What if the voice interrupting your writing isn’t the problem—but the raw material for your best character?
In this episode of the podcast, Jake explores one of the most universal challenges writers face: intrusive thoughts—the voices that criticize, inflate, or pull you away from the page. Rather than treating them as something to eliminate, he reframes them as something to use.
At their core, intrusive thoughts are not random. They are often internalized voices—fragments of past experiences, fears, protections, and desires—that surface when you’re trying to focus. Whether they sound supportive or destructive, they interrupt your ability to stay present with your writing. And the more you fight them, the more power they gain.
Using Amadeus, Jake shows how these voices can be transformed into character. In both play and film versions, Salieri becomes the embodiment of self-doubt—the voice that believes it will never be enough—while Mozart represents an opposing force of undeniable creative brilliance. By externalizing the internal conflict that exists within every artist, Shaffer creates not only compelling characters, but a story driven by psychological truth.
From this example, Jake introduces a practical technique: take a recurring intrusive thought and imagine it as a character with their own worldview, desires, and fears. Once the voice is no longer “you,” you can observe it, question it, and apply pressure to it through story. And because characters change, you can begin to change your relationship to that voice as well.
By the end of the episode, you’ll see intrusive thoughts not as a distraction to overcome, but as a source of character, structure, and transformation—one that can deepen both your writing and your understanding of yourself.
You’ll discover:
- What intrusive thoughts actually are—and why they’re not your voice
- Why both positive and negative intrusive thoughts disrupt your writing
- How identifying with a thought pulls you away from the page
- How Amadeus turns internal conflict into character and story
- How externalizing a voice creates distance, clarity, and creative freedom
- Why characters built from internal conflict naturally generate structure and change
- How writing can shift your relationship to the thoughts that once held you back
🎧 LISTEN NOW to learn how to turn the voice in your head into a powerful engine for character, structure, and emotionally connected storytelling.
Episode Transcript: Amadeus
In a recent Thursday Night Writes, I looked at Peter Shaffer’s Amadeus — an oldie but goodie, both the play and the movie that was based upon it — to talk about a concept that is a huge challenge for all writers, and quite frankly for all people: intrusive thoughts.
If you don’t know what I mean by intrusive thoughts — yes, you do. I’m a genius. I’m a fraud. Should I get chocolate chip cookies? I need to reread Faulkner. Did I reply to that email? All those things that jump into your head: things that lift your ego, things that drop your ego, things that distract you from the one thing you really want to do, which is to be present on the page.
You’re going to learn how Peter Shaffer took his own intrusive thoughts about himself as a writer and channeled them into his characters to create one of the greatest shows and one of the greatest movies ever written. And I’m going to teach you a technique to build structure and character out of the very things that right now seem to be getting in your way.
Why Salieri Is a Walking Intrusive Thought
Recently, one of our wonderful students brought me tickets to see Amadeus at the Pasadena Playhouse in LA, and it’s a freaking beautiful play. But as I was watching the story of Mozart and Salieri unfold — which I hadn’t seen since it came out in ’84 or so — I was thinking about how, in so many ways, Salieri is like an intrusive writer thought.
He is a walking embodiment of feeling not good enough, of that voice in your head that tells you that you’re not as good as other writers.
So we’re going to play around with how you take those voices, whatever they are, and embody them into characters. How do you get those voices out of your head and onto the page? And then how do you take those characters on journeys that allow you to go on a journey as well — and maybe even through a profound change in your own life?
What an Intrusive Thought Actually Is
99% of people have intrusive thoughts. An intrusive thought is just a thought that pops into your head that doesn’t actually serve you.
Some intrusive thoughts sound really positive. I’m the best writer in the world. That’s an intrusive thought. I am so much more talented than all these other assholes. That’s an intrusive thought. One of the ways you know it’s an intrusive thought is the way it’s coming at you. That’s very different than I’m actually quite good at this — that’s probably not an intrusive thought.
