Greetings!
If youโre new here then you can find out all about this project of mine here:
But in a nutshell itโs this: Iโve been taking a short and very bland story and rewriting it in different styles. This time Iโve chosen to do it as a dramatic monologue by an unassertive person, one with a bit of an inferiority complex. Whatโs a dramatic monologue? All will be revealed after the template below, which is the short story Iโve been working with.
A bang on the head (template)
In the middle of the night, I woke up (if you can call being semi-conscious being awake), walked purposefully towards the door to go to the bathroom โ and almost knocked myself out.
The reason was that in the twin states of entire darkness and semi-somnambulance I was facing in a different direction from the one I thought I was facing. As a result, instead of walking through the door, I tried to walk through the wall.
The next few days brought nausea and headaches. After much prevarication I went to Accident and Emergency, where I waited petrified among people for whom โsocial distancingโ means not quite touching you, and who wore their masks as a chin-warmer.
An hour and a half later I emerged into the twilight, secure in the knowledge that I had nothing more serious than mild concussion. I failed to do much writing, but I was pleased to have read a further 17% of my book.
Unassertive version
Dramatic monologues
This weekโs version is in the style of a prose version of a dramatic monologue. This was a style of poetry developed and enhanced by Robert Browning. It takes the form of a narrator โ not the poet โ talking about something, and bringing the reader into his confidence.
In My Last Duchess, for example, the clear implication is that the person speaking to the reader has had his wife bumped off.
To some extent, all of these styles have been a kind of dramatic monologue, because I donโt speak or think like any of the narrators. A good example is the Cockney Rhyming Slang version. For a start, I donโt use rhyming slang except for the phrases that have become part of the English language in Britain, such as โuse your loafโ, ie loaf of bread, ie head. Secondly, I donโt think in the following terms much less speak in them:
Anyway, I was sitting there on me tod, know what I mean, and a nurse rolls up and says โCome with meโ and I thought to meself โYouโre well in there, my son!
I mention this for the simple reason that I wanted to point out that I do not hold the views towards women stated or implied in the version that follows.
Here goesโฆ
Hello, sorry to trouble you. I donโt know if youโre interested but the other week I banged my head. Sorry, I know youโve probably got better things to do than listen to me wittering on. I mean, itโs not like World War Three broke out or anything. Anyway, just tell me to shut up if you start losing the will to live, if you havenโt done so already.
Well, I hit my head on the bedroom wall because I got out of the wrong side of bed. I donโt mean I was in a bad mood. Well, I might have been I suppose but I wasnโt aware of my mood at all because I was half asleep, because this happened in the middle of the night. I think the problem was that I needed to visit the little boysโ room and was facing in the wrong direction. Silly really. I told you it was a dead boring story!
Well, I had a bit of a headache and felt queasy for a few days but Iโm a man, so left to my own devices Iโd have just got on with life, but you know what women are like1. The Mrs2 kept on and on at me about โyou might have cracked your skullโ, and all that sort of thing until in the end I raised the white flag so to speak and popped along to A & E3 just for the sake of peace and quiet.
When I got there I seriously thought that maybe a possible fractured skull might have been the safer option. I mean hardly anyone was wearing a mask, or at least not properly, and as for social distancing โ sorry, I hope Iโm not putting you to sleep; Iโve nearly finished youโll be glad to know. Yes, social distancing โ that would have been nice.
Luckily I only had to wait about an hour or so to be seen, not the usual nine hours. Some nurse saw me and I think sheโd just had her sense of humour removed. I mean, I tried to make a joke with her and she just looked like she wouldnโt recognise a joke if one came along and did a tap dance in front of her. Still, after a bit of prodding and poking she told me I just had a bit of concussion and to take it easy for a week or two. Iโd been hoping to get some writing done but that idea went out of the window. I managed to read a bit though. Oh, the book wasnโt anything earth-shattering, I doubt youโd be interested. Anyway, hope I havenโt taken up too much of your time. Thanks for listening. Cheers.
Further reading
See Robert Browning and the Dramatic Monologue.
If youโd like to see the entire list of styles, go to this index.
This is not far from the monologue of an Irish police officer who, with some colleagues, came to our house after weโd been burgled during the night. While Elaine was showing some officers where the person broke in, this one sat me down in the kitchen and said: โThe thing is, Sir, that we menfolk can take this sort of thing, but the womenfolk get very upset over it, Sir.โ After theyโd gone Elaine told me she heard every word and that it was all she could do not to come in the kitchen and throttle him.
I know several people who refer to their wives as โthe wifeโ or โthe Mrsโ. I think itโs horrible.
Accident and Emergency.
Awesome post - it really made me think about risky vocab choices in unassertive, 'hedging' kind of conversations.
Also....... *coughs* ....I'm afraid I'm one of those 'please just get on with it!' conversationalists. I'm a NIGHTMARE. I'll never forget someone I hadn't known for very long saying to me 'GET TO THE POINT, REBECCA!'
I shut up in a flash! ๐คฃ
My Substack posts take me a day to write and the rest of the week to cut down from 10,000 words of prevarication to just the 1,500 I like to publish.... ๐คฃ
Funny -- I am quite familiar with the non-assertive speaker in this monologue. It is the very same type of monologue that crowds my poor head every time I sit down to write a story. The anti-muse. It hangs around for the first and second draft and then, just before I hit "PUBLISH", it comes back. We are old friends.