no.  That’s for...  Actually, I’m not sure who that’s for.  Presumably luckier writers than I.

Instead, mine just turn up whenever they like.  For instance, while I’m in the middle of hanging out the washing.  One minute, I’m happily basking in the sun of the backyard, less-happily hanging up the clothes, when I feel a tap on the shoulder of my imagination.

“Oh, hi,” says a voice in my head.  “OK, it’s like this.  I’m on this base...”

“Er, what?”

“Gah, are you even listening?  That’s so typical.  No wonder my mum never wanted me to mix with off-world types.”

This is where I suspect that the new person in my head is both a) a little xenophobic, and, b) often unintentionally rude.  But I suppose she can’t really help that - it’s her up-bringing.

So I explained: “What I MEANT was, why the hell are you in my head, telling me these things?”  Even though I strongly suspected I already knew the answer to that particular question.

“She sent me,” said the voice, pointing her thumb in Jane’s direction.  Jane, it must be noted, was looking even more smug than before.  Someone really needs to drop a very heavy piece of furniture on that girl.  Soon.  Alas, as I created her and love her despite her many, many annoying tendencies, I fear the task will fall to me and I'm not quite up to it.

So I sent Jane a glare that promised a very painful death.  Maybe.  If I can steel my heart enough to do so...  Actually, I’m pretty sure that glare ended up promising Jane some sort of decorative writing desk, rather than painful death.  Why can’t I find it in myself to hate these invaders in my mind?  Why??

It turns out this new character is even worse at taking subtle hints than Jane.  She just rambled on all afternoon and made me write down a page of notes and snippets of story and that STILL wasn't enough for her.  She’s a little quieter today, although I suspect that may change if I don’t start writing some of her story soon.

But is that really normal?  Do other writers spend all afternoon with a voice in their head, quite literally rattling off bits and pieces of their story and getting annoyed when you don’t write them down quickly enough?  As though they think they’re a real person?

And how do I go back to the old days, when I used to actually have some measure of control over my own imagination?