Believe in yourself is intended to be helpful, but it often becomes an intrusive thought, because underneath it is really: why don’t you believe in yourself? What is wrong with you? You should be believing in yourself. And that’s another way you know you’ve got an intrusive thought: there’s a should in it.
So it’s intruding on your peace and on your presence in the world. It’s intruding on your presence with the characters. If you’re writing a scene and you’re going, boy, am I good — guess what? That’s an intrusive thought, because you’re judging as opposed to being in it.
If you’re writing a scene and you’re like, boy, this is really going to land my trick ending — that might be an intrusive thought. It’s not that it’s not a good thought when you’re stepping back from your writing: oh, I see how I can use this. But if it’s getting in the way of you being present with what you see, feel, and hear on the page, it’s an intrusive thought. It’s literally intruding on your connection in your writing.
Some intrusive thoughts are obviously negative. You fucking suck. God, do you have any talent at all? This is total shit. Maybe I should just quit. Maybe so-and-so was right about me. These are also intrusive thoughts.
And then we have our random intrusive thoughts. I really need to send that email. I need a different chair to be more comfortable. Right now you’re doing the job of writing a script, but instead of doing that job, your brain is going to some other thing.
The first thing to remember about intrusive thoughts is that they’re normal. If you don’t have them, you’re a very unusual person — it probably means you’ve done some real training in meditation or something. But the truth is, nobody actually reaches nirvana. This is at least my belief. Even Buddhist monks who have been meditating for 20 years are still dealing with intrusive thoughts. They’re just better at it than you are.
Intrusive Thoughts Come From a Positive Place
We all know that intrusive thoughts freaking suck. The negative ones tear you down and sap your confidence. Another common intrusive thought writers have: this is never going to sell. No one’s ever going to want to buy this. This is so uncommercial. Or: I am so bad at dialogue. I am so bad at structure.
We know the intrusive thought is a problem. It’s tearing us down. But it actually doesn’t come from a negative place. It comes from a positive place.
Maybe the intrusive thought is trying to make you great. It doesn’t know that you can do better with kindness than you can with violence, and so it’s trying to make you great.
Maybe the intrusive thought is trying to protect you from what you would feel if you actually let yourself write the scene. Maybe it’s trying to protect you from your fear that if you actually write it, or you finish it, it’s not going to be good enough. And then you might have to deal with: well, what does that mean about me? What if I’m not good enough? There’s a lot of identity loss that comes with that.
Maybe the intrusive thought is trying to distract you so you can relax. Maybe it’s trying to take care of the rest of your life because you feel unstable right now and you really do need to send that email, and it’s trying to redirect you to the thing you actually need to be focused on.
Or — and often, if it’s on the quote-unquote positive side — the intrusive thought is trying to prop you up, because there’s a part of you that believes the exact opposite. There’s a part of me that thinks I’m the best writer in the world, and there’s a part of me that fears I’m the worst writer in the world. And so you get the intrusive thought that props you up, because it’s afraid to let you fall.
These are intrusive thoughts. They’re normal. They’re part of life. You can’t fight them. Fighting them doesn’t get rid of them. So how do you deal with them?
The Voice in Your Head Isn’t Your Voice
There are lots and lots of ways to deal with intrusive thoughts. But there are some that are particularly good for writers. And one of those is to recognize that most likely the intrusive voice is not actually your voice. The intrusive voice is some other person’s voice that you’ve internalized.
Maybe it’s a parent. Maybe it’s a teacher. Maybe it’s somebody in your writers’ group. Maybe it’s a bully from when you were six years old. Maybe it was somebody who abused you. Maybe it was somebody who was trying to inspire you but just didn’t know the right way to do it.
Maybe as a kid you were told that you sucked. Or maybe as a kid, no matter what you did, you were told you were great — to the extent that you don’t know if you can trust it anymore, because you’re like, I’m pretty sure that was a bad painting — but Mommy hung it on the fridge.
The voice of that intrusive thought is probably not your voice. It’s probably some other voice that you experienced and that you’ve internalized.
Identification Is What Gives a Voice Its Power
An intrusive voice is just an annoyance unless you identify with it. We’ve all been in a crowded cafe and heard a lot of noise around us — a lot of people talking a lot of bullshit. Because most of what people say is bullshit. There’s some beautiful bullshit and there’s some terrible bullshit, and every once in a while someone is sharing something really real. But there’s a lot of words flowing around, a lot of ideas, and most of them just sound like a buzz in the background. They’re annoying, but they’re not damaging. You can put your headphones on, and you can sit down and write.
But as soon as we identify with a voice, that’s when it becomes challenging. And it doesn’t matter if it’s a good one or a bad one. As long as there’s judgment in it, it’s dangerous for you.
So you hear a voice going, Ray’s a great freaking writer. Now suddenly that voice isn’t in the background anymore. Ray’s like, hell yeah, I’m grabbing that voice. I’ve got to hold on to that voice. But now what’s happening is that Ray is trying to demonstrate, as he writes, that he can hold on to that voice. He’s trying to prove that he’s that great writer somebody once said he was. He can’t just be focused on the page. He’s identified with the positive label. And there’s a part of Ray, just like there’s a part of all of us, that’s terrified: what if they’re wrong? What if that used to be true, but it’s not true now?
The same thing happens with negative voices. I’ll use myself for that one. Jake is sitting in the cafe, and there’s chatter, chatter, chatter — and then he hears: that guy’s acting weird. And for some reason, Jake sticks to that one. Because in real life, Jake had a really tough elementary school, and he was that weird kid. So Jake grabs onto that one and goes, oh my God, I’m acting weird. Maybe that voice wasn’t even talking about Jake. But Jake goes, oh my God, I’m back in elementary school. They’re right. I’m weird. Or Jake goes, no, I’m not. I’m not weird anymore. I used to be weird. But suddenly, again, I’m not writing my script. I’m having a relationship with this voice.
Step One: Recognize It’s Not Your Voice
Look, I’m drawing on the work of giants here. I’m drawing on the work of Augusto Boal. I’m drawing on the work of the Buddha, and on parts therapy and hypnosis, which is now also called Internal Family Systems in traditional psychology. I was lucky enough to study with both Augusto and his son Julian — Augusto’s gone now, but Julian’s still around — and they are life-changing people. I’m standing on the backs of giants when I share these ideas with you. But they all boil down to really simple ideas.
Step one: recognize it’s not your voice. Don’t try to grab onto the good. Don’t try to push away the bad. Recognize that it’s not your fucking voice. It’s just an intrusive thought.
Your job is not to go to war with the intrusive thought. If you try to force the intrusive thought out of your mind, guess what? You’re engaging with it. The job is to go: oh, what an interesting thought. Keep going. Wow, I just heard that. It has nothing to do with me. It’s not my voice.
In Buddhism, they teach you to let the thought float by like a cloud. You are the sky; the thought is a cloud, just drifting by, and it has no effect on you. In Internal Family Systems, or in Theatre of the Oppressed and Rainbow of Desire, which Augusto Boal created, or in parts therapy, you take the voice out of you so that you can observe it. You go: oh, this is no longer in me. This is out here. And I can play with it, and I can do stuff with it, and I can make different choices around it.
The Screenwriter’s Superpower: Give the Voice to a Character
We as screenwriters have the ultimate way of dealing with intrusive voices, one that we’re trained to do: we can give them to a character, because we know the character is not us.
As soon as we take that intrusive voice and put it into a character, suddenly we’re not identified with the voice anymore. In fact, we can take the voice on a journey. That doesn’t mean we’re not feeling the voice, but we’re recognizing that the voice is not us. It’s a character that’s hanging out with us. It’s a character we can view with empathy. It’s a character we can get curious about. It’s a character we can understand. It’s a character we don’t have to judge, don’t have to go to war with, don’t have to push out or try to hold in. Rather, we can observe it. It’s a character we can apply pressure to, to see what kinds of decisions that character makes.
And by doing this, we get a couple of things. We get an instant benefit, which is one of the reasons people always say writing is therapeutic: as soon as you take the voice out of yourself, you have already distanced from the voice, and now you’re less identified with it. You’ve helped yourself just by doing that.
The second thing is: now where are you focused? You’re focused on your character, as opposed to on the voice.
The third thing is the coolest part. Once they’re a character — characters by nature change. And by taking your character on a journey of change, you can allow yourself to go on a journey in relation to that voice.
Perception Is Projection
There’s a concept in hypnosis called perception is projection, and the same thing is true in screenwriting. At any given moment in your life, there is more data coming at you than you could deal with in a million years. If I just sat down to write down everything in a single room, I would be writing until I was dead trying to describe it all. That’s how much data is coming at us, and our minds can’t process all of it. It’s impossible.
So what tends to happen is we tend to hear the thoughts, and notice the stuff, that fits our current worldview. If we feel like, ah man, the world just chews you up and spits you out, you’re going to walk down the street and see all the people who got chewed up and spit out. You’re going to notice all the things that happened in your life that chewed you up and spit you out. And you’re going to hear those intrusive voices that go, why even try? The world just chews you up.
And if you have the God’s looking out for me voice, and that’s your belief system, you’re going to notice: look at that, that sparrow just landed on that homeless man. God is here. You’re going to notice with gratitude all the wonderful things that have happened to you, all the miracles that saved your life — which are equally true to the negative things you saw before.
The concept is that unless we’re trained to look, we only see the things and hear the voices that fit what we already believe. And boy, it’s even worse now with social media. This is how social media algorithms work. They basically go: what does this person already believe? Let’s feed them more of that. They’re going to totally identify with anything we feed them that fits their overall belief system. They’ll accept it as true. They’ll get attached to it. They’ll get excited by it. They’ll get angered by it. They’ll get active, and they’ll come back to the platform for that dopamine.
We as writers don’t want to be stuck in what we currently and always have believed and known. We’re on a journey to actually grow, to actually wrestle, to make just a tiny little bit more sense of the world. And that means we have to find a way to see, feel, and hear the stuff that normally our brains would filter out for us. We have to actually learn how to look more closely, until we’re like: huh, out of all the things I noticed in this room, I never noticed the globe. I guess now I’m really looking.
Once we take that intrusive thought and put it in a character, we can start to test it and put pressure on it, and really understand what belief system it represents. And what’s even cooler than that is that we can take a character on a journey in relation to that belief system that actually breaks open that old belief system for us. I don’t think anyone ever reaches the truth, but maybe we can get a little bit closer to the truth — see things from a little bit more of a broad angle, from a little bit of a different place, through a different lens.
How Amadeus Externalizes the Artist’s War with Himself
Which brings me back to Peter Shaffer’s brilliant play Amadeus. The movie is also brilliant. They’re very, very different.
Amadeus is built around a relationship between Salieri, who is the court composer — the most respected composer in the world — and a young Mozart. And young Mozart has the one thing that Salieri wishes he had: God is speaking through him. That’s Salieri’s intrusive thought. In fact, Salieri’s intrusive thought is even darker than that. Salieri’s intrusive thought is: God is speaking through Mozart, and not through me.
Now, in this play, Salieri does nothing but evil. He decides he’s going to go to war with God by destroying God’s instrument, Mozart. He’s going to make sure that no matter what, Mozart doesn’t succeed. He’s going to reduce Mozart to a life of poverty and ultimately madness. And even though he’s not physically going to kill him, he’s going to kill him. And he’s going to do it to get back at God for not giving Salieri what he gave Mozart.
Salieri’s Monologue: A Catalog of Every Writer’s Intrusive Thoughts
The play is built around two brilliant, brilliant monologues. This one comes at the end of Act 2 — and I’m sharing the play version, which believe it or not is even better than the movie version. Salieri has just heard, and been so deeply moved by, one of Mozart’s compositions, and he says:
“Capisco. I know my fate now. For the first time, I feel my emptiness as Adam felt his nakedness. Tonight, at an inn somewhere in this city, stands a giggling child — Mozart — who can put on paper, without actually setting down his billiard cue, casual notes which turn my most considered ones into lifeless scratches. Grazie, signore.”
He’s talking to God.
“You gave me the desire to serve you, which most men do not have, and then saw to it that the service was shameful in the ears of the server. Grazie. You gave me the desire to praise you, which most do not feel, then made me mute. Grazie tante. You put into me perception of the incomparable, which most men never know, then ensured that I would know myself forever mediocre. Why? What is my fault? Until this day, I have pursued virtue with rigor. I have labored long hours to relieve my fellow men. I have worked and worked the talent you allowed me — solely that in the end, in the practice of the art which alone makes the world comprehensible to me, I might hear your voice, the voice of God. And now I do hear it, and it says only one name: Mozart. Spiteful, sniggering, conceited, infantine Mozart, who has never worked one minute to help another man. Shit-talking Mozart with his botty-smacking wife. Him you have chosen to be your sole conduit. And my only reward, my sublime privilege, is to be the sole man alive in this time who shall clearly recognize your incarnation.”
Because nobody but Salieri understands that Mozart’s a genius.
This is literally a catalog of the intrusive thoughts of Peter Shaffer, the writer, and the intrusive thoughts of every person who’s ever tried to be an artist. That desperate, desperate desire to channel something beautiful, and that judgment that somebody else has it and we don’t.
Now, of course, the secret of Salieri is that this is one of the most beautiful monologues ever written. And the one at the end, in which he calls himself the patron saint of mediocrity, is even more powerfully written. In other words, even as he speaks these words, Salieri is proving to you that he’s the opposite. He is expressing the pain that all human beings have. He is channeling the word that he wishes to channel. He’s just unaware of it.
Two Competing Voices, Two Characters — and a Brilliant Choice
What Peter Shaffer has done in Amadeus is he’s taken the two competing voices that almost every screenwriter has.
The part of him that says: I am Peter Shaffer, one of the greatest writers to ever live. I have something special. I am fucking Mozart. I have something to share that only I can share, that needs to be shared. I have this thing in me that must be appreciated — and the practice of it is divine, a transcendent spiritual experience. He’s animated that voice into the body of, like, the most infantile person in the world. Everything that Salieri says about Mozart is true.
And he’s taken the other voice in him — the voice of his self-doubt, the part of him that thinks, I’m not good enough. Everything I write is mediocre. None of this will ever do it — and he puts that intrusive thought into Salieri. He takes these two characters outside of himself.
And in a brilliant, brilliant move, he doesn’t make Mozart the main character of Amadeus. He makes Salieri the main character. And he shows you how the intrusive thought of Salieri takes this good man and destroys him and tortures him.
The Exercise: Write Your Intrusive Thought’s Monologue
So here’s the exercise. Start by just writing down an intrusive thought that tends to pop into your head. It could be a good one or a bad one, but it’s one of those that keeps popping into your head.
Whatever that thought is, you’re going to take it out of yourself. It is no longer your intrusive thought. It is now just a character chattering in the coffee shop. Who’s that character? What would that thought look like if it was a character?
Now take seven minutes and write a monologue in the voice of that character in which, like Salieri, it shares its worldview. It’s not talking about you. It’s talking about whatever its Mozart is, whatever its composition is, whatever its super-objective dream is.
So say a writer wants to be a screenwriter and feels, what I do will never matter. There’s an intrusive thought there. Okay — maybe this character just wants to fix race cars, but he feels like whatever he does will never matter. And in his monologue, he’ll express his point of view about fixing race cars. In other words, we’re taking it out of ourselves and we’re turning it into a metaphor.
What are its feelings about itself and the other characters? What does it want more than anything in the world? And again, those desires might have nothing to do with your real-world life. So go ahead: write the monologue of the character who embodies that intrusive thought.
I hope you now have a powerful technique to take what used to be an obstacle and transform it into vibrant, emotionally connected writing.